The Carissima

FEW persons (Hammond said) are truthful; yet the complete and experienced liar is rare. A really great lie, whether acted or spoken, is the supreme expression of a nature. It is an inspiration of genius. I make my bow to it with my hand on my heart. And all this reminds me of a man whom I once knew called LeversedgeConstantine Leversedge. For although he told, consciously at all events, no lies, he was intimately involved in the telling of one of a really superior order. And a young lady, eminently distinguished for the ripeness of her modernity, was involved in it also. I met Leversedge in London once in a way. Then he would disappear for an indefinite period, to returnvery long and lean and brownfurnished with a vocabulary floridly rich in abusive epithets applicable to South African society. He had business, as I understood, in those savage regions. And it must have proved remunerative, for he gave an increasing impression of prosperity each time I saw him. But whether it consisted in exploiting the aborigines, digging for diamonds, pulling the tail feathers out of live ostriches, or undertaking dental operations on dead elephants, I never exactly knew. He grew rich, voilà tout; and he really was a charming fellow, though his appearance always seemed to imply the near neighbourhood of a horsea thing which I, personally, find slightly irritating. For I have no drop of the blood of the Centaurs in me. I gravitate naturally, as you may say, to my own feet or to wheels. So that a being half equine, as are so many of the members of our great race, produces in me an annoying sense of the limitations of my opportunities. This, however, is a digression.It remains that this man Leversedge had just that hint of a stoop about the shoulders, indolent fashion of moving, and slightly distracted look across the eyes and brow which riding-men so frequently have. He had more legs, too, than are absolutely requisite in civilised society. I may mention, in passing, that he was delightfully clean; that his almost black beard was neatly trimmed, while his moustache, which was a quite bright brown, stood rather gallantly away from it. Had you arrayed him in white ruff and trunk-hose he would have made an admirable Elizabethan adventurer. Pardon these details, since it is necessary to the appreciation of what follows that you should see the creature "in his habit as he lived." The last time I met Leversedge was at a large summer hotel on the Lake of Geneva. It is a very commendable dwelling-place,according to the style of such things,situated in several acres of garden that stretch down to and along the lake shore. I abstain from localising it more particularly, for Leversedge's is not a name to conjure with there. Quite unintentionally he spoilt the manager's season for him. Even the British and American tourist, matter-of-fact animal though it is, has its superstitions. My friend's eccentric action aroused them, aroused them to the extent of making the owners of them run away. For he caused life suddenly to dip to the tragic levela thoughtless thing to do at any time, an almost criminal one at a summer hotel. But I am getting the cart before the horse. All that came later. Immediately, Leversedge appeared to be in the very heyday of success. He had attained. He had made his pile. The elephants and ostriches and South Africans, white or black, had receded into the Great Inane. The diamonds had receded also, saving and excepting the considerable store of those delightful stones that he had brought along with him, and destined for the delectation and adornment of his bride. For Leversedge's tastes were innocent, innocent to the point of matrimony. He was engaged to a young lady, by name Miss Charlotte Perry,playfully addressed by her father in moments of expansion as " carissima Carlotta mia,"had been so engaged for quite a number of years.

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