And this was all the result of the 'slating' the press gave to Mavis Clare! Simply that she named her doves after her critics, and fed them in the presence of whatever royal or distinguished visitors she might have (and I afterwards learned she had many) amid, no doubt, much laughter from those who saw the 'Spectator'-pigeon fighting for grains of corn, or the 'Saturday Review' pigeon quarrelling over peas! Evidently no reviewer, spiteful or otherwise, could affect the vivacious nature of such a mischievous elf as she was. "How different you are--how widely different--to the ordinary run of literary people!" I said involuntarily. "I am glad you find me so,"--she answered--"I hope I _am_ different. As a rule literary people take themselves far too seriously, and attach too much importance to what they do. That is why they become such bores. I don't believe anyone ever did thoroughly good work who was not perfectly happy over it, and totally indifferent to opinion. I should be quite content to write on, if I only had a garret to live in. I was once very poor,--shockingly poor; and even now I am not rich, but I've got just enough to keep me working steadily, which is as it should be. If I had more, I might get lazy and neglect my work,--then you know Satan might step into my life, and it would be a question of idle hands and mischief to follow, according to the adage." "I think you would have strength enough to resist Satan,--" said Lucio, looking at her stedfastly, with sombre scrutiny in his expressive eyes. "Oh, I don't know about that,--I could not be sure of myself!" and she smiled--"I should imagine he must be a dangerously fascinating personage. I never picture him as the possessor of hoofs and a tail,--common-sense assures me that no creature presenting himself under such an aspect would have the slightest power to attract. Milton's conception of Satan is the finest"--and her eyes darkened swiftly with the intensity of her thoughts--"A mighty Angel fallen!--one cannot but be sorry for such a fall, if the legend were true!" There was a sudden silence. A bird sang outside, and a little breeze swayed the lilies in the window to and fro. "Good-bye, Mavis Clare!" said Lucio very softly, almost tenderly. His voice was low and tremulous--his face grave and pale. She looked up at him in a little surprise. "Good-bye!" she rejoined, extending her small hand. He held it a moment,--then, to my secret astonishment, knowing his aversion to women, stooped and kissed it. She flushed rosily as she withdrew it from his clasp.