at once, full of argot and of arcece parap cerizes t artists of tes. t metaprous as orcle in colour. terms of mystical p times asies of some mediaeval saint or t o cling about its pages and to trouble tences, tle monotony of t s elaborately repeated, produced in ter to cer, a form of reverie, a malady of dreaming, t made he falling day and creeping shadows.

    Cloudless, and pierced by one solitary star, a copper-green sky gleamed ts eness of t up, and going into t room, placed ttle Florentine table t alood at o dress for dinner.

    It  nine oclock before ting alone, in the morning-room, looking very much bored.

    quot;I am so sorry, ; ;but really it is entirely your fault. t book you sent me so fascinated me t I forgot ime ;

    quot;Yes, I t you ,quot; replied , rising from his chair.

    quot;I didnt say I liked it,  fascinated me. t difference.quot;

    quot;A?quot; murmured Lord o the dining-room.