“_Later._ I had closed this record; I was preparing to go to bed (wishing to bathe early to-morrow) when I found that I had forgotten to bring up my book. Coltson had gone to bed--or out--anyhow, away. I went down myself. The library door stood ajar; I had on my slippers; a light burnt still; Cromlech and Roger were up. As I approached--with an involuntary noiselessness (I really couldn’t be expected to think of coughing, in my own house and with no ladies about)--I overheard this remarkable, most significant, most important conversation:-- “_Cromlech_: ‘On my soul, there were tears in her eyes!’ “_Roger_: ‘Stabb, can we as gentlemen----?’ “Then, as I presume, the shuffle of my slippers became audible. I went in; both drank whisky-and-soda in a hurried fashion. I took my book from the table. Naught said I. Their confusion was obvious. I cast on them one of my looks; Roger blushed, Stabb shuffled his feet. I left them. “‘Tears in her eyes!’ ‘Can we as gentlemen?’ “The Marchesa moves slowly, but she moves in force!” It is unnecessary to pursue the diary further; for his lordship--forgetful apparently of the bourne of bed, to which he had originally destined himself--launches into a variety of speculations as to the Nature of Love. Among other questions, he puts to himself the following concerning Love:--(1) Is it Inevitable? (2) Is it Agreeable? (3) Is it Universal? (4) Is it Wise? (5) Is it Remunerative? (6) Is it Momentary? (7) Is it Sempiternal? (8) Is it Voluntary? (9) Is it Conditioned? (10) Is it Remediable? (11) Is it Religious? (There’s a note here--“Consult Cromlech”)--(12) May it be expected to survive the Advance of Civilisation? (13) Why does it exist at all? (14) Is it Ridiculous? It is not to be inferred that Lord Lynborough answers these questions. He is, like a wise man, content to propound them. If, however, he had answered them, it might have been worth while to transcribe the diary. “Can we as gentlemen----?”--Roger had put the question. It waited unanswered till Lynborough had taken his book and returned to record its utterance--together with the speculations to which that utterance gave rise. Stabb weighed it carefully, rubbing his bald head, according to the habit which his friend had animadverted upon. “If such a glorious creature----” cried Roger. “If a thoroughly intelligent and most sympathetic woman----” said Stabb. “Thinks that she has a right, why, she probably has one!” “At any rate her view is entitled to respect--to a courteous hearing.” “Lynborough does appear to have been a shade--er----” “Ambrose is a spoilt child, bless him! She took a wonderful interest in my brasses. I don’t know what brought her to the church.” “She waited herself to let me through that beastly gate again!” “She drove me round herself to our gates. Wouldn’t come through Scarsmoor!” They both sighed. They both thought of telling the other something--but on second thoughts refrained.