Success

said, quite unconscious of any thing he might be interrupting, and went on to speak of the state of the roads and the peculiarities of Annarly’s car. “Who’s that chap?” Dawling, one of the men by the fire, asked, when he had gone. “Annarly?” Carson said; “oh, he’s at Galhardy’s.” Most of those present were that in a sense, or at least had some interest or nominal connection with the great foundries; one of the great foundries of Europe which, a town in itself, lay not far distant and was of more vital interest to the surrounding country than the British Constitution or any other human institution. Dawling himself had little interest in it, but, from intimate conversation with those who had, most of the more important names were familiar to him; Annarly’s he could not place among them: also, though not very acute, he had a vague consciousness that the man was not one of themselves. “What is he?” he asked, “I don’t seem to have heard of him.” “That’s because you’ve been out of England the last three years,” Brett, a smallish man in the corner, said. “Had you been here, you’d have known—from his own demonstration, if nothing else—that he is the greatest genius of modern times. I don’t quite know what one should call him: engineer, mathematician, electrician, mechanic, or Jack-of-all-trades, but it’s quite certain he’s a marvel.” The sarcasm of the tone was so obvious that it was easy to see Brett, secretary to the board and private secretary to the chairman of directors of Galhardy’s, did not love this talented acquisition of the great firm. Even the unobservant Dawling saw that, and Lady Sibyl, who had gone to a bureau at the far end of the room, caught the intonation though not the words. She closed the bureau and came to the group by the fire. “Are you talking of Mr. Annarly?” she said. “He is an extraordinary person, extraordinarily clever; much, much more able, I think, than any of you yet realise.” She stood looking down at the blaze a moment, her eyes reflecting the flickering lights, and a thoughtful smile curving her lips. Her husband grunted; he was not in the least jealous, it never occurred to him to be jealous of any poet, musician, scientist, or other man of brains with