of those have been
fairly popular. And there is one rather dreadful one," continued
Septimus, flushing deep carmine, "which has brought me in more money
than any of the others:

'Lively little Lucie
With her naughty nez retrousse.'

Of course, I loathe the whole lot of them; in fact, I'm rapidly
becoming something of a woman-hater under their influence, but I can't
afford to disregard the financial aspect of the matter. And at the
same time you can understand that my position as an authority on
ecclesiastical architecture and liturgical subjects would be weakened,
if not altogether ruined, if it once got about that I was the author of
'Cora with the lips of coral' and all the rest of them."

Clovis had recovered sufficiently to ask in a sympathetic, if rather
unsteady, voice what was the special trouble with "Florrie."

"I can't get her into lyric shape, try as I will," said Septimus
mournfully. "You see, one has to work in a lot of sentimental, sugary
compliment with a catchy rhyme, and a certain amount of personal
biography or prophecy. They've all of them got to have a long string
of past successes recorded about them, or else you've got to foretell
blissful things about them and yourself in the future. For instance,
there is:

'Dainty little girlie Mavis,
She is such a rara avis,
All the money I can save is
All to be for Mavis mine.'

It goes to a sickening namby-pamby waltz tune, and for months nothing
else was sung and hummed in Blackpool and other popular centres."

This time Clovis's self-control broke down badly.

"Please excuse me," he gurgled, "but I can't help it when I remember
the awful solemnity of that article of yours that you so kindly read us
last night, on the Coptic Church in its relation to early Christian
worship."

Septimus groaned.

"You see how it would be," he said; "as soon as people knew me to be
the author of that miserable sentimental twaddle, all respect for the
serious labours of my life would be gone. I dare say I know more about
memorial brasses than anyone living, in fact I hope one day to publish
a monograph on the subject, but I should be pointed out everywhere as
the man whose ditties were in the mouths of nigger minstrels along the
entire coast-line of our Island home. Can you wonder that I positively
hate Florrie all the time that I'm trying to grind out sugar-coated
rhapsodies about her."

"Why not give free play to your emotions, and be brut