deny that I lashed out!" said the Professor. "My--a--hind quarters
may have been under imperfect control--but I never lost my reasoning
powers or my good humour for a single instant. I can say that
truthfully."

If the Professor could say that truthfully amidst the general wreck in
which he sat, like another Marius, he had little to learn in the gentle
art of self-deception; but there was nothing to gain by contradicting
him then.

"Good-bye, Sylvia," said Horace, and held out his hand.

"Good-bye," she said, without offering to take it or look at him--and,
after a miserable pause, he left the study. But before he had reached
the front door he heard a swish and swirl of drapery behind him, and
felt her light hand on his arm. "Ah, no!" she said, clinging to him, "I
can't let you go like this. I didn't mean all the things I said just
now. I _do_ believe in you, Horace--at least, I'll try hard to.... And I
shall always, _always_ love you, Horace.... I shan't care--very
much--even if you do forget me, so long as you are happy.... Only don't
be _too_ happy. Think of me sometimes!"

"I shall _not_ be too happy," he said, as he held her close to his heart
and kissed her pathetically drawn mouth and flushed cheeks. "And I shall
think of you always."

"And you won't fall in love with your Princess?" entreated Sylvia, at
the end of her altruism. "Promise!"

"If I am ever provided with one," he replied, "I shall loathe her--for
not being you. But don't let us lose heart, darling. There must be some
way of talking that old idiot out of this nonsense and bringing him
round to common sense. I'm not going to give in just yet!"

These were brave words--but, as they both felt, the situation had little
enough to warrant them, and, after one last long embrace, they parted,
and he was no sooner on the steps than he felt himself caught up as
before and borne through the air with breathless speed, till he was set
down, he could not have well said how, in a chair in his own
sitting-room at Vincent Square.

"Well," he said, looking at the Jinnee, who was standing opposite with a
smile of intolerable complacency, "I suppose you feel satisfied with
yourself over this business?"

"It hath indeed been brought to a favourable conclusion," said Fakrash.
"Well hath the poet written----"

"I don't think I can stand any more 'Elegant Extracts' this afternoon,"
interrupted Horace. "Let us come to business. You seem," he went on,
with a stro