“I am not trying to buy you, Monsieur Wluiki,” he began loftily.... Then, both realising that to continue in this way would mean burning their boats, they pulled themselves up short. After a moment’s silence Lafcadio began in a more conciliatory manner: “What work was it that you thought of giving me?” Julius made an evasive answer, excusing himself that his MS. was not quite ready yet; and besides it would be no bad thing for them to begin by getting better acquainted with each other. “You must admit, M. de Baraglioul,” said Lafcadio pleasantly, “that you have lost no time in beginning that without me, and that you did me the honour yesterday of examining a certain pocket-book of mine....” Julius lost countenance and answered in some confusion: “I admit that I did.” And then he went on with dignity: “I apologise. If the thing were to occur again....” “It will not occur again. I have burnt the pocket-book.” Julius’s features expressed grief. “Are you very angry?” “If I were still angry I shouldn’t mention it. Forgive my manner when I came in just now,” went on Lafcadio, determined to send his thrust home. “All the same I should like very much to know whether you read a scrap of letter as well, that happened to be in the pocket-book?” Julius had not read any scrap of letter, for the very good reason that he had not found any; but he took the opportunity of protesting his discretion. It amused Lafcadio to show his amusement. “I partly revenged myself yesterday on your new book.” “It is not at all likely to interest you,” Julius hastened to say. “Oh, I didn’t read the whole of it. I must confess I am not very fond of reading. In reality the only book I ever enjoyed was _Robinson Crusoe_.... Oh, yes! _Aladdin_ too.... That must do for me in your opinion.” Julius raised his hand gently. “I merely pity you. You deprive yourself of great joys.” “I have others.” “Perhaps not of such sterling quality.” “Oh, you may be sure of that!” and Lafcadio’s laugh was decidedly impertinent. “You will suffer for it some day,” returned Julius, a little ruffled by this disrespectful gibing. “When it will be too late,” Lafcadio finished the sentence with affected gravity; then he asked abruptly: “Does it really amuse you very much to write?” Julius drew himself up. “I don’t write for the sake of amusement,” he answered nobly. “The joy that I feel in writing is superior to any that I might find in living. Moreover, the one is not incompatible with the other.” “So they say,” replied Lafcadio. Then abruptly raising his voice, which he had dropped as though inadvertently: “Do you know what it is I dislike about writing?--All the scratchings out and touchings up that are necessary.” “Do you think there are no corrections in life too?” asked Julius, beginning to prick up his ears.