honours to say that I begin to see deeper into Gustave Flaubert's
doleful refrain about the hatred of literature? I refer you again

to the perverse constitution of man.
"The Princess is a massive lady with the organisation of an athlete

and the confusion of tongues of a valet de place. She contrives to
commit herself extraordinarily little in a great many languages,

and is entertained and conversed with in detachments and relays,
like an institution which goes on from generation to generation or

a big building contracted for under a forfeit. She can't have a
personal taste any more than, when her husband succeeds, she can

have a personal crown, and her opinion on any matter is rusty and
heavy and plain - made, in the night of ages, to last and be

transmitted. I feel as if I ought to 'tip' some custode for my
glimpse of it. She has been told everything in the world and has

never perceived anything, and the echoes of her education respond
awfully to the rash footfall - I mean the casual remark - in the

cold Valhalla of her memory. Mrs. Wimbush delights in her wit and
says there's nothing so charming as to hear Mr. Paraday draw it

out. He's perpetually detailed for this job, and he tells me it
has a peculiarly exhausting effect. Every one's beginning - at the

end of two days - to sidle obsequiously away from her, and Mrs.
Wimbush pushes him again and again into the breach. None of the

uses I have yet seen him put to infuriate me quite so much. He
looks very fagged and has at last confessed to me that his

condition makes him uneasy - has even promised me he'll go straight
home instead of returning to his final engagements in town. Last

night I had some talk with him about going to-day, cutting his
visit short; so sure am I that he'll be better as soon as he's shut

up in his lighthouse. He told me that this is what he would like
to do; reminding me, however, that the first lesson of his

greatness has been precisely that he can't do what he likes. Mrs.
Wimbush would never forgive him if he should leave her before the

Princess has received the last hand. When I hint that a violent
rupture with our hostess would be the best thing in the world for

him he gives me to understand that if his reason assents to the
proposition his courage hangs woefully back. He makes no secret of

being mortally afraid of her, and when I ask what harm she can do
him that she hasn't already done he simply repeats: 'I'm afraid,

I'm afraid! Don't enquire too closely,' he said last night; 'only
believe that I feel a sort of terror. It's strange, when she's so

kind! At any rate, I'd as soon overturn that piece of priceless
Sevres as tell her I must go before my date.' It sounds dreadfully

weak, but he has some reason, and he pays for his imagination,
which puts him (I should hate it) in the place of others and makes

him feel, even against himself, their feelings, their appetites,
their motives. It's indeed inveterately against himself that he

makes his imagination act. What a pity he has such a lot of it!
He's too beastlyintelligent. Besides, the famous reading's still

to come off, and it has been postponed a day to allow Guy
Walsingham to arrive. It appears this eminent lady's staying at a

house a few miles off, which means of course that Mrs. Wimbush has
forcibly annexed her. She's to come over in a day or two - Mrs.

Wimbush wants her to hear Mr. Paraday.
"To-day's wet and cold, and several of the company, at the

invitation of the Duke, have driven over to luncheon at Bigwood. I
saw poor Paraday wedge himself, by command, into the little

supplementary seat of a brougham in which the Princess and our
hostess were already ensconced. If the front glass isn't open on

his dear old back perhaps he'll survive. Bigwood, I believe, is
very grand and frigid, all marble and precedence, and I wish him

well out of the adventure. I can't tell you how much more and more
your attitude to him, in the midst of all this, shines out by

contrast. I never willingly talk to these people about him, but
see what a comfort I find it to scribble to you! I appreciate it -

it keeps me warm; there are no fires in the house. Mrs. Wimbush
goes by the calendar, the temperature goes by the weather, the

weather goes by God knows what, and the Princess is easily heated.
I've nothing but my acrimony to warm me, and have been out under an

umbrella to restore my circulation. Coming in an hour ago I found
Lady Augusta Minch rummaging about the hall. When I asked her what

she was looking for she said she had mislaid something that Mr.
Paraday had lent her. I ascertained in a moment that the article

in question is a manuscript, and I've a foreboding that it's the
noble morsel he read me six weeks ago. When I expressed my

surprise that he should have bandied about anything so precious (I
happen to know it's his only copy - in the most beautiful hand in

all the world) Lady Augusta confessed to me that she hadn't had it
from himself, but from Mrs. Wimbush, who had wished to give her a

glimpse of it as a salve for her not being able to stay and hear it
read.

"'Is that the piece he's to read,' I asked, 'when Guy Walsingham
arrives?'

"'It's not for Guy Walsingham they're waiting now, it's for Dora
Forbes,' Lady Augusta said. 'She's coming, I believe, early to-

morrow. Meanwhile Mrs. Wimbush has found out about him, and is
actively wiring to him. She says he also must hear him.'

"'You bewilder me a little,' I replied; 'in the age we live in one
gets lost among the genders and the pronouns. The clear thing is

that Mrs. Wimbush doesn't guard such a treasure so jealously as she
might.'

"'Poor dear, she has the Princess to guard! Mr. Paraday lent her
the manuscript to look over.'

"'She spoke, you mean, as if it were the morning paper?'
"Lady Augusta stared - my irony was lost on her. 'She didn't have

time, so she gave me a chance first; because unfortunately I go to-
morrow to Bigwood.'

"'And your chance has only proved a chance to lose it?'
"'I haven't lost it. I remember now - it was very stupid of me to

have forgotten. I told my maid to give it to Lord Dorimont - or at
least to his man.'

"'And Lord Dorimont went away directly after luncheon.'
"'Of course he gave it back to my maid - or else his man did,' said

Lady Augusta. 'I dare say it's all right.'
"The conscience of these people is like a summer sea. They haven't

time to look over a pricelesscomposition; they've only time to
kick it about the house. I suggested that the 'man,' fired with a

noble emulation, had perhaps kept the work for his own perusal; and
her ladyship wanted to know whether, if the thing shouldn't

reappear for the grand occasion appointed by our hostess, the
author wouldn't have something else to read that would do just as

well. Their questions are too delightful! I declared to Lady
Augusta briefly that nothing in the world can ever do so well as

the thing that does best; and at this she looked a little
disconcerted. But I added that if the manuscript had gone astray

our little circle would have the less of an effort of attention to
make. The piece in question was very long - it would keep them

three hours.
"'Three hours! Oh the Princess will get up!' said Lady Augusta.

"'I thought she was Mr. Paraday's greatest admirer.'
"'I dare say she is - she's so awfully clever. But what's the use

of being a Princess - '
"'If you can't dissemble your love?' I asked as Lady Augusta was

vague. She said at any rate she'd question her maid; and I'm
hoping that when I go down to dinner I shall find the manuscript

has been recovered."
CHAPTER X.

"IT has NOT been recovered," I wrote early the next day, "and I'm
moreover much troubled about our friend. He came back from Bigwood

with a chill and, being allowed to have a fire in his room, lay
down a while before dinner. I tried to send him to bed and indeed

thought I had put him in the way of it; but after I had gone to
dress Mrs. Wimbush came up to see him, with the inevitable result