began to take down what I said. I at once relapsed into silence.

"Well?" she said.

"That's all."

"Oh, but you've only just begun."

"It doesn't go any further. Won't you come into the library? "

In the library she again took up her stand before the fire
and warmed herself, and we sat in a row and were cold.
She has a wonderfully good profile, which is irritating.
The wind, however, is tempered to the shorn lamb by her eyes
being set too closely together.

Irais lit a cigarette, and leaning back in her chair,
contemplated her critically beneath her long eyelashes.
"You are writing a book?" she asked presently.

"Well--yes, I suppose I may say that I am. Just my impressions,
you know, of your country. Anything that strikes me as curious
or amusing--I jot it down, and when I have time shall work it up
into something, I daresay."

"Are you not studying painting? "

"Yes, but I can't study that for ever. We have an English proverb:
'Life is short and Art is long'--too long, I sometimes think--
and writing is a great relaxation when I am tired."