"LANCELOT.
"P.S.—I send by this post a Reverie, called Marianne, which is the best thing I have done, and should be glad if you could induce Brahmson to look at it."
A big, sudden blaze, like a jubilant bonfire, shot up in the grate and startled Beethoven into silence.
But the canary took it for an extra flood of sunshine, and trilled and demi-semi-quavered like mad.
"Sw—eet! Sweet!"
"By Jove!" said Lancelot, starting up, "Mary Ann's left her canary behind!"
Then the old whimsical look came over his face.
"I must keep it for her," he murmured. "What a responsibility! I suppose I oughtn't to let Rosie look after it any more. Let me see, what did Peter say? Canary seed, biscuits ... yes, I must be careful not to give it butter.... Curious I didn't think of her canary when I sent back all those gloves ... but I doubt if I could have squeezed it in—my boots are only sevens after all—to say nothing of the cage."