r till they should come to cart that empty shell away, and
patted the statue's foot and cried: "_Is it all right, Benlian_?"

I did this; and then I rushed excitedly out into the street, to call
somebody to see how glorious it was....

* * * * *

They've brought me here for a holiday, and I'm to go back to the studio
in two or three days. But they've said that before, and I think it's
caddish of fellows not to keep their word--and not to return a valuable
diary too! But there isn't a peephole in my room, as there is in some of
them (the Emperor of Brazil told me that); and Benlian knows I haven't
forsaken him, for they take me a message every day to the studio, and
Benlian always answers that it's "_all right_, and I'm to stay where I am
for a bit." So as long as he knows, I don't mind so much. But it is a bit
rotten hanging on here, especially when the doctors themselves admit how
reasonable it all is.... Still, if Benlian says it's "_All right_ ..."

IO

As the young man put his hand to the uppermost of the four brass
bell-knobs to the right of the fanlighted door he paused, withdrew the
hand again, and then pulled at the lowest knob. The sawing of bell-wire
answered him, and he waited for a moment, uncertain whether the bell had
rung, before pulling again. Then there came from the basement a single
cracked stroke; the head of a maid appeared in the whitewashed area
below; and the head was withdrawn as apparently the maid recognised him.
Steps were heard along the hall; the door was opened; and the maid stood
aside to let him enter, the apron with which she had slipped the latch
still crumpled in her greasy hand.

"Sorry, Daisy," the young man apologised, "but I didn't want to bring her
down all those stairs. How is she? Has she been out to-day?"

The maid replied that the person spoken of had been out; and the young
man walked along the wide carpeted passage.

It was cumbered like an antique-shop with alabaster busts on pedestals,
dusty palms in faience vases, and trophies of spears and shields and
assegais. At the foot of the stairs was a rustling portiere of strung
beads, and beyond it the carpet was continued up the broad, easy flight,
secured at each step by a brass rod. Where the stairs made a turn, the
fading light of the December afternoon, made still dimmer by a window of
decalcomanied glass, shone on a cloudy green aquarium with sallow
goldfish, a number of cact