The Finer Grain

t, didn't so enrich Mark's vision of him that our friend, after a little, as t

, the oddity of that particular consequence was vivid to him; the glare of his curiosity fairly lasting while he remembered how he had once noted the very opposite turn of the experiment for Phil Bloodgood. He would have said in advance that poor Winch couldn't have afforded to risk showing his "real" mouth; just as he would have said that in spite of the fine ornament that so considerably muffled it Phil could only have gained by showing his. But to have seen Phil shorn-as he once had done-was earnestly to pray that he might promptly again bristle

lose itself. It was as if his personal case had already been touched by some tender hand-and that, after all, was the modest limit of its greed. "I know now why you came back-did Lottie mention how I had wondered? But sit down, sit down-only let me, nervous beast as I am, take it standing!-and believe me when I tell you that I've now ceased to wonder. My dear chap, I have it! It can't but have been for poor Phil Blood-good. He sticks out of you, the brute-as how, with what he has done to you, shouldn't he? There was a man to see me yesterday-Tim Slater, whom I don't think you know, but who's 'on' everything within about two minutes of its happening (I never saw such a fellow!) and who confirmed my supposition, all my own, however, mind you, at first, that you're one of the sufferers. So how the devil can y

to that extent open-he winced at hearing the author of it branded. He hadn't so much minded the epithets Mrs. Folliott had applied, for they were to the appropriator of her securities. As the appropriator of his own he didn't so much want to brand him as-just more "amusingly" even, if one would.-to make out, perhaps, with intelligent help, how such a man, in such a relation, could come to tread s

after which, and the exchange of another protest or two in the interest of justice and decency, and another plea or two in that of the still finer contention that even the basest misdeeds had always somewhere or other, could one get at it, their propitiatory side, our hero found himself on his feet again, under the influence of a sudden failure of everything but horror-a horror determined by some turn of their talk and indeed by the very fact of the freedom of it. It was as if a far-borne sound of the hue and cry, a vision of his old friend hunted and at bay, had suddenly broken in-this other friend's, this irresistibly intelligent other companion's, practically vivid projection of that making the worst ugliness real. "Oh, it's just making my wry face to somebody, and your letting me and caring and wanting

ike to s

uefully smiled, "that I s

was a triumph of modern orientalism-put out one of the noted fine hands and, with an expres

his eyebrows still higher-"he

my dear fellow!" Newton c

e of an exaltation that grew by this use of frankne

still rested on him

retentious. "I'd go like a shot." And then he added: "An

have turn

erted at the tone-"I say that

ht again; especially as our friend still felt himself reassuringly and s

o under

d how he coul

out with him how, after such things-!

things as you've done for him of course

d tell you," our friend vainl

ed his shoulder.

y things of a kind-!" Again, however, he p

Winch repeated wit

ation of the altered face Mark measured as not before, for some reas

you do me good"-with which the

awfully b

keep me up-and you see how

If there was ever a man with whom there was still something the matter-! Yet one couldn't insist on

fe," Newton ren