waiting for some special stimulus to action. Half unconsciously I found
myself wondering whether Kosinski would prove this.

I had passed a pleasant evening in the little Chiswick house between the
usual political and ethical discussions and the usual interesting or
entertaining company. I had assisted at a long discussion between Miss
Cooper and Dr. Armitage, which, commencing on the question of Socialism,
had gradually deviated into one on food and dress reform, a matter upon
which that lady held very strong views. I had felt a little irritated at
the conversation, for I entertained scant sympathy for what I regarded as
hygienic fads; and the emphasis with which the lady averred that she
touched neither flesh nor alcohol, and felt that by this abstinence she
was not "besotting her brain nor befouling her soul," amused me much. Dr.
Armitage, to my surprise, expressed some sympathy with her views, and
treated the question with what I considered undue importance. This
discussion was brought at last to a termination by Miss Cooper breaking
off for a meal (she always ate at regular intervals), and retiring into a
corner to consume monkey-nuts out of a hanging pocket or pouch which she
carried with her.

The evening advanced, and I began to despair of Kosinski's ever arriving.
Every time there was a knock at the door, I wondered whether it was the
much-expected Anarchist, but I was repeatedly disappointed. Once it was
the musical infant prodigy of the season whose talents had taken London by
storm, another time it was a Nihilist, yet another a wild-looking Czech
poet. One loud rat-tat made me feel certain that Kosinski had arrived, but
I was again disillusioned, as an aesthetic, fascinating little lady made
her entry, dragging triumphantly in tow a reluctant, unengaging and
green-haired husband. Nekrovitch gave me a significant glance. "So sorry
to be so late," the little lady began in a high-pitched voice, "but I had