is abundant and quite black. I understand that my eyes are green when
I affect a green tie, light blue when I put on one of that delicate
hue, and curiously yellow when I wear brown about my neck. Not that
I really need them, but I wear nose glasses when reading: to save my
eyes, of course. I sometimes wear them in public, with a very fetching
and imposing black band draping across my expanse of shirt front. I
find this to be most effective when sitting in a box at the theatre.
My tailor is a good one. I shave myself clean with an old-fashioned
razor and find it to be quite safe and tractable. My habits are
considered rather good, and I sang bass in the glee club. So there you
are. Not quite what yon would call a lady killer, or even a lady's
man, I fancy you'll say.

You will be surprised to learn, however, that secretly I am of a rather
romantic, imaginative turn of mind. Since earliest childhood I have
consorted with princesses and ladies of high degree,--mentally, of
course,--and my bosom companions have been knights of valour and
longevity. Nothing could have suited me better than to have been born
in a feudal castle a few centuries ago, from which I should have sallied
forth in full armour on the slightest provocation and returned in glory
when there was no one left in the neighbourhood to provoke me.

Even now, as I make this astounding statement, I can't help thinking
of that confounded jeweller's clerk. At thirty-five I am still
unattached and, so far as I can tell, unloved. What more could a
sensible, experienced bachelor expect than that? Unless, of course,
he aspired to be a monk or a hermit, in which case he reasonably could
be sure of himself if not of others.

Last winter in London my mother went to a good bit of trouble to set