and
an intellectual face, as nearly as I can recall to mind.'

'Ah, there now, Owen, you _have_ described him! But I suppose he's not
generally called pleasing, or--'

'Handsome?'

'I scarcely meant that. But since you have said it, is he handsome?'

'Rather.'

'His tout ensemble is striking?'

'Yes--O no, no--I forgot: it is not. He is rather untidy in his
waistcoat, and neck-ties, and hair.'

'How vexing!... it must be to himself, poor thing.'

'He's a thorough bookworm--despises the pap-and-daisy school of
verse--knows Shakespeare to the very dregs of the foot-notes. Indeed,
he's a poet himself in a small way.'

'How delicious!' she said. 'I have never known a poet.'

'And you don't know him,' said Owen dryly.

She reddened. 'Of course I don't. I know that.'

'Have you received any answer to your advertisement?' he inquired.

'Ah--no!' she said, and the forgotten disappointment which had showed
itself in her face at different times during the day, became visible
again.

Another day passed away. On Thursday, without inquiry, she learnt more
of the head draughtsman. He and Graye had become very friendly, and he
had been tempted to show her brother a copy of some poems of his--some
serious and sad--some humorous--which had appeared in the poets' corner
of a magazine from time to time. Owen showed them now to Cytherea, who
instantly began to read them carefully and to think them very beautiful.

'Yes--Springrove's no fool,' said Owen sententiously.

'No fool!--I should think he isn't, indeed,' said Cytherea, looking up
from the paper in quite an excitement: 'to write such verses as these!'

'What logic are you chopping, Cytherea? Well, I don't mean on account of
the verses, because I haven't read them; but for what he said when the
fellows were talking about falling in love.'

'Which you will tell me?'

'He says that your true lover breathlessly finds himself engaged to a
sweetheart, like a man who has caught something in the dark. He doesn't
know whether it is a bat or a bird, and takes it to the light when he is
cool to learn what it is. He looks to see if she is the right age, but
right age or wrong age, he must consider her a prize. Sometime later he
ponders whether she is the right kind of prize for him. Right kind or
wrong kind--he has called her his, and must abide by it. After a time he
asks himself, "Has she the temper, hair, and eyes I meant to have, and
was firmly resolved not to do wit