again took up her stand before the fire and warmed
herself, and we sat in a row and were cold. She has a wonderfully good
profile, which is irritating. The wind, however, is tempered to the
shorn lamb by her eyes being set too closely together.

Irais lit a cigarette, and leaning back in her chair, contemplated her
critically beneath her long eyelashes. "You are writing a book?" she
asked presently.

"Well--yes, I suppose I may say that I am. Just my impressions, you
know, of your country. Anything that strikes me as curious or amusing--I
jot it down, and when I have time shall work it up into something, I
daresay."

"Are you not studying painting?"

"Yes, but I can't study that for ever. We have an English proverb: 'Life
is short and Art is long'--too long, I sometimes think--and writing is a
great relaxation when I am tired."

"What shall you call it?"

"Oh, I thought of calling it Journeyings in Germany. It sounds well, and
would be correct. Or Jottings from German Journeyings,--I haven't quite
decided yet which."

"By the author of Prowls in Pomerania, you might add," suggested Irais.

"And Drivel from Dresden," said I.

"And Bosh from Berlin," added Irais.

Minora stared. "I don't think those two last ones would do," she said,
"because it is not to be a facetious book. But your first one is
rather a good title," she added, looking at Irais and drawing out her
note-book. "I think I'll just jot that down."

"If you jot down all we say and then publish it, will it still be your
book?" asked Irais.

But Minora was so busy scribbling that she did not hear.

"And have you no suggestions to make, Sage?" asked Irais, turning to the
Man of Wrath, who was blowing out clouds of smoke in silence.

"Oh, do you call him Sage?" cried Minora; "and always in English?"

Irais and I looked at each other. We knew what we did call him, and were
afraid Minora would in time ferret it out and enter it in her note-book.
The Man of Wrath looked none too well pleased to be alluded to under his
very nose by our new guest as "him."

"Husbands are always sages," said I gravely.

"Though sages are not always husbands," said Irais with equal gravity.
"Sages and husbands--sage and husbands--" she went on musingly, "what
does that remind you of, Miss Minora?"

"Oh, I know,--how stupid of me!" cried Minora eagerly, her pencil in
mid-air and her brain clutching at the elusive recollection, "sage
and,--why,--yes,--no,--yes, of