As it was, he dwelt in town and was ordered to escort Mrs.Octagon when she chose to "blaze," as she put it, in her friends' houses.

Also there was a reception every Friday when literary London gathered round "Rowena," and lamented the decline of Art.

These people had never done anything to speak of, none of them were famous in any wide sense, but they talked of art with a big "A," though what they meant was not clear even to themselves.

So far as could be ascertained Art, with a big "A," was concerned with something which did not sell, save to a select circle.

Mrs.Octagon's circle would have shuddered collectively and individually at the idea of writing anything interesting, likely to be enjoyed by the toilers of modern days.