nd the vikker met us. But I did not flirt with the little priest.
Oh, no! I told him he must not make love to me like the young man from
the grocer's. And I told him that if he wrote poetry you would beat him.
So I have been very good. And darling Seer Marcous, I want to come back
very much, but Mrs. McMurray says I must stay, and she is going to have
a baby and I am very happy and good, and Mr. McMurray says funny things
and makes me laugh. But I love my darling Seer Marcous best. Give
Antoinette and Polifemus (the one-eyed cat) two very nice kisses for me.
And here is one for Seer Marcous from his

"CARLOTTA."

How can I refuse? But I wish she were here.

31st October.

I did not sleep last night. I have done no work to-day. The Renaissance
has receded into a Glacial Epoch wherein, as far as its humanity is
concerned, I have not a tittle of interest. I sought refuge in the
club. Why should an old sober University club be such a haven of unrest?
Ponting, an opinionated don of Corpus, seated himself at my luncheon
table, and discoursed on political economy and golf. I manifested a
polite ignorance of these high matters. He assured me that if I studied
the one and played at the other, I should be physically and mentally
more robust; whereupon he thumped his narrow chest, and put on a scowl
of intellectuality. I fear that Ponting, like most of the men here,
studies golf and plays at political economy. In serener moments I suffer
Ponting gladly. But to-day his boast that he had done the course at
Westward Ho! in seven, or seventeen, or seventy--how on earth should
I remember?--left me cold, and his crude economics interfered with my
digestion.

Strolling forlornly down Piccadilly I, came face to face with my
sad-coloured Cousin Rosalie in a sad-coloured gown. She gave me a hasty
nod and would have passed on, but I arrested her. Her white face was
turned piteously upward and from her expressionless eyes flashed a
glance of fear. I felt myself in a brutal mood.

"Why," I asked, "are you avoiding me as if I were a pestilence?"

She murmured that she was not avoiding me, but was in a hurry.

"I don't believe it," said I. "People have been telling you that I am
a vile, wicked man who does unspeakable things, and like a good little
girl you are afraid to talk to me. Tell people, the next time you see
them, with my compliments, that they are malevolent geese."

I lifted my hat and relieving Rosalie of my terrifying