“Oh, will he?” came a voice from above the canopy. “Then what about that bugger of a baronet underneath?”

It was arranged very artistically. I was not going to have it given away that I was a previously consenting party to the affair. Madame Karl, in the course of a casual conversation with Lord X, mentioned me; he declared his desire; she suggested he should go up to my bedroom, enter as if he had made a mistake (she told him that I would be undressing at the time), and it rested on his own initiative to complete the job.

I was undressing, that is to say I was pretty well in Eve's costume. Madame had warned me by speaking tube when he was nearly at the door, and when he entered he found me all stark naked but my chemise, and that fallen to my feet. Of course I uttered the time honored scream, covered my face with one hand and my mons veneris with the other, ran hither and thither about the room as if seeking cover and murmured, “Oh go away; please!”

But he didn't go; he rushed at me, pulled one hand from my face and kissed me on the lips; pulled the other hand from my cunt and felt it, in fact, in about one moment he had got me down on the bed and his prick was well into me, not one single word did he say till I could feel him coming and the first part of the entertainment was over. As I lay back on the bed, panting, while he rather shamefacedly put back his penis into his trousers, I managed to gasp out: “well! What a funny way to make love to a girl! Don't you ever say anything?”

He laughed, “I'm glad you're not furious,” he said, “but to tell the truth I was awfully nervous.”

“Nervous.” He need not have been, for I don't mind betting I wanted it even more than he that blessed afternoon. “Nervous.” How many a beautiful chance of exquisite sexual intercourse has been wasted by this wretched nervousness on the part of Mankind. I can call to mind a tale concerning a nervous person who asked another young man how he made small talk at parties, declaring himself always dumb on these occasions. “Oh, I don't worry much about frills in my conversation,” was the answer, “I just get the girl in a quiet corner, squeeze her hand and ask her if she likes fucking.”