scenes—the most grotesque: they'd make the fortune, for a subject, of some play-writing fellow, if he had the wit to guess them; which, luckily for us perhaps, he never will. She usually winds up by protesting—devinez un pen quoi!" Miriam added. And as her companion professed his complete inability to divine: "By declaring that rather than take it that way I must marry you."
"She's shrewder than I thought. It's the last of vanities to talk about it, but I may mention in passing that if you would marry me you should be the greatest of all possible ladies."
"Heavens, my dear fellow, what natural capacity have I for that?"
"You're artist enough for anything. I shall be a great diplomatist: my resolution is firmly taken. I'm infinitely cleverer than you have the least idea of, and you shall be a great diplomatist's wife."
"And the demon, the devil, the devourer and destroyer, that you are so fond of talking about: what, in such a position, do you do with that element of my nature? Où le fourrez-vous?"
"I'll look after it, I'll keep it under. Rather perhaps I should say I'll bribe it and lull it—I'll gorge it with earthly grandeurs."
"That's better," said Miriam; "for a demon that's kept under is a shabby little demon. Don't let us be shabby." Then she added: "Do you really go away the beginning of next week?"
"Monday night, if possible."
