ore generous and feeding wine than any other. Also, for some reason,
it was for me a more romantic wine; more closely associated with, say,
the Three Musketeers and with Burgundian Denys, comrade of Reade's
Gerard.

I quite genuinely wanted to help Fanny, to do her good, to brighten
her dull life. The contemplation of her pleasure gave me what some
would call the most unselfish delight. Withal, as I say, how oddly
various are one's motive springs, especially in youth! And, in some
respects, what a blind young fool I was! That wine, now.... Who
knows? ... I took but a sip or two, for ceremony's sake, and insisted on
fragile Fanny finishing the half bottle. And I kissed her lips, not
her cheek, as I held the lamp high to light her on her way to the
garret where she slept.

* * * * *

I have not the smallest desire to make excuses for such foolishness as
I displayed, at this or any other period. But I think it just to
remind myself that there are worse things than foolishness, and that
my relations with Fanny might conceivably have formed a darker page
for me to look back upon than they actually did form. We both were
young, both lonely; neither of us had found much tenderness in life,
and I--I was passing through an extremely emotional phase of life, as
my work of that period clearly shows.

Within a month of that evening of the supper in my room, Fanny and I
were married in a registrar's office in St. Pancras, and set up
housekeeping in one tiny bedroom and a sitting-room in Camden Town. I
had convinced Fanny that this was the only way out of her troubles,
and goodness knows I believed it. Heron refused point blank to witness
the ceremony, such as it was; but he shared our table at his favourite
little French restaurant that evening, and even consented to prolong
the festive occasion by spending a further hour with us in our new
quarters.

I think Fanny was pretty much preoccupied in wondering what her mother
would make of the joint note we had left for her. (I had removed all
my belongings from No. 37 several days before.) But I thought she made
a pretty little figure as a bride--gentle, clinging, tender, and no
more than agreeably shy. And Heron, what a revelation to me his manner
was! Throughout the evening there appeared not one faintest hint of
his habitual acidulated brusqueness. Not one sharp word did he speak
that night, and his manner toward my wife was the perfection of gentle
and considerate courtesy. I