"And the fit has passed?" inquired Julian when the other ceased.

"The Lord be praised; yes!" Waymark laughed half-scornfully. "There
came an editor's note, accepting a thing that had been going from
magazine to magazine for three months. This snatched me up into
furious spirits. I rushed out to a theatre, drank more than was good
for me, made a fool of myself in general,--and then received your
letter. Good luck never comes singly."

Julian had watched the strange workings of Waymark's face with close
interest. When the latter suddenly turned his eyes, as if to see the
effect of all his frankness, Casti coloured slightly and looked
away, but with a look of friendly sympathy.

"Do I shock you?" asked the other. "Do you think me rather too much
of an animal, for all my spiritual longings?"

"Certainly not, I can well understand you, I believe."

The conversation passed to quieter things. Julian seemed afraid of
saying too much about his own experiences, but found opportunities
of showing his acquaintance with English poetry, which was quite as
extensive as that of his new friend, excepting in the case of a few
writers of the day, whom he had not been able to procure. He had
taught himself Italian, too, and had read considerably in that
language. He explained that his father was an Italian, but had died
when he himself was still an infant.

"You have been in Italy?" asked Waymark, with interest.