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ly acquiring the intolerance of belief。
‘I am growing up；’ she thought； taking her taper at last。 ‘I am losing some illusions；’ she said； shutting Queen Mary’s book； ‘perhaps to acquire others；’ and she descended among the tombs where the bones of her ancestors lay。
But even the bones of her ancestors； Sir Miles； Sir Gervase； and the rest； had lost something of their sanctity since Rustum el Sadi had waved his hand that night in the Asian mountains。 Somehow the fact that only three or four hundred years ago these skeletons had been men with their way to make in the world like any modern upstart； and that they had made it by acquiring houses and offices； garters and ribbands； as any other upstart does； while poets； perhaps； and men of great mind and breeding had preferred the quietude of the country； for which choice they paid the penalty by extreme poverty； and now hawked broadsheets in the Strand； or herded sheep in the fields； filled her with remorse。 She thought of the Egyptian pyramids and what bones lie beneath them as she stood in the crypt； and the vast； empty hills which lie above the Sea of Marmara seemed； for the moment； a finer dwelling–place than this many–roomed mansion in which no bed lacked its quilt and no silver dish its silver cover。
‘I am growing up；’ she thought； taking her taper。 ‘I am losing my illusions； perhaps to acquire new ones；’ and she paced down the long gallery to her bedroom。 It was a disagreeable process； and a troublesome。 But it was interesting； amazingly； she thought； stretching her legs out to her log fire （for no sailor was present）； and she reviewed； as if it were an avenue of great edifices； the progress of her own self along her own past。
How she had loved sound when she was a boy； and thought the volley of tumultuous syllables from the lips the finest of all poetry。 Then—it was the effect of Sasha and her disillusionment perhaps—into this high frenzy was let fall some black drop； which turned her rhapsody into sluggishness。 Slowly there had opened within her something intricate and many–chambered； which one must take a torch to explore； in prose not verse； and she remembered how passionately she had studied that doctor at Norwich； Browne； whose book was at her hand there。 She had formed here in solitude after her affair with Greene； or tried to form； for Heaven knows these growths are agelong in ing； a spirit capable of resistance。 ‘I will write；’ she had said； ‘what I enjoy writing’； and so had scratched out twenty–six volumes。 Yet still； for all her travels and adventures and profound thinkings and turnings this way and that； she was only in process of fabrication。 What the future might bring； Heaven only knew。 Change was incessant； and change perhaps would never cease。 High battlements of thought； habits that had seemed durable as stone； went down like shadows at the touch of another mind and left a naked sky and fresh stars twinkling in it。 Here she went to the window； and in spite of the cold could not help unlatching it。 She leant out into the damp night air。 She heard a fox bark in the woods； and the clutter of a pheasant trailing through the branches。 She heard the snow slither and flop from the roof to the ground。 ‘By my life；’ she exclaimed； ‘this is a thousand times better than Turkey。 Rustum；’ she cried； as if she were arguing with the gipsy （and in this new power of bearing an argument in mind and continuing it with someone who was not there to contradict she showed again the development of her soul）； ‘you were wrong。 This is better than Turkey。 Hair； pastry； tobacco—of what odds and ends are we pounded；’ she said （thinking of Queen Mary’s prayer–book）。 ‘What a phantasmagoria the mind is and meeting–place of dissemblables！ At one moment we deplore our birth and state and aspire to an ascetic exaltation； the next we are overe by the smell of some old garden path and weep to hear the thrushes sing。’ And so bewildered as usual by the multitude of things which call for explanation and imprint their message without leaving any hint as to their meaning； she threw her cheroot out of the window and went to bed。
Next morning； in pursuance of these thoughts； she had out her pen and paper。 and started afresh upon ‘The Oak Tree’； for to have ink and paper in plenty when one has made do with berries and margins is a delight not to be conceived。 Thus she was now striking out a phrase in the depths of despair； now in the heights of ecstasy writing one in； when a shadow darkened the page。 She hastily hid her manuscript。
As her window gave on to the most central of the courts； as she had given orders that she would see no one； as she knew no one and was herself legally unknown； she was first surprised at the shadow； then indignant at it； then （when she looked up and saw what caused it） overe with merriment。 For it was a familiar shadow； a grotesque shadow； the shadow of no less a personage than the Archduchess Harriet Griselda of Finster–Aarhorn and Scand–op–Boom in the Roumanian territory。 She was loping across the court in her old black riding–habit and mantle as before。 Not a hair of her head was changed。 This then was the woman who had chased her from England！ This was the eyrie of that obscene vulture—this the fatal fowl herself！ At the thought that she had fled all the way to Turkey to avoid her seductions （now bee excessively flat）； Orlando laughed aloud。 There was something inexpressibly ic in the sight。 She resembled； as Orlando had thought before； nothing so much as a monstrous hare。 She had the staring eyes； the lank cheeks； the high headdress of that animal。 She stopped now； much as a hare sits erect in the corn when thinking itself unobserved； and stared at Orlando； who stared back at her from the window。 After they had stared like this for a certain time； there was nothing for it but to ask her in； and soon the two ladies were exchanging pliments while the Archduchess struck the snow from her mantle。
‘A plague on women；’ said Orlando to herself； going to the cupboard to fetch a glass of wine； ‘they never leave one a moment’s peace。 A more ferreting； inquisiting； busybodying set of people don’t exist。 It was to escape this Maypole that I left England； and now’—here she turned to present the Archduchess with the salver； and behold—in her place stood a tall gentleman in black。 A heap of clothes lay in the fender。 She was alone with a man。
Recalled thus suddenly to a consciousness of her sex； which she had pletely forgotten； and of his； which was now remote enough to be equally upsetting； Orlando felt seized with faintness。
