Sylvie and Bruno | Page 7

hands of a first-rate London doctor, with whom it would
be utter affectation for me to pretend to compete. (I make no doubt he
is right in saying the heart is affected: all your symptoms point that
way.) One thing, at any rate, I have already done in my doctorial
capacity--secured you a bedroom on the ground-floor, so that you will
not need to ascend the stairs at all.
"I shalt expect you by last train on Friday, in accordance with your
letter: and, till then, I shalt say, in the words of the old song, 'Oh for
Friday nicht! Friday's lang a-coming!'
"Yours always,
"ARTHUR FORESTER.
"P.S. Do you believe in Fate?"
This Postscript puzzled me sorely. "He is far too sensible a man," I
thought, "to have become a Fatalist. And yet what else can he mean by
it?" And, as I folded up the letter and put it away, I inadvertently

repeated the words aloud. "Do you believe in Fate?"
The fair 'Incognita' turned her head quickly at the sudden question. "No,
I don't!" she said with a smile. "Do you?"
"I--I didn't mean to ask the question!" I stammered, a little taken aback
at having begun a conversation in so unconventional a fashion.
The lady's smile became a laugh--not a mocking laugh, but the laugh of
a happy child who is perfectly at her ease. "Didn't you?" she said.
"Then it was a case of what you Doctors call 'unconscious
cerebration'?"
"I am no Doctor," I replied. "Do I look so like one? Or what makes you
think it?"
She pointed to the book I had been reading, which was so lying that its
title, "Diseases of the Heart," was plainly visible.
"One needn't be a Doctor," I said, "to take an interest in medical books.
There's another class of readers, who are yet more deeply interested--"
"You mean the Patients?" she interrupted, while a look of tender pity
gave new sweetness to her face. "But," with an evident wish to avoid a
possibly painful topic, "one needn't be either, to take an interest in
books of Science. Which contain the greatest amount of Science, do
you think, the books, or the minds?"
"Rather a profound question for a lady!" I said to myself, holding, with
the conceit so natural to Man, that Woman's intellect is essentially
shallow. And I considered a minute before replying. "If you mean
living minds, I don't think it's possible to decide. There is so much
written Science that no living person has ever read: and there is so
much thought-out Science that hasn't yet been written. But, if you mean
the whole human race, then I think the minds have it: everything,
recorded in books, must have once been in some mind, you know."
"Isn't that rather like one of the Rules in Algebra?" my Lady enquired.

("Algebra too!" I thought with increasing wonder.) "I mean, if we
consider thoughts as factors, may we not say that the Least Common
Multiple of all the minds contains that of all the books; but not the
other way?"
"Certainly we may!" I replied, delighted with the illustration. "And
what a grand thing it would be," I went on dreamily, thinking aloud
rather than talking, "if we could only apply that Rule to books! You
know, in finding the Least Common Multiple, we strike out a quantity
wherever it occurs, except in the term where it is raised to its highest
power. So we should have to erase every recorded thought, except in
the sentence where it is expressed with the greatest intensity."
My Lady laughed merrily. "Some books would be reduced to blank
paper, I'm afraid!" she said.
"They would. Most libraries would be terribly diminished in bulk. But
just think what they would gain in quality!"
"When will it be done?" she eagerly asked. "If there's any chance of it
in my time, I think I'll leave off reading, and wait for it!"
"Well, perhaps in another thousand years or so--"
"Then there's no use waiting!", said my Lady. "Let's sit down. Uggug,
my pet, come and sit by me!"
"Anywhere but by me!" growled the Sub-warden. "The little wretch
always manages to upset his coffee!"
I guessed at once (as perhaps the reader will also have guessed, if, like
myself, he is very clever at drawing conclusions) that my Lady was the
Sub-Warden's wife, and that Uggug (a hideous fat boy, about the same
age as Sylvie, with the expression of a prize-pig) was their son. Sylvie
and Bruno, with the Lord Chancellor, made up a party of seven.
[Image...A portable plunge-bath]

"And you actually got a plunge-bath every morning?" said the
Sub-Warden, seemingly in continuation of a conversation with the
Professor. "Even at the little roadside-inns?"
"Oh, certainly, certainly!" the Professor replied