and drew them more accurately than I could draw them now. Many a
time she and I took our jaunt together through the map, and were
most gleeful, popping into telegraph offices to wire my father and
sister that we should not be home till late, winking to my books in
lordly shop-windows, lunching at restaurants (and remembering not
to call it dinner), saying, 'How do?' to Mr. Alfred Tennyson when
we passed him in Regent Street, calling at publishers' offices for
cheque, when 'Will you take care of it, or shall I?' I asked gaily,
and she would be certain to reply, 'I'm thinking we'd better take
it to the bank and get the money,' for she always felt surer of
money than of cheques; so to the bank we went ('Two tens, and the
rest in gold'), and thence straightway (by cab) to the place where
you buy sealskin coats for middling old ladies. But ere the laugh
was done the park would come through the map like a blot.

'If you could only be sure of as much as would keep body and soul
together,' my mother would say with a sigh.

'With something over, mother, to send to you.'

'You couldna expect that at the start.'

The wench I should have been courting now was journalism, that
grisette of literature who has a smile and a hand for all
beginners, welcoming them at the threshold, teaching them so much
that is worth knowing, introducing them to the other lady whom they
have worshipped from afar, showing them even how to woo her, and
then bidding them a bright God-speed - he were an ingrate who,
having had her joyous companionship, no longer flings her a kiss as
they pass. But though she bears no ill-will when she is jilted,