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 to forget that she has read Spoils. She can't starve on that."

"Yes, and evidently it has been an epoch in her life," I hastened to say. "Then think how much more inspiring would be a correspondence with the author of this Great Work." I found myself speaking in capital letters. But John did not seem particularly impressed.

"And so you would advise me to pass myself off for a woman in a correspondence with a young lady?"

"And why not? She is not likely to unbosom herself to a total stranger, man or woman. She won'ttalk of her private affairs in such letters. And, afterall, when it comes to the point, you area gentleman, a man of the world, and a great author. You will be giving her gold when she is looking for silver. There is no robbery in that."

Anybody else would have been rather struck by my metaphor. I was myself. But, bless you, Brunt doesn't care anything about metaphors. He can reel them