f eighty was full enough of life to be making
love ardently and persistently to Conway, the handsome young actor. I
can readily believe that Number Five will outlive the Tutor, even if he
is fortunate enough rather in winning his way into the fortress through
gates that open to him of their own accord. If he fails in his siege, I
do really believe he will die early; not of a broken heart, exactly, but
of a heart starved, with the food it was craving close to it, but
unattainable. I have, therefore, a deep interest in knowing how Number
Five and the Tutor are getting along together. Is there any danger of
one or the other growing tired of the intimacy, and becoming willing to
get rid of it, like a garment which has shrunk and grown too tight? Is
it likely that some other attraction may come into disturb the existing
relation? The problem is to my mind not only interesting, but
exceptionally curious. You remember the story of Cymon and Iphigenia as
Dryden tells it. The poor youth has the capacity of loving, but it lies
hidden in his undeveloped nature. All at once he comes upon the sleeping
beauty, and is awakened by her charms to a hitherto unfelt consciousness.
With the advent of the new passion all his dormant faculties start into
life, and the seeming simpleton becomes the bright and intelligent lover.
The case of Number Five is as different from that of Cymon as it could
well be. All her faculties are wide awake, but one emotional side of her
nature has never been called into active exercise. Why has she never
been in love with any one of her suitors? Because she liked too many of
them. Do you happen to remember a poem printed among these papers,
entitled "I Like You and I Love You"

No one of the poems which have been placed in the urn,--that is, in the
silver sugar-bowl,--has had any name attached to it; but you could guess
pretty nearly who was the author of some of them, certainly of the one
just, referred to. Number Five was attracted to the Tutor from the first
time he spoke to her. She dreamed about him that night, and nothing
idealizes and renders fascinating one in whom we have already an interest
like dreaming of him or of her. Many a calm suitor has been made
passionate by a dream; many a passionate lover has been made wild and
half beside himself by a dream; and now and then an infatuated but
hapless lover, waking from a dream of bliss to a cold reality of
wretchedness, has helped himself to eternity befor