in the course of domestic discussions. Who the Stormonts
were he could not recall that he had ever learned,
but his mother had been very clear indeed about their
superiority to the usual ruck of people. He would
ask his sister whether she knew anything about them.
In the meantime there was no denying that Stormont was
a fine-sounding name. He reflected that it was his own
middle name--and, on the instant, fancy engraved for him
a card-plate on which appeared the legend--"Mr. Stormont Thorpe."

It was an inspiration! "Joel" he had not used for so many
years that now, after six months' familiarity with it
on his sister's lips, he could not get accustomed to it.
The colourless and non-committal style of "J. S. Thorpe,"
under which he had lived so long, had been well enough
for the term of his exile--the weary time of obscure toil
and suspense. But now, in this sunburst of smiling fortune,
when he had achieved the right to a name of distinction--here
it was ready to his hand. A fleeting question as to
whether he should carry the "J" along as an initial put
itself to his mind. He decided vigorously against it.
He had always had a prejudice against men who, in the
transatlantic phrase, parted either their hair or their
names in the middle.

He had made his unheeding way past the house to the
beginning of the avenue of trees, which he remembered
from the previous evening's drive. To his right, an open
space of roadway led off in the direction of the stables.
As he hesitated, in momentary doubt which course to take,