"But all those wrong things—why didn't government put them down?"
"Ah, to be sure," fell in Sir Maximus, in a cordial tone of corroboration.
"Because error is often strong, and government is often weak, my dear. Well, Phil, have you finished your letter?"
"Yes, I will read it to you," said Philip, turning and leaning over the back of his chair with the letter in his hand.
There is a portrait of Mr Philip Debarry still to be seen at Treby Manor, and a very fine bust of him at Rome, where he died fifteen years later, a convert to Catholicism. His face would have been plain but for the exquisite setting of his hazel eyes, which fascinated even the dogs of the household. The other features, though slight and irregular, were redeemed from triviality by the stamp of gravity and intellectual preoccupation in his face and bearing. As he read aloud, his voice was what his uncle's might have been if it had been modulated by delicate health and a visitation of self-doubt.
Sir,—In reply to the letter with which you have favoured me this morning, I beg to state that the articles you describe were lost from the pocket of my