‘La！’ she cried； putting her hand to her side； ‘how you frighten me！’
‘Gentle creature；’ cried the Archduchess； falling on one knee and at the same time pressing a cordial to Orlando’s lips； ‘forgive me for the deceit I have practised on you！’
Orlando sipped the wine and the Archduke knelt and kissed her hand。
In short； they acted the parts of man and woman for ten minutes with great vigour and then fell into natural discourse。 The Archduchess （but she must in future be known as the Archduke） told his story—that he was a man and always had been one； that he had seen a portrait of Orlando and fallen hopelessly in love with him； that to pass his ends； he had dressed as a woman and lodged at the Baker’s shop； that he was desolated when he fled to Turkey； that he had heard of her change and hastened to offer his services （here he teed and heed intolerably）。 For to him； said the Archduke Harry； she was and would ever be the Pink； the Pearl； the Perfection of her sex。 The three p’s would have been more persuasive if they had not been interspersed with tee–hees and haw–haws of the strangest kind。 ‘If this is love；’ said Orlando to herself； looking at the Archduke on the other side of the fender； and now from the woman’s point of view； ‘there is something highly ridiculous about it。’
Falling on his knees； the Archduke Harry made the most passionate declaration of his suit。 He told her that he had something like twenty million ducats in a strong box at his castle。 He had more acres than any nobleman in England。 The shooting was excellent： he could promise her a mixed bag of ptarmigan and grouse such as no English moor； or Scotch either； could rival。 True； the pheasants had suffered from the gape in his absence； and the does had slipped their young； but that could be put right； and would be with her help when they lived in Roumania together。
As he spoke； enormous tears formed in his rather prominent eyes and ran down the sandy tracts of his long and lanky cheeks。
That men cry as frequently and as unreasonably as women； Orlando knew from her own experience as a man； but she was beginning to be aware that women should be shocked when men display emotion in their presence； and so； shocked she was。
The Archduke apologized。 He manded himself sufficiently to say that he would leave her now； but would return on the following day for his answer。
That was a Tuesday。 He came on Wednesday； he came on Thursday； he came on Friday； and he came on Saturday。 It is true that each visit began； continued； or concluded with a declaration of love； but in between there was much room for silence。 They sat on either side of the fireplace and sometimes the Archduke knocked over the fire–irons and Orlando picked them up again。 Then the Archduke would bethink him how he had shot an elk in Sweden； and Orlando would ask； was it a very big elk； and the Archduke would say that it was not as big as the reindeer which he shot in Norway； and Orlando would ask； had he ever shot a tiger； and the Archduke would say he had shot an albatross； and Orlando would say （half hiding her yawn） was an albatross as big as an elephant； and the Archduke would say—something very sensible； no doubt； but Orlando heard it not； for she was looking at her writing–table； out of the window； at the door。 Upon which the Archduke would say； ‘I adore you’； at the very same moment that Orlando said ‘Look； it’s beginning to rain’； at which they were both much embarrassed； and blushed scarlet； and could neither of them think what to say next。 Indeed； Orlando was at her wit’s end what to talk about and had she not bethought her of a game called Fly Loo； at which great sums of money can be lost with very little expense of spirit； she would have had to marry him； she supposed； for how else to get rid of him she knew not。 By this device； however； and it was a simple one； needing only three lumps of sugar and a sufficiency of flies； the embarrassment of conversation was overe and the necessity of marriage avoided。 For now； the Archduke would bet her five hundred pounds to a tester that a fly would settle on this lump and not on that。 Thus； they would have occupation for a whole morning watching the flies （who were naturally sluggish at this season and often spent an hour or so circling round the ceiling） until at length some fine bluebottle made his choice and the match was won。 Many hundreds of pounds changed hands between them at this game； which the Archduke； who was a born gambler； swore was every bit as good as horse racing； and vowed he could play at for ever。 But Orlando soon began to weary。
What’s the good of being a fine young woman in the prime of life’； she asked； ‘if I have to pass all my mornings watching blue–bottles with an Archduke？’
She began to detest the sight of sugar； flies made her dizzy。 Some way out of the difficulty there must be； she supposed； but she was still awkward in the arts of her sex； and as she could no longer knock a man over the head or run him through the body with a rapier； she could think of no better method than this。 She caught a blue–bottle； gently pressed the life out of it （it was half dead already； or her kindness for the dumb creatures would not have permitted it） and secured it by a drop of gum arabic to a lump of sugar。 While the Archduke was gazing at the ceiling； she deftly substituted this lump for the one she had laid her money on； and crying ‘Loo Loo！’ declared that she had won her bet。 Her reckoning was that the Archduke； with all his knowledge of sport and horseracing； would detect the fraud and； as to cheat at Loo is the most heinous of crimes； and men have been banished from the society of mankind to that of apes in the tropics for ever because of it； she calculated that he would be manly enough to refuse to have anything further to do with her。 But she misjudged the simplicity of the amiable nobleman。 He was no nice judge of flies。 A dead fly looked to him much the same as a living one。 She played the trick twenty times on him and he paid her over 17；250 pounds （which is about 40；885 pounds 6 shillings and 8 pence of our own money） before Orlando cheated so grossly that even he could be deceived no longer。 When he realized the truth at last； a painful scene ensued。 The Archduke rose to his full height。 He coloured scarlet。 Tears rolled down his cheeks one by one。 That she had won a fortune from him was nothing—she was wele to it； that she had deceived him was something—it hurt him to think her capable of it； but that she had cheated at Loo was everything。 To love a woman who cheated at play was； he said； impossible。 Here he broke down pletely。 Happily； he said； recove