"Be always as you are Mavis Clare!"--he said gently--"Let nothing change you! Keep that bright nature of yours,--that unruffled spirit of quiet contentment, and you may wear the bitter laurel of fame as sweetly as a rose! I have seen the world; I have travelled far, and have met many famous men and women,--kings and queens, senators, poets and philosophers,--my experience has been wide and varied, so that I am not altogether without authority for what I say,--and I assure you that the Satan of whom you are able to speak with compassion, can never trouble the peace of a pure and contented soul. Like consorts with like,--a fallen angel seeks the equally fallen,--and the devil,--if there be one,--becomes the companion of those only who take pleasure in his teaching and society. Legends say he is afraid of a crucifix,--but if he is afraid of anything I should say it must be of that 'sweet content' concerning which your country's Shakespeare sings, and which is a better defence against evil than the church or the prayers of the clergy! I speak as one having the right of age to speak,--I am so many many years older than you!----you must forgive me if I have said too much!" She was quite silent; evidently moved and surprised at his words; and she gazed at him with a vaguely wondering, half-awed expression,--an expression which changed directly I myself advanced to make my adieu. "I am very glad to have met you, Miss Clare,"--I said--"I hope we shall be friends!" "There is no reason why we should be enemies I think," she responded frankly--"I am very pleased you came to-day. If ever you want to 'slate' me again, you know your fate!--you become a dove,--nothing more! Good-bye!" She saluted us prettily as we passed out, and when the gate had closed behind us we heard the deep and joyous baying of the great dog 'Emperor,' evidently released from 'durance vile' immediately on our departure. We walked on for some time in silence, and it was not till we had re-entered the grounds of Willowsmere, and were making our way to the drive where the carriage which was to take us to the station already awaited us, that Lucio said-- "Well; now, what do you think of her?" "She is as unlike the accepted ideal of the female novelist as she can well be," I answered, with a laugh.