tensibly poetry was
pursued at the meetings of what Lawrence Newt called the Round Table.

"Why not? We have our King Arthur, and our Merlin the Enchanter," he
said.

"A speech from Mr. Merlin," cried Amy, gayly, while Hope looked up from
her work with encouraging, queenly eyes. Arthur looked at them eagerly.

"Oh, Diana! Diana!" he thought, but did not say. That was the only speech
he made, and nobody heard it.

The meetings of the Round Table were devoted to poetry, but of a very
practical kind. It was pure romance, but without any thing technically
romantic. Mrs. Waring often sat with the little party, and, as she
worked, talked with Lawrence Newt of earlier days--"days when you were
not born, dears," she said, cheerfully, as if to appropriate Mr. Newt.
And whenever she made this kind of allusion Amy's work became very
intricate indeed, demanding her closest attention. But Hope Wayne,
remembering her first evening in his society, raised her eyes again with
curiosity, and as she did so Lawrence smiled kindly and gravely, and his
eyes hung upon hers as if he saw again what he had thought never to see;
while Hope resolved that she would ask him under what circumstances he
had known Pinewood. But the opportunity had not yet arrived. She did
not wish to ask before the others. There are some secrets that we
involuntarily respect, while we only know that they are secrets.

The more Arthur Merlin saw of Hope Wayne the more delighted he was to
think how impossible it was for him, in view of his profound devotion to
his art, to think of beautiful women in any other light than that of
picturesque subjects.

"Really, Mr. Newt," Arthur said to him one evening as they were dining
together at Delmonico's--which was then in William Street--"if I were to
paint a picture of Diana when she loved Endymion--a picture, by-the-by,
which I intend to paint--I should want to ask Miss Wayne to sit to me for
the principal figure. It is really remarkable what a subdued splendor
there is about her--Diana blushing, you know, as it were--the moon
delicately veiled in cloud. It would be superb, I assure you."

Lawrence Newt smiled--he often smiled--as he wiped his mouth, and asked,

"Who would you ask to sit for Endymion?"

"Well, let me see," replied Arthur, cheerfully, and pondering as if to
determine who was exactly the man. It was really beautiful to see his
exclusive enthusiasm for his art. "Let me see. How would it do to paint
an ide