him she fell on
her knees, clasping his, passionately kissing them.

CHAPTER XL. IN WHICH THE COUNTESS STILL SCENTS GAME

Mr. Raikes and his friend Frank Remand, surnamed Franko, to suit the
requirements of metre, in which they habitually conversed, were walking
arm-in-arm along the drive in Society's Park on a fine frosty Sunday
afternoon of midwinter. The quips and jokes of Franko were lively, and
he looked into the carriages passing, as if he knew that a cheerful
countenance is not without charms for their inmates. Raikes' face, on
the contrary, was barren and bleak. Being of that nature that when a pun
was made he must perforce outstrip it, he fell into Franko's humour from
time to time, but albeit aware that what he uttered was good, and by
comparison transcendent, he refused to enjoy it. Nor when Franko started
from his arm to declaim a passage, did he do other than make limp
efforts to unite himself to Franko again. A further sign of immense
depression in him was that instead of the creative, it was the critical
faculty he exercised, and rather than reply to Franko in his form of
speech, he scanned occasional lines and objected to particular phrases.
He had clearly exchanged the sanguine for the bilious temperament, and
was fast stranding on the rocky shores of prose. Franko bore this very
well, for he, like Raikes in happier days, claimed all the glances
of lovely woman as his own, and on his right there flowed a stream of
Beauties. At last he was compelled to observe: 'This change is sudden:
wherefore so downcast? With tigrine claw thou mangiest my speech, thy
cheeks are like December's pippin, and thy tongue most sour!'

'Then of it make a farce!' said Raikes, for the making of farces was
Franko's profession. 'Wherefore so downcast! What a line! There! let's
walk on. Let us the left foot forward stout advance. I care not for the
herd.'

''Tis love!' cried Franko.

'Ay, an' it be!' Jack gloomily returned.

'For ever cruel is the sweet Saldar?'

Raikes winced at this name.

'A truce to banter, Franko!' he said sternly: but the subject was
opened, and the wound.

'Love!' he pursued, mildly groaning. 'Suppose you adored a fascinating
woman, and she knew--positively knew--your manly weakness, and you saw
her smiling upon everybody, and she told you to be happy, and egad, when
you came to reflect, you found that after three months' suit you were
nothing better than her errand-boy? A thing to boast