»Why not another?« she enquired as I sat there hesitating and thinking it over; and she wished to know why even now and before taking the trouble of becoming an inmate – which might be wretchedly uncomfortable after all, even if it succeeded – I had n't the resource of simply offering them a sum of money down. In that way I might get what I wanted without bad nights.

»Dearest lady,« I exclaimed, »excuse the impatience of my tone when I suggest that you must have forgotten the very fact – surely I communicated it to you – which threw me on your ingenuity. The old woman won't have her relics and tokens so much as spoken of; they're personal, delicate, intimate, and she has n't the feelings of the day, God bless her! If I should sound that note first I should certainly spoil the game. I can arrive at my spoils only by putting her off her guard, and I can put her off her guard only by ingratiating diplomatic arts. Hypocrisy, duplicity are my only chance. I'm sorry for it, but there's no baseness I would n't commit for Jeffrey Aspern's sake. First I must take tea with her – then tackle the main job.« And I told over what had happened to John Cumnor on his respectfully writing to her. No notice whatever had been taken of his first letter, and the second had been answered very sharply, in six lines, by the niece. »Miss Bordereau requested her to say that she could n't imagine what he meant by troubling them. They had none of Mr. Aspern's ›literary remains,‹ and if they had had would n't have dreamed of showing them to any one on any account whatever. She could n't imagine what he was talking about and begged he would let her alone.« I certainly did n't want to be met that way.

»Well,« said Mrs. Prest after a moment and all provokingly, »perhaps they really have n't anything. If they deny it flat how are you sure?«

»John Cumnor's sure, and it would take me long to tell you how his conviction, or his very strong presumption – strong enough to stand against the old lady's not unnatural fib – has built itself up. Besides, he makes much of the internal evidence of the niece's letter.«

»The internal evidence?«

»Her calling him ›Mr. Aspern.‹«

»I don't see what that proves.«

»It proves familiarity, and familiarity implies the possession of mementoes, of tangible objects. I can't tell you how that ›Mr.‹ affects me – how it bridges over the gulf of time and brings our hero near to me – nor what an edge it gives to my desire to see Juliana. You don't say ›Mr.‹ Shakespeare.«

»Would I, any more, if I had a box full of his letters?«

»Yes, if he had been your lover and some one wanted them.« And I added that John Cumnor was so convinced, and so all the more convinced by Miss Bordereau's tone, that he would have come himself to Venice on the undertaking were it not for the obstacle of his having, for any confidence, to disprove his identity with the person who had written to them, which the old ladies would be sure to suspect in spite of dissimulation and a change of name. If they were to ask him point-blank if he were not their snubbed correspondent it would be too awkward for him to lie; whereas I was fortunately not tied in that way. I was a fresh hand – I could protest without lying.

»But you'll have to take a false name,« said Mrs. Prest. »Juliana lives out of the world as much as it is possible to live, but she has none the less probably heard of Mr. Aspern's editors. She perhaps possesses what you've published.«

»I've thought of that,« I returned; and I drew out of my pocket-book a visiting-card neatly engraved with a well-chosen nom de guerre.

»You're very extravagant – it adds to your immorality. You might have done it in pencil or ink,« said my companion.

»This looks more genuine.«

»Certainly you've the courage of your curiosity. But it will be awkward about your letters; they won't come to you in that mask.«

»My banker will take them in and I shall go every day to get them. It will give me a little walk.«

»Shall you depend all on that?« asked Mrs. Prest. »Are n't you coming to see me?«

»Oh you'll have left Venice for the hot months long before there are any results. I'm prepared to roast all summer – as well as through the long hereafter perhaps you'll say! Meanwhile John Cumnor will bombard me with letters addressed, in my feigned name, to the care of the padrona.«

»She'll recognise his hand,« my companion suggested.

»On the envelope he can disguise it.«

»Well, you're a precious pair! Does n't it occur to you that even if you're able to say you're not Mr.