meant indecent; something calculated to raise a howl; something that the libraries would be obliged to ban; something that would, at any rate, not bring discredit upon him and his coterie. But "Trixie," O Lord! Of all the potageries, this was surely the most soupy. A filthy slop of stuff. Obscenely wholesome. Absolutely pornographical, it was so sweet and tender. And now poor old Dunk, having in all good faith perpetrated this calamity, had come to himself, perceived what he had done, and, in a panic, had hatched up with Chloë this story about the book being a burlesque. No, no, it wouldn't do. Not with them. They knew better.
Don't imagine that they cut Dunkle's acquaintance. So long as he kept open house in Grosvenor Street his acquaintance was a thing to be cultivated. "Trixie," having made a fortune for its author, was
