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 now as I have often smiled before, when you came in silken froth and foam and settled down in my old easy-chair. With your nose in the air, you started a spiritual conversation, and called me, protectingly, 'your friend.' With pious mien your friend enjoyed your charming pose, until suddenly he would cut matters short, and regardless of her fears for her finery, carry the magnificent lady in his arms and set her in front of the mirror. There he would pluck all her feathers, nor rest content before the splendid Marie was in nowise diflFerent from the little Sunday-girl in the flowered blouse.

ARIE'S splendour! Where did it come from?

Due partly from anxiety, partly to ill-concealed jealousy, I behold this question written full in the face of the reader.

I could very easily answer these inquisitive questions with some fine fairy tale. I could, for example, say that Marie had come into a legacy from some rich uncle in Australia, or that she had won a big prize in some lottery.

I could say that she had received an annuity from the Government, an annuity which she had indeed earned far more than the women who dabble in literature, and who are supported by the State though they have never served poetry half so well as Marie.

However, in regard to Marie's money matters I prefer to leave the readers in ignorance after all; it