of our age. Mine bores me horribly. I am always trying to find a remedy for it. I have experimented with absinthe, but gained no result. I have read the collected works of Walter Besant. They are said to sap the mental powers. They did not sap mine. Opium has proved useless, and green tea cigarettes leave me positively brilliant. What am I to do? I so long for the lethargy, the sweet peace of stupidity. If only I were Lewis Morris!"
"Unfortunate man! You should treat your complaint with the knife. Become a popular author."
She laughed without smiling, an uncanny habit of hers, and turned to the window.
"I hear Mr. Smith saying that he must go," she said.
Mrs. Windsor rustled forward to speed the parting guest.
That night Esmé said to Reggie in the smoking room—
"Reggie, Lady Locke will marry you if you ask her."
"I suppose so," the boy said.
"Shall you ask her?"
"I suppose so. Mr. Smith is going to do my anthem on Sunday."
They lit their cigarettes.
