Little pistol-like cracks began to break from the green-oak logs I had moved. A thin pouring of amethyst streamed up the chimney-back, and the heart of the fire was intense pink and salmon. The glow from the ceiling made semi-transparent the rich shadows of the farther recesses of the room. It was true that as against my fifteen years she had known him for more than thirty. My own personal knowledge of his history was now on the point of failing. Only to her could I look for an anticipation of what might next be expected. "Yes," she said musingly. "Anyway I'm prepared for it." "What was it?" "You don't know?" "Only in a general way that at some time or other he must have travelled a good deal." She nodded. "That's it. His Wanderjahre. He walked mostly--Italy, Germany, France, racketed about all over the place. Broke hearts wherever he went too I expect. It was then that he picked up his wonderful French." "Then do you think that that phase is--falling due again?" She shook her head slowly. How could she tell? "I only had occasional letters from him at that time. Usually to smuggle him out some tobacco or see about a letter of credit or something. I had one from Siena, and one from Trieste, and another from Nîmes.... But," she added briskly, "if I married him of course I should go with him. That would solve everything." "Would it!" "I mean if his appearance changed much. You say yourself he can't stop in one place for long. He can't even take an ordinary job. And you seem to think that's a reason why I shouldn't marry him. But to my mind it's the very reason why I should. He shan't be left to tramp the world all alone, poor boy. I'm quite a good walker." But for the shawl round her shoulders, the glass of hot milk and my sister's slippers, she seemed ready to start immediately. "Julia, are you well off?" I suddenly asked her. She smiled. "The sooner I'm paid for that portrait of you the better, George," she said. "Because," I continued, "his royalties won't keep his boots soled, and as for that mad idea of fighting Carpentier----" She made an indifferent gesture within the shawl and sipped her milk. "And now," I pursued her, "I want you to notice how you've changed your mind this last half-hour or so. As you sit there now you haven't the least intention of becoming his secretary. In fact you're calmly planning how you can murder that book of his." "How do you know that, George?" "You are. Remember the flash-lamp. _He_ wants to light up his time-scale from sixteen to forty or thereabouts. _You_ want it like a burning-glass, all concentrated in one brilliant spot--yourself. In other words you're planning a mental assault on him." She laughed delightedly. "Before committing a physical one? George, you shock me! I hope you're not going to lock me into my room!" "Further than that. You don't intend to lose a moment of time, because those Wanderjahre may be drawing very near."