“That may be again. But here the straight lines and the crooked are so intertwined one cannot distinguish either.” He shook his head. “Genius,” he remarked, “you are looking ill.” “Then send me a doctor, or prescribe some medicine.” “Do you think you could possibly prescribe for yourself?” he queried. “By all means. I need change of scene—to be more exact, change of surroundings.” “And where would you go in such a case?” “Back to my own land.” “The earth?” “I hardly think so.” The faintest smile crossed his lips. “You are ready at last to forsake your charge for freedom?” “Not at all,” I said. “I never yet forsook anything that really belonged to me.” “You are as faithful as a dog,” he laughed. “Another womanly characteristic.” To this I made no answer. “Why do you not answer?” he broke in at length. “I think you are growing dull.” “I had better be dull than coarse,” I replied. “Would your answer necessitate coarseness?” “Perhaps not. But I am looking farther than my answer, to your reply.” “My replies are never coarse, unless badly translated.” “Then you should employ a good interpreter.” “It is impossible to find one. As you know yourself, there is not a more maligned Spirit in existence than I.” “How is the book going on?” I asked, interrupting him suddenly. “What book? Oh, yours. Well, it has kept me laughing for the last six months.” “Indeed.” “Yes. I never believed before that any woman could be such a complete fool, and my experience has been pretty great.” “One fool makes many,” I commented. “Well, perhaps so,” he went on thoughtfully. “And the more the merrier. But tell me, what have you been doing of late? I have left you here long enough to become well acquainted with the place.” “I have done absolutely nothing except live a profitless existence.” “Then you have done as much as most people do, but they thrive on it as a rule, and you, as I say, look ill.” “This afternoon we visited some of your prisons.” “Were they in good order?” “Oh, excellent! But such a gloomy foundation has on the whole rather a dispiriting effect.” “It depends on the principle,” he observed gravely. “Oh! all things depend on that,” I said. “Which did you visit?” he asked. “I was taken to see some women, who, had they been on the earth, would have been termed mad.” He gave me a sharp sidelong glance. “Perhaps they were mad,” he surmised. “I think not. With all the appearance of madness they were sane. Saner than they ever were on earth.” “Come, come, that is putting it rather strongly.” “I think not. They had been brought to recognise their sin.” “Yes. But that is the only thing they recognised. They ought to cultivate a broader mind.” I looked across at him. “Plucritus,” said I, “if you were placed in a cell ten feet high and fifteen square, would you yourself find much room for cultivation of anything?”