"Yes, is it not? I wish I was a critic, Angus, instead of a poor author. I am always wrong, you know, and they are constantly right, but then I don't know so much as they do. When I write a book I've to see things for myself, but they can sit down and correct me without going outside the four walls of their study. What a pity Shakespeare had not critics in his day! They would have pointed out all the defects in Hamlet, and good-naturedly corrected Lear for him. I daresay they would have shown him how to improve his blank verse. It does need improving, you know, because I heard a poet say so the other day. A real poet, much better than Browning or Tennyson, only he wasn't known so well. Just twenty-two years of age, and yet could talk like that--wonderful. But don't speak any more about critics, because I'm so fond of them that I could praise them for hours. Let us talk of meaner things. Tell me all the news of the day, the scandals of the hour, the gossip of the drawing-rooms, and stories of clubs." "Faith, I don't know that I've much to tell you," said Otterburn candidly. "I've been on the war-path as well as yourself, so am just an ignorant of town as you are." Gartney smoked on quietly for a few moments, and then suddenly asked the question nearest his heart: "What about the Erringtons, Macjean?" "I haven't the least idea," replied Angus carelessly, "as I have not seen them since you did at Como. I believe they are still living at their place in the country, and that Lady Errington has presented her husband with a son and heir." "Yes, I heard that," said Gartney, with a slight smile. "I wonder if my prophecy has come true?" "Eh!--what prophecy?" "About the Incomplete Madonna." "Oh, yes, I remember now," responded Otterburn indolently, "you said she was unfinished, didn't you? Well, I suppose she's happy now, as she has gained her heart's desire and become a mother." "I've no doubt she's happy," said Eustace significantly; "but what about her husband?" "I'm sure I don't know! You seem to take a great interest in the Erringtons?" Eustace flushed a little under the bronze colour of his skin, and moved uneasily in his seat. "Do I? A mere whim, I assure you, to see if my prophecy about the incomplete Madonna turns out correct. But never mind, I'm going to call on Aunt Jelly this afternoon, and she'll give me more accurate information than you can. Have you met Aunt Jelly yet?" "No! You forget I told you I have been away from England also," answered Otterburn stiffly. "True! I forgot that, but you see my dear relations haven't written a word to me since I've been away, and I'm obliged to ask a stranger for information. Is Aunt Jelly's ward married yet?" "No; she is still Miss Sheldon." "You were rather fond of her, were you not?" "So fond of her that I asked her to be my wife at Como, and she refused me." "I guessed as much," replied Eustace calmly; "however, that was merely a boyish fancy." "I beg your pardon. No!"