A trim parlourmaid—whom ye will allude to as "a neat-handed Phyllis"—will open the door, and request ye to wipe your dirty boots upon the doormat in the passage—which ye are expected to mention as the "spacious entrance hall."
I shall stand on the threshold of my dining-room, and receive ye with as much surprise as if the visit were not by previous appointment; shall accompany ye through all my rooms, and tell ye interesting facts about the china and the chimney ornaments. I shall not object to your bringing a camera and taking views of my "cosy corner" and my hat and umbrella-stand.
They are exactly like those of everybody else, so they are sure to be pleasing to an art-loving Public.
Ye will find in the drawing-room the perfume of many flowers—provided I do not forget to send out for some penny bunches of violets beforehand—and ye can take a photograph of the cottage piano and my pet canary (which usually has its habitation in the kitchen, as I loathe all birds—but this is not for publication).
I will show ye the stand of wax-flowers fashioned by my maternal grandmother—which will give ye an opportunity of commenting upon the heredity of genius in my talented family—and ye may peer into the silver épergne that was presented to my Uncle at the Cattle Show for a prize pig. Ye will probably think it necessary to make a copy of the inscription.
In the study—to which I shall humorously allude as my "den"—there is little of general interest except my old carpet slippers. Mayhap ye will point to a few pipes that lie on the mantelpiece; but they are merely "properties," for the public expects all striking literary personalities to write with pipes in their mouths.
Come to me! I fear ye not. It is ye who confer celebrity. I know ye so well. I shall follow ye out into the garden, and ye shall carry stylographs in your waistcoat pockets, and I will relate to ye my early literary experiences, give ye my theories on the Social Question, and let ye kodak my child in its perambulator.
I know ye; ye will convey a totally false impression of my views, which I shall have to write to all the leading journals to correct. Ye will force me into the publicity and self-advertisement from which my sensitive soul shrinks. Ye will describe the insides of my rooms, for the benefit of the buzzing swarm which has hitherto shown no overwhelming curiosity concerning the insides of my works.
Still, I do not mind your coming, provided that ye give me an opportunity of revising a proof of the interview. Ye are necessary nuisances.