mere shadow on paper. I think of her as a living, breathing,
flesh-and-blood woman, whom I have actually known. I can see
her before me now--I can see her eyes, full of mystery and
mischief--I can see her exquisite little teeth, as she smiles
--I can see her hair, her hands--I can almost catch the perfume
of her garments. I 'm utterly infatuated with her--I could
commit a hundred follies for her."

"Mercy!" exclaimed the Duchessa. "You are enthusiastic."

"The book's admirers are so few, they must endeavour to make up
in enthusiasm what they lack in numbers," he submitted.

"But--at that rate--why are they so few?" she puzzled. "If the
book is all you think it, how do you account for its
unpopularity?"

"It could never conceivably be anything but unpopular," said
he. "It has the fatal gift of beauty."

The Duchessa laughed surprise.

"Is beauty a fatal gift--in works of art?"

"Yes--in England," he declared.

"In England? Why especially in England?"

"In English-speaking--in Anglo-Saxon lands, if you prefer. The
Anglo-Saxon public is beauty-blind. They have fifty religions