“Would it were altogether impossible!” said Villiers heartily—­ “But as long as there is a plethora of little authors, and a scarcity of great ones, so long, I suppose, must it continue—­for little men love notoriety, and great ones shrink from it, just in the same way that good women like flattery, while bad ones court it.  I hope you don’t bear me any grudge because I consider my friend Alwyn both good and great, and resent the idea of his being placed, no matter with what excellent intention soever, on the level of the small and mean?”

The lady surveyed him with a twinkle of latent approval in her pale-colored eyes.

“Not in the least!” she replied in a tone of perfect good-humor.  “On the contrary, I rather admire your frankness!  Still, I think, that as matters stand nowadays, you are very odd,—­and I suppose your friend is odd too,—­but, of course, there must be exceptions to every rule.  At the same time, you should recollect that, in many people’s opinion, to be ‘interviewed’ is one of the chiefest rewards of fame!—­” Villiers shrugged his shoulders expressively.  “Oh, yes, it seems a poor reward to you, no doubt,”—­she continued smilingly,—­“but there are no end of authors who would do anything to secure the notoriety of it!  Now, suppose that, after all, Mr. Alwyn does care to submit to the operation, you will let me know, won’t you?”

“Certainly I will!”—­and Villiers, accepting her card, on which was inscribed her own private name and address, shook hands once more, and bowed her courteously out.  No sooner had the door closed upon her than he sprang upstairs, three steps at a time, and broke impetuously in upon Alwyn, who, seated at a table covered with papers, looked up with a surprised smile at the abrupt fashion of his entrance.  In a few minutes he had disburdened himself of the whole story of the “Tiger-Lily’s” visit, telling it in a whimsical way of his own, much to the amusement of his friend, who listened, pen in hand, with a half-laughing, half-perplexed light in his fine, poetic eyes.

“Now did I express the proper opinion?” he demanded in conclusion.  “Was I not right in thinking you would never consent to be interviewed?”

“Right?  Why of course you were!”—­responded Alwyn quickly.  “Can you imagine me calmly stating the details of my personal life and history to a strange woman, and allowing her to turn it into a half-guinea article for some society journal!  But, Villiers, what an extraordinary state of things we are coming to, if the Press can actually condescend to employ a sort of spy, or literary detective, to inquire into the private experience of each man or woman who comes honorably to the front!”