Oh, 'tis the first, 'tis flattery in my seeing, and my great mind most kingly drinks it up. Mine eye well knows what with his gust is green, and to his palate doth prepare the cup. If it be poisoned, 'tis the lesser sin, that mine eye loves it, and doth first begin. But reckoning time, whose millioned accidents, creep in twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, tarns sacred beauty blunt the sharpest intents, diverts strong minds to the course of altering things. Alas, why fearing of time's tyranny, might I not then say, now I love you best, when I was certain or in certainty, crowning the present, doubting of the rest. Love is a babe, then might I not say so, to give full growth to that, which still doth grow. So I return rebuked to my content, and gain by ill, thrice more than I have spent. It was this observation that drew from Douglas, not immediately but later in the evening, a reply that had the interesting consequence to which I call attention. Some one else told a story not particularly effective, which I saw he was not following, cried one of the women. He took no notice of her. He looked at me, but as if, instead of me he saw what he spoke of. There was a unanimous groan at this, and much reproach, after which in his preoccupied way he explained. The story's written. I could write to my man and enclose the key, he could send down the packet as he finds it.