"You smoke, I hope?" he asked, reaching some cigars from the
mantelpiece.

Julian shook his head, with a smile.

"No? How on earth do you support existence?--At all events, you
don't, as the railway-carriage phrase has it, object to smoking?"

"Not at all. I like the scent, but was never tempted to go further."

Waymark filled his pipe, and made himself conformable in a low
cane-bottom chair, which had stood folded-up against the wall. Talk
began to range over very various topics, Waymark leading the way,
his visitor only gradually venturing to take the initiative.
Theatres were mentioned, but Julian knew little of them; recent
books, but with these he had small acquaintance; politics, but in
these he had clearly no interest.

"That's a point of contact, at all events," exclaimed Waymark. "I
detest the very name of Parliament, and could as soon read Todhunter
on Conic Sections as the reports of a debate. Perhaps you're a
mathematician?" This with a smile.

"By no means," was the reply. "In fact," Casti went on, "I'm afraid
you begin to think my interests are very narrow indeed. My
opportunities have been small. I left a very ordinary school at
fourteen, and what knowledge I have since got has come from my own
efforts. I am sure the profit from our intercourse would be entirely
on my side. I have the wish to go in for many things, however,--"