“Bedad, and they’re out of print, every won av them,” says I, speaking the Sassenach’s tongue to her as it should be spoken. “Here’s the Archbishop and the Lord Chancellor together lamentin’ it. ‘Timothy,’ says his lordship, ‘the great masters are dead, Timothy. Be up and doing, or we are lost entirely.’ The riches of America could not buy one of my novels—unless it were that ye found one av them upon an old bookstall at fourpence.”

She didn’t know what to make of me.

“How strange that I don’t know your name!” says she, perplexed. “Did they review your novels in the newspapers?”

“My dear,” says I, “the newspaper reviewers couldn’t understand ’em. Be kind to them for it. Ye can’t make a silk purse out a sow’s ear any more than ye can make black pearls out of lollypops. Could it be, Timothy McShanus would be driving his own motor-car and not rejuiced to the back seat of the omnibus. ’Tis a strange world with more wrong than right in it.”

“You like my pearls, then?” she asked.

I said they were almost worthy of her wearing them.

“Papa bought them in Paris,” she ran on, as natural as could be. “They’re not black, you know, but bronze. I don’t care a bit about them myself—I like things that sparkle.”

“Like your eyes,” cried I, searching for the truth in them. For sure, I could have laughed aloud just now at my friend Fabos’s tale of her. “Like your eyes when you were dancing a while back with a doctor of my acquaintance.”

She flushed a hair’s-breadth, and turned her head away.

“Oh, Dr. Fabos? Do you know him, then?”

“We have been as brothers for a matter of ten short years.”

“Is he killing people in London, did you say?”

“No such honourable employment. He’s just a fine, honest, independent gentleman. Ye’ve nothing much richer in America, maybe. The man who says a word against him has got to answer Timothy McShanus. Let him make his peace with heaven before he does so.”

She turned an arch gaze upon me, half-laughing at my words.

“I believe he sent you here to say so,” cries she.

“Indeed, an’ he did,” says I. “He’s anxious for your good opinion.”

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