" "You're tired of Bly?" "Oh, no, I like Bly. " I had put my candle, designedly, a short way off, and then, as he held out his friendly old hand to me, had sat down on the edge of his bed. The blackish, monkey-puckered face pursed its human mouth with gentle pleasure and its voice purred: --Delightful weather for March. What do we know about what she feels? But whatever she feels, it, at least, must be real.