it is, so that I might try to come under it,
too, if it's beneficent," that ever-lively curiosity of mine prompted me
to say.

"I am inclined to think it is not beneficent," he answered, smiling
mysteriously. "Anyhow, I'm not going to tell you what it is."

"You never do tell me anything about yourself," I exclaimed crossly,
"whereas I've given you my whole history, almost from the day I cut my
first tooth, up to that when I--adopted my first brother."

"Or had him thrust upon you," he amended. "You see, you've nothing to
reproach yourself with in your past, so you can talk of it without
bitterness. I can't--yet. Only to think of some things makes me feel
venomous, and though I really believe I'm improving in the sunbath of
your example, which I have every day, the cure isn't complete yet. Until
I am able to talk of a certain person without wanting to sprinkle my
conversation with curses, I mean to be silent. But I owe it to you that
I don't _want_ to curse her any more. A short time ago it gave me actual
pleasure."

So it is to a woman he owes his misfortunes! As Alice said in
Wonderland, it grows "mysteriouser and mysteriouser." Also it grows more
romantic, when one puts two and two together; and I have always been
great at that. The "sentimental association" of the battlement garden
plus the inspiration to evil language, equal (in my fancy) one fair,
faithless lady, once loved, now hated. I hate her, too, whatever she
did, and I should like to box her ears. I hope she's _quite_ old, and
married, and that she makes up her complexion, and everything else which
causes men to tire of their first loves sooner or later. Not that it is
anything to me, personally; but one owes a little loyalty to one's
friends.

The porch and cloisters of St. Trophime's were too perfectly beautiful
to be marred by a mood; but my brother Jack's mysteriously wicked
sweetheart would keep coming in between me and the wonderful carvings in
the most disturbing way. Some women never know when they are wanted! But
I did my best to make Mr. Dane forget her by taking an intelligent
interest in everything, especially the things he cared for most, though
once, in an absent-minded instant, I did unfortunately say: "I don't
admire that type of girl," when we were talking about a sculptured
saint; and although he looked surprised I thought it too complicated to
try and explain.

The afternoon light was burnishing the ancient stone carvings to coppe