“Well, it is a remedy against all irritation,”—she returned; “I used to worry a good deal over my work, and wonder why it was that the press people were so unnecessarily hard upon me, when they showed so much leniency and encouragement to far worse writers,—but after a little serious consideration, finding that critical opinion carried no sort of conviction whatever to the public, I determined to trouble no more about it,—except in the way of doves!”
“In the way of doves, you feed your reviewers,”—I observed.
“Exactly! And I suppose I help to feed them even as women and men!” she said—“They get something from their editors for ‘slashing’ my work,—and they probably make a little more out of selling their ‘review copies.’ So you see the dove-emblem holds good throughout. But you have not seen the ‘Athenæum,’—oh, you must see him!”
With laughter still lurking in her blue eyes, she took us out of the pigeon-court, and led the way round to a sequestered and shady corner of the garden, where, in a large aviary-cage fitted up for its special convenience, sat a solemn white owl. The instant it perceived us, it became angry, and ruffling up its downy feathers, rolled its glistening yellow eyes vindictively and opened its beak. Two smaller owls sat in the background, pressed close together,—one grey, the other brown.
“Cross old boy!” said Mavis, addressing the spiteful-looking [p 235] creature in the sweetest of accents—“Haven’t you found any mice to kill to-day? Oh, what wicked eyes!—what a snappy mouth!” Then turning to us, she went on—“Isn’t he a lovely owl? Doesn’t he look wise?—but as a matter of fact he’s just as stupid as ever he can be. That is why I call him the ‘Athenæum’! He looks so profound, you’d fancy he knows everything, but he really thinks of nothing but killing mice all the time,—which limits his intelligence considerably!”
Lucio laughed heartily, and so did I,—she looked so mischievous and merry.
“But there are two other owls in the cage”—I said—“What are their names?”
She held up a little finger in playful warning.
“Ah, that would be telling secrets!” she said—“They’re all the ‘Athenæum’—the holy Three,—a sort of literary Trinity. But why a trinity I do not venture to explain!—it is a riddle I must leave you to guess!”
She moved on, and we followed across a velvety grass-plot bordered with bright spring-flowers, such as crocuses, tulips, anemones, and hyacinths, and presently pausing she asked—“Would you care to see my work-room?”