blonde woman over there, the right hand corner?" he asks. "Ah, that is Lady ----." "Will you introduce me?" "Certainly," Lovelace has made up his mind. Then there is a young oldish girl, richly dressed; "I hear her people have a nice house in a hunting country, I will dance with her, and take the mother into supper, and, if I can get a moment, will have a pleasant talk with the father in the evening." In manner Lovelace is facile and easy; he never says no, it is always yes, ask him what you will; but he only does what he has made up his mind it is his advantage to do. Apparently he is an embodiment of all that is unselfish, for he knows that after he has helped himself, it is advisable to help some one else, and thereby make a friend who, on a future occasion, will be useful to him. Put a violinist into a room filled with violins, and he will try every one. Lovelace will put each woman aside so quietly that she is often only half aware that she has been put aside. Her life is broken; she is content that it should be broken. The real genius for love lies not in getting into, but getting out of love. I have noticed that there are times when every second woman likes you. Is love, then, a magnetism which we sometimes possess and exercise unconsciously, and sometimes do not possess? XIV Now I am full of eager impulses that mourn and howl by turns, striving for utterance like wind in turret chambers. I hate this infernal lodging. I feel like a fowl in a coop;--that landlady, those children, Emma.... The actress will be coming upstairs presently; shall I ask her into my room? Better let things remain as they are. _Conscience_. Why intrude a new vexation on her already vexed life? _I_. Hallo, you startled me! Well, I am surprised. We have not talked together for a long time. Since when? _Conscience_. I will spare your feelings. I merely thought I would remind you that you have passed the rubicon--your thirtieth year. _I_. It is terrible to think of. My youth gone! _Conscience_. Then you are ashamed--you repent? _I_. I am ashamed of nothing--I am a writer; 'tis my profession not to be ashamed. _Conscience_. I had forgotten. So you are lost to shame? _I_. Completely. I will chat with you when you please; even now, at this hour, about all things--about any of my sins. _Conscience_. Since we lost sight of each other you have devoted your time to the gratification of your senses. _I_. Pardon me, I have devoted quite as much of my time to art. _Conscience_. You were glad, I remember, when your father died, because his death gave you unlimited facilities for moulding the partial self which the restraining influence of home had only permitted, into that complete and ideal George Moore which you had in mind. I think I quote you correctly. _I_. You don't; but never mind. Proceed. _Conscience_. Then, if you have no objection, we will examine how far you have turned your opportunities to account. _I_.