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 in the serene air of reason, you are somewhat illogical, are you not? You enter the highways and hedges in search of a particular talent; you have the fortune to light upon it; and then you turn and rend its unhappy possessor for possessing it."

"As I say, my dear boy, this particular talent of yours—or is it your temperament?—you see I am not up in these technical names—has got on my nerves a little."

"And your temperament, my friend, to indulge a tu quoque, is covered with a hard gritty outer coating, for which I believe the technical name is 'practicality,' which positively sets one's teeth on edge."

"So be it; we part with mutual recriminations. But this is my last word. Firmly as I believe I have committed an error of judgment, if to-morrow you can prove that I have deceived myself, you will not find me ungrateful. I can speak no fairer; and this you must take for my apology. It is not too much to say that since I have come to know you I have ceased to recognize myself."

"I accept your amende" said Northcote, without hesitation. "I see I have worried you, but if I might presume to address advice to the fount of all experience, never, my dear Mr. Whitcomb, attempt to formulate a judgment upon that which you cannot possibly understand."

"After to-morrow there is a remote chance that I may come to heed your advice. In the meantime we will shake hands just to show that malice is not borne. Don't forget that you will be the first called to-morrow, at half-past ten. It is quite likely to last all day."