chiming out the hour of eleven, and the old soldier with a sigh of
regret saw Mrs. Mayburn rise. Miss St. John touched a silver bell, and
a moment later the same negress who had reminded her of her father's
impatience early in the evening entered with a tray bearing a decanter
of wine, glasses, and some wafer-like cakes.

"Have I earned the indulgence of a glance at your books?" Graham
asked.

"Yes, indeed," Miss St. John replied; "your martyr-like submission
shall be further rewarded by permission to borrow any of them while in
town. I doubt, however, if you will find them profound enough for your
taste."

"I shall take all point from your irony by asking if you think one can
relish nothing but intellectual roast beef. I am enjoying one of your
delicate cakes. You must have an excellent cook."

"Papa says he has, in the line of cake and pastry; but then he is
partial,"

"What! did you make them?"

"Why not?"

"Oh, I'm not objecting. Did my manners permit, I'd empty the plate.
Still, I was under the impression that young ladies were not adepts in
this sort of thing."

"You have been abroad so long that you may have to revise many of your