t have beauty. And you came blundering along and kidnapped my lovely
girl. You came along, thinking you were going to regenerate her, and you
can't understand that I'm only able to see you in the shape of a frog.
It does amuse me to hear you talking to me so solemnly and so earnestly
and so nobly ... and all the time I can only see a clumsy frog."

"But what has all this to do with Petronius? There's nothing in that
romance particularly complimentary to women," Michael argued.

"It's the nightmare effect of it that I adore," Sylvia exclaimed. "It's
the sensation of being hopelessly plunged into a maze of streets from
which there's no escape. I was plunged just like that into London. It is
gloriously and sometimes horribly mad, and that's all I want in my
reading now. I want to be given the sensation of other people having
been mad before me ... years ago in a nightmare. Besides, think of the
truth, the truth of a work of art that seems ignorant of goodness. Not
one moderately decent person all through."

"And you will take Lily back?" Michael asked.

"Yes, yes, of course I will. But not because you ask me, mind. Don't for
heaven's sake, puff yourself up with the idea that I'm doing anything
except gratify myself in this matter."

"I don't want you to do it for any other reason," he said. "I shall feel
more secure with that pledge than with any you could think of. By the
way, tell me about a man called Walker. Ronald Walker--a painter. He had
an affair with Lily, didn't he?"

"Ronnie Walker? He painted her; that was all. There was never anything
more."

"And Lonsdale? Arthur Lonsdale?"

"Who? The Honorable Arthur?"

Michael nodded.

"Yes, we met him first at Covent Garden, and went to Brighton with him
and another boy--Clarehaven--Lord Clarehaven."

"Oh, I remember him at the House," said Michael.

"Money is necessary sometimes, you know," Sylvia laughed.

"Of course it is. Look here. Will you in future, whenever you feel
you're in a nightmare--will you write to me and let me send money?" he
asked. "I know you despise me and of course ... I understand; but I
can't bear to think of anyone being haunted as you must be haunted
sometimes. Don't be proud about this, because _I've_ got no pride left.
I'm only terribly anxious to be of service to somebody. There's really
no reason for you to be proud. You see, I should always be so very much
more anxious to help than you would to be helped. And it really isn't
o