"Why so? The true artist--the man to whom creation is rapture--surely he is his own world. Unless he is in need of money, why should he concern himself with the outside universe? My friend cannot understand why Schopenhauer should have troubled himself to chisel epigrams or Leopardi lyrics to tell people that life was not worth living. Had either been a true artist, he would have gone on living his own worthless life, unruffled by the applause of the mob. My friend can understand a poet translating into inspired song the sacred secrets of his soul, but he cannot understand his scattering them broad-cast through the country, still less taking a royalty on them. He says it is selling your soul in the market-place, and almost as degrading as going on the stage." "And do you agree with him?" "Not entirely, otherwise I should never have yielded to the temptation to sing his song to-night. Fortunately he will never hear of it. He never goes into society, and I am his only friend." "Dear me!" I said sarcastically. "Is he as careful to conceal his body as his soul?" His face grew grave. "He has an affliction," he said in low tones. "Oh, forgive me!" I said remorsefully. Tears came into my eyes as the vision of the Norse giant gave away to that of an English hunchback. My adoring worship was transformed to an adoring matronly tenderness. Divinely-gifted sufferer, if I cannot lean on thy strength, thou shalt lean on mine! So ran my thought till the mist cleared from my eyes and I saw again the glorious Saga-hero at my side, and grew strangely confused and distraught. "There is nothing to forgive," answered Captain Athelstan. "You did not know him." "You forget I am a witch. But I do not know him--it is true. I do not even know his name. Yet within a week I undertake to become a friend of his." He shook his head. "You do not know him." "I admitted that," I answered pertly. "Give me a week, and he shall not only know me, he shall abjure those sublime principles of his at my request." The spirit of mischief moved me to throw down the challenge. Or was it some deeper impulse? He smiled sceptically. "Of course if you know somebody who will introduce you," he began. "Nobody shall introduce me," I interrupted. "Well, he'll never speak to you first." "You mean it would be unmaidenly for me to speak to him first. Well, I will bind myself to do nothing of which Mrs. Grundy would disapprove. And yet the result shall be as I say." "Then I shall admit you are indeed a witch." "You don't believe in my power, that is. Well, what will you wager?" "If you achieve your impossibility, you will deserve anything." "Will you back your incredulity with a pair of gloves?" "With a hundred." "Thank you. I am not a Briareus. Let us say one pair then." "So be it." "But no countermining. Promise me not to communicate with your mysterious friend in the interval." "I promise." "But how shall I know the result?"