Sydney Courtlaw—Mr. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. Arrived there, the porter thundered at the massive door of the Lodge, which was instantly opened—Shotbolt's note having been received just before. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. And Miss Miniver fell discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time. Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning.
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