He bowed. 'I hope you like it.'
'I do,' she said, looking at it. 'It seems to me the very best thing you have done. Oh! it is really beautiful! Do you know, Mr. Feilding, that you are a very wonderful man?'
Alec laughed pleasantly. Of course he knew. 'If you think so,' he said.
'You write the most beautiful verses and the most charming stories: you paint the most wonderful pictures: you belong to society, and you go everywhere. How do you do it? How do you find time to do it? I suppose you never want any sleep? Poet, painter, novelist, journalist! Are you a sculptor as well, by chance?'
'Not yet. Perhaps——'
'Glutton! Are you a dramatist?'
'Again—not yet. Perhaps, some time——
'Insatiate! You are a Master of all the Arts. Alec Feilding, M.A.' He laughed pleasantly, again.
'You are the cleverest man in all London. Well; I sent you another story yesterday——'
'You did. I was about to write and thank you for it. Is it a true story?'