he heathen: he had all
the rest of his benighted life to get himself saved in, hadn't he?
All the while she sat there and talked about him, she was really
loaded to the muzzle with pertinent remarks to affluent authors.

She had come with the hope of chancing upon the great man himself;
and, failing that, she meant to pump Alicia and me of enough
material to, say, enable her to use a part of her stock of pet
adjectives in the paper she would prepare for the next meeting of
the literary society. She had a pretty stock of adjectives--plump,
purple words like _lyric_, and _liquid_, and _plastic_, and
_subtile_, and _poignancy_, with every now and then a _chiaoscuro_
thrown in for good measure; and a whole melting-pot full of "rare
emotional experiences," "art that was almost intuitive in its
passion, so subtly did it"--oh, do all sorts of things!--and
"handling the plastic outlines of the theme with rare emotional
skill and mastery of technique," "purest lyricism lifted to heights
of poignancy,"--all that sort of stuff, you know. Next time a
writer, or, better still, a fiddler or a pianist comes to your town,
look in your home paper the morning after, and you'll see it.

As it happened, The Author was not at home. His secretary had
arrived a day or two before, and after unloading a systemful of copy
upon that faithful beast of burden, The Author had given himself a
half-holiday with old Riedriech, who knew quite enough about old
furniture to win his interest and affection.

Miss Hopkins, then, had Alicia and me to herself. Sedately we
discussed rummage-sales, and the effect of cotton shirts upon the
adolescent cannibal; and all the while Miss Hopkins was stealthily
watching doors and windows and hoping that high heaven would send
The Author to her hands. We hadn't so much as mentioned his name. It
pleased us to sit there and watch her trying to make us do so.

The iron knocker on the front door sounded. And ushered in by
Queenasheeba, there stood Nicholas Jelnik with great gray Boris
beside him, and beauty and glamour and romance upon him like a
light. Miss Hopkins had seen him on the streets, but hadn't met him
personally. I don't think she relished the fact that she had to come
to Hynds House to do so. Nor could she save herself from the crudity
of staring with all her eyes at this handsome offshoot of the
Hyndses, with what in a less polite person might well have been
called avid curiosity.

"Miss Leetchy," (he h