ver, after ambling round and
round it for some time with no effect, suddenly brought up straight in
front of it with--

"By-the-bye, have you condescended to read my last fairy-tale?"

"What, the Mayfairy tale?" said Knowles, with deft pleasantry. "Yes, of
course I've read it."

"What do you think of it?"

Knowles suddenly looked grave. "Well, at the moment, I had much rather
not tell you."

"Really? Well, I suppose I shall know some day."

Knowles looked as if he were struggling with an unpleasant duty, and it
were getting the better of him.

"Not from me, I'm afraid. It will be the first work of yours I have left
unnoticed. As I can't review it favourably, I prefer not to notice it at
all."

"You surely don't suppose that I came here to fish for a review?"

"I do not."

"Thanks. I don't deny that I should have appreciated the public
expression of your opinion, favourable or unfavourable. But I respect
your scruples as far as I understand them. The only thing is----"

He paused; it was his turn to feel uncomfortable.

"Is what?"

"Well, after the way you've delivered yourself on my other books, which
are feebleness itself compared with this one, I must say your present
attitude astonishes me."

"I've given you my reasons for it."

"No; that's what you've not done. Surely we've known each other too long
for this foolishness. Of course, it's considerate of you not to damn me
for the entertainment of the British public; but you know you're the
only man in England whose judgment I care about, and I confess I'd like
to have your private opinion--the usual honest and candid thing, you
know. I'm not talking of gods, men, and columns."

Knowles sat silent, frowning.

"Oh, well, of course, if you'd rather not, there's nothing more to be
said."

"Not much."

But Wyndham's palpitating egoism was martyred by this silence beyond
endurance, and he burst out in spite of himself--

"But it's inconceivable to me, after the way you've treated my first
crude work. You must have set up some new canons of art since then.
Otherwise I should say you were inconsistent."

But Knowles was not to be drawn out, if he could possibly help it.

"Do you mind telling me one thing--have you anything to say against its
form?"

"Not a word. I admit that in form it's about as perfect as it well could
be. I--er--" (he was beginning to feel that he could not help it)
"object to your use of your matter."

"What on earth do y