And he grew daily more conscious of a great peace and happiness--peace and happiness such as he had never known since his boyhood's days.

He, who had found the ways of modern society dull to the last point of excruciating boredom, was not aware of any monotony in the daily round of the hours, which, laden with simple duties and pleasures, came and went softly and slowly like angel messengers stepping gently from one heaven to another.

The world--or that which is called the world,--had receded from him altogether.

Here, where he had found a shelter, there was no talk of finance--the claims of the perpetual "bridge" party had vanished like the misty confusion of a bad dream from the brain--the unutterably vulgar intrigues common to the so-called "better" class of twentieth century humanity could not intrude any claim on his attention or his time--the perpetual lending of money to perpetually dishonest borrowers was, for the present, a finished task--and he felt himself to be a free man--far freer than he had been for many years.

And, to add to the interest of his days, he became engrossed in a scheme--a strange scheme which built itself up in his head like a fairy palace, wherein everything beautiful, graceful, noble, helpful and precious, found place and position, and grew from promise to fulfilment as easily as a perfect rosebud ripens to a perfect rose.