period; all of them, however, identified in
their common experience of Mr. Dixit.
Country gentlemen, the oracles of their
districts, had been laughed down on questions
of soil, crops, Herefords, and short-horns.
Oxford men, worn-out by being chained to
the oar of regatta-clubs, had been looked
down by the interrogative contempt of Mr.
Dixit's glass. Jaded wilful beauties, accustomed
to their own way, were compassionately
smiled down when they insisted on that
privilege with Mr. Dixit. Sometimes he had
a way of putting them down by concession—
of presenting them with a right to their own
thoughts, as if their minds were teething, and
might be diverted by a coral.

I persevered in my resolution to avoid this
gentleman without any marked result upon
his health or spirits. My intention was,
however, perceived by Lady Ursula, who
directed frequent sarcasms against me in
consequence, and produced a general impression
upon our circle, that cordiality to me was a
tacit affront to Mr. Dixit. The Doctor, arch
inscrutable Miss Martindale, and her uncle,
Mr. Clevedon—rather a guest than a patient—
were alone bold enough to maintain kindly
relations with me. The lady—whom I daily
found more and more captivating—was in
general request, and the doctor had many
duties; so that I enjoyed but little of their
society. Mr. Clevedon, who could be more
liberal of his attentions, was a worthy but
formal and prosy country gentleman of the
old school. His chief topic was the pedigrees
and relative standings of three old families—
his neighbours—in Herefordshire. He would
tell you how the first Sir Ralph Rooke was
summoned to parliament in the reign of King
Stephen; how the present Lord Racket
Rooke inherited collaterally from the original
Baron; how Tudor Manor had been confiscated
by the parliament in the Civil War
and given to the Woodhams; and how the
Woodhams persisted in maintaining the
armorial bearings of the Tudors over the
gateway, and taking credit for the two
supporting griffins—whereas no Woodham was
ever entitled to any property in those
distinguished animals; how a Prince of the Blood
passing on to Wales—in order to mark his
displeasure at the fraudulent appropriation
of the griffins—had accepted the hospitality
of Tudor Lodge rather than that of Woodham
Hall; and how he (Mr. Clevedon), out
of respect to the Tudors, had waived his
own claim to the royal guest. The good old
gentleman was Miss Martindale's uncle! but
still I was bored. I longed for a new
interest.

It came just before I reached that resigned
torpor, that fossil state of ennui into which
my baffled desires were fast hardening. In
front of the house there was a terrace on
which most of us used to promenade for an
hour before luncheon. On these occasions
the satellites of Mr. Dixit were wont to
cluster round their intellectual centre, and to
bask in his brilliancy.

In the outermost ring of this group I
observed one day the Doctor standing arm-in-
arm with a tall middle-aged man, who was
evidently the latest arrival. So extraordinary
were the appearance and manners of the new
patient, that we indulged him, I fear, with a
more frequent scrutiny than quite tallied
with good breeding. His long unkempt light
hair—which streamed irregularly down his
shoulders—was surmounted by a small, conical,
and narrow-brimmed hat. The hat itself
swerved from his turbulent locks like a child
rider who with inadequate knees fails to
bestride his steed, and clings therefore to his
neck. The head which was thus enveloped
and adorned, presented, so far as we could
judge, a full and ample brow; but I would
have defied any one to say on a first inspection
what was the character of the eyes.
Now they dilated, now they blinked; now
they pierced you with keen inquiry, anon
they seemed as if all their light had gone
inward. They appeared to preside over the
muscles and limbs like the leader of an
orchestra over his troupe. The mouth
alternately compressed and twitching; and the
arms, one moment rigid, the next galvanically
active, fully corresponded to the ever-varying
optics.

Mr. Dixit was declaiming against the
absurd doctrine that the sale of military
commissions should be discontinued, and that
soldiers should be promoted according to merit
and seniority. "Such a proposal is ridiculous."
said he. "You must have gentlemen for
your officers; and a man who has risen by
merit seldom feels at home in the company
of gentlemen."

"I admit that sometimes the two classes
have little in common," said Miss Martindale
with her quiet smile.

"Mr. Dixit always puts things so
practically," cried Lady Ursula.

"So very practically," chimed a dozen
voices.

"Pardon me—excuse me—I—I—don't
altogether—that is—I beg to differ—"

Who is that? was the thought of all. I
do not think that such words, however
blandly pronounced, could have fallen on our
circle without producing much the same
effect as a thunderbolt. But jerked out as
they were, accompanied by an ardent glance,
and a series of emphatic gestures, the result
was appalling. What was to be done with
the new patient? for he was the delinquent.
When Mr. Dixit thought proper to terminate
that terrible silence, how would he deal with
him? Was the offender a madman? There
was some ground for that hypothesis, for
when the company called the idol practical
he had "begged to differ!" But if Mr.
Clayton were insane would the Doctor have
introduced him in public? No; that plea
was unavailing. Could he be found guilty