I have said it was my uncles custom, occasionally to invite interested gentlemen to the house, to take a supper with us and, later, hear me read. He does so now.

Make yourself neat tonight, Maud, he says to me, as I stand in his library buttoning up my gloves. We shall have guests. Hawtrey, Huss, and another fellow, a stranger. I hope to employ him with the mounting of our pictures.

Our pictures. There are cabinets, in a separate study, filled with drawers of lewd engravings, that my uncle has collected in a desultory sort of manner, along with his books. He has often spoken of taking on some man to trim and mount them, but has never found a man to match the task. One needs a quite particular character, for work of that sort.

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