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XVIII



VERACITIES



nn HE Childe and I were sitting that even-
ing in the parlour of the hotel. It was
midnight. Pmina, pleading weariness, had
left us early. Aloys was busy with the frost.
Pair by pair, the putteed legs came in from
moonlight lugeing, sank heavily into chairs,
crossed and re-crossed themselyes nervously,
and at last took their blowsed and yawning
owners up to bed. Finally, the episcopal
gaiters bade us a sacerdotal good^night; and
we were left alone.
"Do you remember,** began the Childe, in
melancholy accents.
"I do not," I answered firmly. "I am
careful never to remember anything so hark-
f rom-the-tomb-y as your voice predicts/*

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VERACITIES 247

"Our talk by the Fountam of the
Medicis?" he continued, with a weary smile.
"Vaguely," I answered; "we talked of
goldfish."

"Of love," said he. "I remember nothing
about goldfish."

"Of goldfish," said I. "I remember nothing
about love."

He looked at me with surprise.
