* * * * * THE LECTURE. "Francesca," I said, "will you do me--I mean, will you accept a favour from me?" "If," she said, "your Majesty deigns to grant one there can be no question of my accepting it. It will fall on me and I shall have to submit to it." "Well," I said, "it's this way. You know I'm going to--a-hem!--deliver a lecture at Faringham next Monday?" "I gathered," she said, "that you were up to something from the amount of books you were piling up on your writing-table. Besides you've been complaining of the ink a good deal, and that's always a bad sign." "Hadn't I mentioned Faringham and the lecture?" "You had distantly alluded to something impending and you had looked at the A.B.C. several times, but it stopped at that." "How careless of me!" I said. "I know I meant to tell you all about it." "You didn't make your meaning clear. It's all part of the secretiveness of men. They tell one nothing and then they're offended if we don't anticipate all their movements." "We will," I said, "let that pass. It is an unjust remark, but I will not retaliate. Anyhow, I now inform you formally and officially that I am going to Faringham on Monday in order to deliver a lecture on 'Poetry in its Relation to Life,' before the Faringham Literary Association. It is one of the most famous Associations in the world and has a large lecture-hall capable of seating one thousand people comfortably." "But why," she said, "did they ask _you_ to lecture?" "They must," I said, "have heard of me somewhere and guessed that I had wonderful latent capacities as a lecturer. Some men have, you know." "Well," she said, "let's hope you're one of that sort, and that you'll bring all your capacities out on Monday. Aren't you nervous?" "No," I said, "not exactly nervous; but I shall be glad when it's well over." "So shall I," she said. "The ink will be gradually getting better now, and there won't be so many troubles about the A.B.C. being mislaid." "No book," I said, "was ever so much mislaid as that. I put it down on the sofa two minutes ago and it has now vanished completely." "It has flown to the window-seat," she said. "Ah," I said, "and if we give it two minutes more it will fly into the dining-room." "Never mind," she said; "there shall be A.B.C.'s in every room till you depart for Faringham. That's poetry." "But it has no relation to life," I said. "It is not sincere, as all true poetry must be." "'At this point,'" she said in a quoting voice, "'the lecturer was much affected, and his audience showed their sympathy with him by loud cheers.' Will there be much of that sort of thing?" "There will be a good deal of it," I said with dignity. "The lecture is to last for an hour exactly." "A whole hour?" she said. "Isn't that taking a mean advantage of the Faringham people?"