equently up to
February, when I went to the Continent, but have not called on her
since my return.

'I met her first at her mother's town house, where there were several
people who admitted their greatness with an aplomb one was forced to
admire. This girl sort of sat there and said nothing, but her silence
had a good deal more in it than some of the talk. We had our first
chat that night by the fire, next morning went riding in Rotten Row,
and had dinner together the same night. Fast travelling, you say? On
paper, yes; but actually I don't know the girl any better now than the
night I met her. She's a strange creature--self-willed, fiery, sweet,
and sometimes as clever as your Ancient Adversary. But friendship with
her makes me think of the days when I was a kid. My great hobby was
building sky-scrapers with blocks, and very laboriously I would erect
the structure up to the point when "feeding-time" or "washing-time" or
"being shown to the minister" used always to intervene. When I
returned, the blocks had always fallen down. Well, friendship with
Elise (pretty name, isn't it?) is not unlike my experience with the
blocks. You can leave her, firmly convinced that at last you are on a
basis of real understanding; and two or three days later, when you meet
her again, you find all the blocks lying around in disorder. Instead
of a friend, one is an esteemed acquaintance. The only way to win her,
I suppose, would be to call at dawn and stay until midnight. It would
be a bit trying, but I get awfully "fed up" (as they say over here)
with being constantly recalled to the barrier.

'Of course, you old humbug, I can see you pursing your lips and saying,
"Does Austin really love her? If he did, he would be unable to see her
faults." It's an exploded theory that love is blind. Good heavens! if
a man in love can see in a girl beauty which doesn't exist, is there
any reason to suppose he will be unable to see the faults that _do_?

'But, candidly, I don't think I am in love with this young lady. I
might be if I were given half a chance; but, then, emotional icebergs
were always my specialty. I meet a dozen girls who treat me with a
tender cordiality that is touching; then there comes into my course one
who expresses a sort of friendly indifference, and there I stay
scorching my wings or freezing my toes--whichever figure of speech you
prefer.

'She makes me think of a painting sometimes, one that changes in
ap