Lord Falmouth was to go to see Frank the next evening, having written him a note that morning to find out if he could be received. Under the pretext of taking Lord Falmouth the money I destined for these purchases, I called on him, urged to do so by my curiosity to know Frank's answer. It was very simple, but very dignified, and neither full of that pretended modesty, that obsequious humility, which, too often, ruin the finest minds. "If you will come and take supper with me," said I to Lord Falmouth, as I was leaving the salon, "after your visit to our great artist, I will wait for you. But not later than six o'clock in the morning," I added, laughingly. "I will be at your house before midnight," he replied, "however extraordinary that may seem to you. The fact is, that for the last five or six days I have not been playing any more; I am in constant good luck, and that is a bore. Play for its own sake seems to me decidedly stupid. I have not the courage to play high enough to ruin myself, and, considered simply as an amusement, the loss and gain are not worth the trouble." "And at what o'clock do you go to see Frank?" "I am going at nine o'clock, for that is what he asks me to do in his reply to my letter. By the way, you will perhaps think me peculiar or ridiculous," added Lord Falmouth; "but I always notice the way a letter is written, and even how it is folded, for I gain from these small indications very sure knowledge as to the _savoir-vivre_ of the writer, and on this score our young painter appears to be a perfect gentleman." I left Lord Falmouth. I shall not attempt to hide the fact that this last observation on his part, apropos of these trifling circumstances, which he found so full of meaning, and which I had also noticed in Frank's letter, awoke in my breast, and in spite of all my good and generous intentions, a new and cruel fit of envy.