od."

This story shows the lovable side of him. There was another side not
so amiable. In April, 1893, "A Woman of No Importance" was produced by
Herbert Beerbohm Tree at The Haymarket and ran till the end of the
season, August 16th, surviving even the festival of St. Grouse. The
astonishing success of this second play confirmed Oscar Wilde's
popularity, gave him money to spend and increased his self-confidence.
In the summer he took a house up the river at Goring, and went there
to live with Lord Alfred Douglas. Weird stories came to us in London
about their life together. Some time in September, I think it was, I
asked him what was the truth underlying these reports.

"Scandals and slanders, Frank, have no relation to truth," he replied.

"I wonder if that's true," I said, "slander often has some substratum
of truth; it resembles the truth like a gigantic shadow; there is a
likeness at least in outline."

"That would be true," he retorted, "if the canvas, so to speak, on
which the shadows fall were even and true; but it is not. Scandals
and slander are related to the hatred of the people who invent them
and are not in any shadowy sense even, effigies or images of the
person attacked."

"Much smoke, then," I queried, "and no fire?"

"Only little fires," he rejoined, "show much smoke. The foundation for
what you heard is both small and harmless. The summer was very warm
and beautiful, as you know, and I was up at Goring with Bosie. Often
in the middle of the day we were too hot to go on the river. One
afternoon it was sultry-close, and Bosie proposed that I should turn
the hose pipe on him. He went in and threw his things off and so did
I. A few minutes later I was seated in a chair with a bath towel round
me and Bosie was lying on the grass about ten yards away, when the
vicar came to pay us a call. The servant told him that we were in the
garden, and he came and found us there. Frank, you have no idea the
sort of face he pulled. What could I say?"

"'I am the vicar of the parish,' he bowed pompously.

"'I'm delighted to see you,' I said, getting up and draping myself
carefully, 'you have come just in time to enjoy a perfectly Greek
scene. I regret that I am scarcely fit to receive you, and Bosie
there'--and I pointed to Bosie lying on the grass. The vicar turned
his head and saw Bosie's white limbs; the sight was too much for him;
he got very red, gave a gasp and fled from the place.

"I simply sat down in