d will do justice to it in this book.

There was still more of the Bohemian than the Guardsman left in
Barty, and his wife's natural tastes were far more in the direction
of Bohemia than of fashionable West End society, as it was called by
some people who were not in it, whatever it consists of; there was
more of her father in her than her mother, and she was not sensitive
to the world's opinion of her social status.

[Illustration: "LE DERNIER DES ABENCERRAGES"]

Sometimes Leah and Barty and I would dine together and go to the gallery
of the opera, let us say, or to see Fechter and Miss Kate Terry in the
_Duke's Motto_, or Robson in Shylock, or the _Porter's Knot_, or
whatever was good. Then on the way home to Southampton Row Barty would
buy a big lobster, and Leah would make a salad of it, with innovations
of her own devising which were much appreciated; and then we would
feast, and afterwards Leah would mull some claret in a silver saucepan,
and then we (Barty and I) would drink and smoke and chat of pleasant
things till it was very late indeed and I had to be turned out neck and
crop.

And the kindness of the two dear people! Once, when my father and
mother were away in the Isle of Wight and the Scatcherds in Paris, I
felt so seedy I had to leave Barge Yard and go home to Lancaster
Gate. I had felt pretty bad for two or three days. Like all people
who are never ill, I was nervous and thought I was going to die, and
sent for Barty.

In less than twenty minutes Leah drove up in a hansom. Barty was in
Hampton Court for the day, sketching. When she had seen me and how
ill I looked, off she went for the doctor, and brought him back with
her in no time. He saw I was sickening for typhoid, and must go to
bed at once and engage two nurses.

Leah insisted, on taking me straight off to Southampton Row, and the
doctor came with us. There I was soon in bed and the nurses engaged,
and everything done for me as if I'd been Barty himself--all this at
considerable inconvenience to the Josselins.

And I had my typhoid most pleasantly. And I shall never forget the
joys of convalescence, nor what an angel that woman was in a
sick-room--nor what a companion when the worst was over; nor how she
so bore herself through all this forced intimacy that no unruly
regrets or jealousies mingled in my deep affection and admiration
for her, and my passionate gratitude. She was such a person to tell
all one's affairs to, even dry business