“Who can it be?” Ethel remarked, with a merry twinkle, “You?”

“Ethel,” he said sulkingly, “be serious. You know that it is you.”

“I am immensely flattered,” she replied. “Really, nothing pleases me better than to be immortalised in print, since I have little hope nowadays of perpetuating my name by virtue of pencil or brush. I have been put into novels before and am consumed with curiosity to hear the plot of yours.”

“If you don’t mind, I had rather not tell you just yet,” Ernest said. “It’s going to be called Leontina — that’s you. But all depends on the treatment. You know it doesn’t matter much what you say so long as you say it well. That’s