e I often laugh in the wrong place." Here Gwendolen herself
became aware of danger, and added quickly, "In Shakespeare, you know,
and other great writers that we can never see. But I always want to
know more than there is in the books."

"If you are interested in any of my subjects I can lend you many extra
sheets in manuscript," said Mrs. Arrowpoint--while Gwendolen felt
herself painfully in the position of the young lady who professed to
like potted sprats.

"These are things I dare say I shall publish eventually: several
friends have urged me to do so, and one doesn't like to be obstinate.
My Tasso, for example--I could have made it twice the size."

"I dote on Tasso," said Gwendolen.

"Well, you shall have all my papers, if you like. So many, you know,
have written about Tasso; but they are all wrong. As to the particular
nature of his madness, and his feelings for Leonora, and the real cause
of his imprisonment, and the character of Leonora, who, in my opinion,
was a cold-hearted woman, else she would have married him in spite of
her brother--they are all wrong. I differ from everybody."

"How very interesting!" said Gwendolen. "I like to differ from
everybody. I think it is so stupid to agree. That is the worst of
writing your opinions; and make people agree with you." This speech
renewed a slight suspicion in Mrs. Arrowpoint, and again her glance
became for a moment examining. But Gwendolen looked very innocent, and
continued with a docile air:

"I know nothing of Tasso except the _Gerusalemme Liberata_, which we
read and learned by heart at school."

"Ah, his life is more interesting than his poetry, I have constructed
the early part of his life as a sort of romance. When one thinks of his
father Bernardo, and so on, there is much that must be true."

"Imagination is often truer than fact," said Gwendolen, decisively,
though she could no more have explained these glib words than if they
had been Coptic or Etruscan. "I shall be so glad to learn all about
Tasso--and his madness especially. I suppose poets are always a little
mad."

"To be sure--'the poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling'; and somebody
says of Marlowe--

'For that fine madness still he did maintain,
Which always should possess the poet's brain.'"

"But it was not always found out, was it?" said Gwendolen innocently.
"I suppose some of them rolled their eyes in private. Mad people are
often very cunning."

Again a shade flitted ove