better
forgotten? It is useless to endeavour to make the state of Fenwick's
mind, at this point of the imperfect revival of memory, appear other
than incredible. A person who has had the painful experience of
forgetting his own name in a dream would perhaps understand it best.
Or, without going so far, can no help be got towards it from our
frequent certainties about some phrase (for instance) that we think we
cannot possibly forget? about some date that we believe no human power
will ever obliterate? And in five minutes--gone--utterly gone! Truly,
there is no evidence but a man's own word for what he does or does
not, can or cannot, recollect.

* * * * *

"I say, Rosey, when was it you read to me about Mary and the fat boy
in 'Pickwick'?" Fenwick, having suggested a doubt to himself about his
power to recall what he supposed to have happened recently, had, of
course, set about doing it directly. His question was asked of his
wife as he came into her bedroom on his return. He mounted the stairs
singing to himself,

"Que nous mangerons Marott-e,
Bec-a-bec et toi et moi,"

till he came in to where Rosalind was sitting reading, with her
wonderful hair combed free--probably by Sally for a treat. Then he
asked his question rather suddenly, and it made her start.

"I was in the middle of my book, and you made me jump." He gave her
a kiss for apology. "What's the question? When did I read to you about
Mary and the fat boy? I couldn't say. I feel as if I had, though."

"Was it out in the garden at K. Villa? It wasn't here." He usually
called Krakatoa "K." for working purposes.

"No, it certainty wasn't here. It must have been at home, only I
can't recollect when. Ask Sally."

"The kitten wasn't there."

"She would know, though. She always knows. She's not asleep yet ...
Sallykin!" The young person is on the other side of a mere wooden
partition, congenial to the architecture of Lobjoit's, and her reply
conveys the idea of a speaker in bed who hasn't moved to answer.

"What? Be quick. I'm going to sleep."

"I'm so sorry, chick. When was it I read to this man Mary and the
fat boy in 'Pickwick'?"

"How should I know? Not when I was there."

"All right, Sarah." Thus Fenwick, to whom Sarah responds:

"Good-night, Jeremiah. Go to bed, and don't keep decent Christian
people awake at this hour of the night. Take mother's book away,
and cut it."

Rosalind closes her book and says: