'And, of course, your handwriting is so pretty, too!' he added, glancing at the leaves. '"La Vallière, an opera in three acts."' We exchanged a look, each of us deliciously perturbed, and then he ran off with the book. He had to be called three times from the garden to lunch, and he brought the book with him, and read it in snatches during the meal, and while sipping his coffee. I watched him furtively as he turned over the pages. 'Oh, you've done it!' he said at length--'you've done it! You evidently have a gift for libretto. It is neither more nor less than perfect! And the subject is wonderful!' He rose, walked round the table, and, taking my head between his hands, kissed me. 'Magda,' he said, 'you're the cleverest girl that was ever born.' 'Then, do you think you will compose it?' I asked, joyous. 'Do I think I will compose it! Why, what do you imagine? I've already begun. It composes itself. I'm now going to read it all again in the garden. Just see that I'm not worried, will you?' 'You mean you don't want me there. You don't care for me any more.' It amused me to pretend to pout. 'Yes,' he laughed; 'that's it. I don't care for you any more.' He departed. 'Have no fear!' I cried after him. 'I shan't come into your horrid garden!' His habit was to resume his practice at three o'clock. The hour was then half-past one. I wondered whether he would allow himself to be seduced from the piano that afternoon by the desire to compose. I hoped not, for there could be no question as to the relative importance to him of the two activities. To my surprise, I heard the piano at two o'clock, instead of at three, and it continued without intermission till five. Then he came, like a sudden wind, on to the terrace where I was having tea. Diaz would never take afternoon tea. He seized my hand impulsively. 'Come down,' he said--'down under the trees there.' 'What for?' 'I want you.' 'But, Diaz, let me put my cup down. I shall spill the tea on my dress.' 'I'll take your cup.' 'And I haven't nearly finished my tea, either. And you're hurting me.' 'I'll bring you a fresh cup,' he said. 'Come, come!' And he dragged me off, laughing, to the lower part of the garden, where were two chairs in the shade. And I allowed myself to be dragged. 'There! Sit down. Don't move. I'll fetch your tea.' And presently he returned with the cup. 'Now that you've nearly killed me,' I said, 'and spoilt my dress, perhaps you'll explain.' He produced the silk-bound book of manuscript from his pocket and put it in my unoccupied hand. 'I want you to read it to me aloud, all of it,' he said. 'Really?' 'Really.' 'What a strange boy you are!' I chided. Then I drank the tea, straightened my features into seriousness, and began to read. The reading occupied less than an hour. He made no remark when it was done, but held out his hand for the book, and went out for a walk. At dinner he was silent till the servants had gone. Then he said musingly: