"If only we could scrape together a thousand pounds!" had sighed
Peter.

"The moment we lay our hands upon the coin, we'll start that paper.
Remember, it's a bargain," had answered William Clodd.

Mr. William Clodd turned the handle and walked in. With the door
still in his hand he paused to look round the room. It was the
first time he had seen it. His meetings hitherto with Peter Hope
had been chance rencontres in street or restaurant. Always had he
been curious to view the sanctuary of so much erudition.

A large, oak-panelled room, its three high windows, each with a
low, cushioned seat beneath it, giving on to Gough Square. Thirty-
five years before, Peter Hope, then a young dandy with side
whiskers close-cropped and terminating just below the ear; with
wavy, brown hair, giving to his fresh-complexioned face an
appearance almost girlish; in cut-away blue coat, flowered
waistcoat, black silk cravat secured by two gold pins chained
together, and tightly strapped grey trouserings, had, aided and
abetted by a fragile little lady in crinoline and much-flounced
skirt, and bodice somewhat low, with corkscrew curls each movement
of her head set ringing, planned and furnished it in accordance
with the sober canons then in vogue, spending thereupon more than
they should, as is to be expected from the young to whom the future
promises all things. The fine Brussels carpet! A little too
bright, had thought the shaking curls. "The colours will tone
down, miss--ma'am." The shopman knew. Only by the help of the
round island underneath the massive Empire table, by excursions