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competition. Barnby eyed her. She took no notice of him whatever, noting our orders in silence and disappearing.
    ‘Too thin for my taste,’ said Barnby. ‘I like a good armful.’
    ‘This lascivious conversation is very appropriate to the memory of the distinguished Venetian gentleman after whom the restaurant is named,’ said Maclintick harshly. ‘What a bore he must have been.’
    He leant across the table, and, like an angry woodpecker, began to tap out his pipe against the side of a large Schweppes ashtray.
    ‘Do you suppose one would have known Casanova?’ I said.
    ‘Oh, but of course,’ said Moreland. ‘In early life, Casanova played the violin – like Carolo. Casanova played in a band – I doubt if he would have been up to a solo performance. I can just imagine what he would have been like to deal with if one had been the conductor. Besides, he much fancied himself as a figure at the opera and musical parties. One would certainly have met him. At least I am sure I should.’
    ‘Think of having to listen to interminable stories about his girls,’ said Maclintick. ‘I could never get through Casanova’s Memoirs. Why should he be considered a great man just because he had a lot of women? Most men would have ended by being bored to death.’
    ‘That is why he was a great man,’ said Moreland. ‘It wasn’t the number of women he had, it was the fact that he didn’t get bored. But there are endless good things there apart from the women. Do you remember when in London he overhears someone remark: “Tommy has committed suicide and he did quite right” – to which another person replies: “On the contrary, he did a very foolish thing, for I am one of his creditors and know that he need not have made away with himself for six months”.’
    Barnby and I laughed at this anecdote. Maclintick did not smile. At the same time he seemed struck by the story. He was silent for some moments. When he spoke again it was in a manner at once more serious, more friendly, than any tone he had previously employed that evening.
    ‘I see nothing particularly funny in their conversation,’ he said. ‘That is how I propose to behave myself when the time comes. But I agree that Tommy was a fool to misjudge his term of days. I shall not do that. I give myself at least five more years at the present rate. That should allow me time to finish my book.’
    ‘Still,’ said Moreland, ‘however bent one may be on the idea of eventual suicide oneself, you must admit, Maclintick, that such sentiments must have sounded odd to a man of Casanova’s joie de vivre. Anyway, professional seducers never commit suicide. They haven’t time.’
    ‘The notable thing about professional seducers,’ said Maclintick, now returning to his former carping tone of voice, ‘is the rot they talk when they are doing their seducing. There is not a single cliché they leave unsaid.’
    ‘Although by definition the most egotistical of men,’ said Moreland, ‘they naturally have to develop a certain anonymity of style to make themselves acceptable to all women. It is the case of the lowest common factor – or is it the highest common denominator? If you hope to rise to the top class in seducing, you must appeal to the majority. As the majority are not very intelligent, you must conceal your own intelligence – if you have the misfortune to possess such a thing – in order not to frighten the girls off. There is inevitably something critical, something alarming to personal vanity, in the very suggestion of intelligence in another. That is almost equally true of dealing with men, so don’t think I hold it against women. All I say is, that someone like myself ought to restrict themselves to intelligent girls who see my own good points. Unfortunately, they are rarely the sort of girls I like.’
    Barnby grunted, no doubt feeling some of these strictures in part applicable to himself.
    ‘What do you expect to do?’ he asked. ‘Give readings