'And yet--you must own--you must confess--it is natural for the world to want to know all about you. Who was the great Edmund Gray? Why, they will want to know every particular--every single particular: where you were born--where you were educated--who were your masters--what led you to the study of Humanity and its problems--where you lived; if you were married and to whom--what you read--who were your friends. Oh! there is no end to the curiosity of the world about their great men.' 'Perhaps.' He rose and looked out of the window. When men are greatly pleased they must always be moving. 'I confess that I have never thought of these things at all. Yet, to be sure--you are right.' He murmured and purred. 'No, but I have thought of them, ever since I had the happiness of being received by you. Master, will you trust me? Shall I become your biographer? You cannot find one more loving. You have only to give me the materials. Now--let me ask you a few questions just for a beginning--just to show you the kind of thing I shall want to know.' He laughed and sat down again. 'Why, my life has not got in it one single solitary incident, or episode, or adventure. There are no misfortunes in it. There is not such a thing as a disease in it. I have always been perfectly well. There is not even a love episode or a flirtation in it. There are not even any religious difficulties in it. Without love, ill-health, misfortune, religious doubts--where is the interest in the life, and what is there to tell?' 'Well, a life that has no incident in it must be the life of a student. It is only a student who never falls in love.' 'Or,' said the Philosopher, 'a money-getter.' 'Happily, there are not many students or we women should be disconsolate indeed. Do you know, Master, that you can only be excused such a dreadful omission in your history by that one plea? Sit down again, Master,' for again he was walking about restlessly, partly disturbed by her questions, and partly flattered and pleased by her reasons. She opened her note-book and began to ask questions about himself--very simple questions, such as would not introduce any disturbing points. He answered readily, and she observed with interest that he gave correctly the facts of his own--Edward Dering's--history. He was born, he said, in that class which upholds Property--the Better Class--meaning the Richer. His father was a wealthy solicitor, who lived in Bedford Row. He was born in the year 1815--Waterloo year. He was the eldest of a family of five--three daughters and two sons. He was educated at Westminster. On leaving school, his father offered him the advantage of a University course, but he refused, being anxious to begin as early as possible his life's work--as he thought--in the defence of Property. He was therefore articled to his father; and at the age of twenty-two he passed his examination and was admitted.