ament, chancellor of the diocese of
London, and a master in chancery. Gianone flattens himself out for a
couple of pages before this prodigy whom he lovingly calls _Ariuro_, as
who should say Raffaelo or Giordano; and now, where in the hearts of men
lingers Sir Arthur Duck? For one thing he had a bad name. Our English
sense of humour revolts from making a popular hero of a man called Duck.
Yet we made one of Drake. But there was something masculine about the
latter: in fact, everything.

I am afraid it was rather late when I got to Judith.

CHAPTER II

May 22d.

I wonder whether I should be happier now if I had lived in a garret "in
the brave days when I was twenty-one," if I had undergone the lessons
of misery with the attendant compensations of "_une folle maitresse, de
francs amis et l'amour des chansons_," and had joyous-heartedly mounted
my six flights of stairs. I lived modestly, it is true; but never for a
moment was I doubtful as to my next meal, and I have always enjoyed the
creature comforts of the respectable classes; never did Lisette pin her
shawl curtain-wise across my window. Sometimes, nowadays, I almost wish
she had. I never dreamed of glory, love, pleasure, madness, or spent my
lifetime in a moment, like the singer of the immortal song. Often the
weary moments seemed a lifetime.

And now that I am forty, "it is too late a week." Boon companions, of
whom I am thankful to say I have none, would drive me crazy with their
intolerable heartiness. I once spent an evening at the Savage Club.
As for the _folle maitresse_--as a concomitant of my existence she
transcends imagination.

"What are you thinking of?" asked Judith.

"I was thinking how the _'Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans'_
principle would have worked in my own case," I answered truthfully, for
the above reflections had been Passing through my mind.

Judith laughed.

"You in a garret? Why, you haven't got a temperament!"

I suppose I haven't. It never occurred to me before. Beranger omitted
that from his list of attendant compensations.

"That's the difference between us," she added, after a pause. "I have a
temperament and you haven't."

"I hope you find it a great comfort."

"It is ten times more uncomfortable than a conscience. It is the bane of
one's existence."

"Why be so proud of having it?"

"You wouldn't understand if I told you," said Judith.

I rose and walked to the window and gazed meditatively