think of one another underneath all
our fine speeches."

"I would rather amuse myself in some other way. I have often dreamt of
an island in which everybody should say exactly what was in his mind.
Of course it would be very shocking, but I do really believe that in
the end we should be happier. It would be delightful to me if my
cousins were to tell me, 'We hate you--you are dirty, disagreeable, and
ugly; and we do not intend to call upon you any more.' For mind,
people would then believe in expressions of affection. They do not
believe in them now."

"Yes; your island would be all very well for attractive young women,
but what would it be for poor devils such as I am. I _know_ that
nobody can care twopence for me, but the illusion of politeness is
pleasant. It is a wonderful thing how we enjoy being cheated, though
we know we are cheated. A man will give a cabman sixpence more than
his fare for the humbug of a compliment, and I confess that if people
were to say to my face what I am certain they say behind my back, I
should hang myself. Illusion, delusion--delusion, illusion," he hummed
it as if it were the refrain of a ballad; "it is nothing but that from
the day we are born till the day we die, and the older we become the
more preposterously are we deluded, until at last--but the Lord--to
think of preaching," and he laughed--"you must have made me do it;" and
he rose and played with his favourite toys, the wax apples, pitching
them up to the ceiling alternately and catching them in one hand. "I
must be off."

Miriam did not appear to take any notice,

"Pray," said he, "if you lived in this island of which you dream, would
you tell me you hated me? I am beginning to be rather nervous."

"We are not living in it just yet."

"But in one just as disagreeable, for it is pouring with rain."

Miriam gave a sudden start. She unconsciously looked that the
conversation would prolong itself in the same interior strain.
Reference to the outside world was impossible to her just then, and
that Mr. Montgomery was capable of it was a shock like that of cold
water. She came to herself, and went to the window.

"Must you go out in this storm?"

"Must; and what is more, I haven't got a minute to spare. I may take
it for granted, then, you and Andrew will come."

"Yes, certainly."

He hastily put on his coat; shook hands--nothing more--and was off.

Miriam ran upstairs into her bedroom, went to the little b