he entrée of the

head of Pixley's, the great law-firm, in

gs were relegated to their proper place outside his scheme of life. His charities were large, wide-spread, religiously adver

merous philanthropical societies-in a word, at once a pillar a

calping-knife, slaughtering the hopes of some harried victim of the law; and again, it was a baton beating time to a hymn or the National Anthem; possibly it was, in moments of relaxation, a jester's wand poking fun at ancient cronies, though indeed a somewhat full-blooded imagination is required for that. I have heard that once when, in the fervour of a speech, Mr. Pixley dropped

. And he was Margaret Brandt's uncle by marriage, her guardian and trustee, and the father of Charles Svendt, on whose account

He was so undisguisedly and self-satisfiedly better than his fellows that one felt his long and flawless life almost in the nature of a rebuke if not an affront. He was too obtrusively good for this world. One could not but feel that if he had been cut off in his youth, and buried under a very white marble slab and an appropriate inscript

his father's son, and one must not blame him for the unavoidable. And, in m

mes's Square, and enjoyed life in his own way and at his own not inconsiderable expense. Whe

de the House, with two exceptions-the Dogs' Home at Battersea, and the Home of

h ends, my dear sir. The governor charitables for the whole family. He'll

Charles Svendt. Time came when he

their acquaintance had never ripened to the point of introduction till that night at the Whitefr

uggestings, John Graeme was still somewhat doubtful as to Margaret Brandt's feeling

utter rout. And opportunities of approac

the glory of a fleeting dream;-to be looked back upon with touches of regret at opportunities missed;-to be dwelt upon for days and nights with alternate hope and misgiving, with the rapturous recalling