You see," Adrian continued, after having lit a cigarette, "Jaffery's an honourable old chap, in his way.

With Liosha, his friend Prescott's widow, it would be a question of marriage or nothing." "You're talking rubbish," said I."Jaffery would just as soon think of marrying the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbour." "That's what I'm telling you," said Adrian.

"He's in a mortal funk lest his animated Statue of Liberty should descend from her pedestal and with resistless hands take him away and marry him." "For one who has been hailed as the acutest psychologist of the day," said I, "you seem to have very limited powers of observation." For some unaccountable reason Adrian's pale face flushed scarlet.

He broke out vexedly: "I don't see what my imaginative work has got to do with the trivialities of ordinary life.

As a matter of fact," he added, after a pause, "the psychology in a novel is all imagination, and it's the same imaginative faculty that has been amusing itself with Jaffery and this unqualifiable lady." "All right, my dear man," said I, pacifically.