For, although she falls short of true beauty, she has such
delicacy of outline, of colouring, an atmosphere so ethereal, that one
wants a brush of gossamer dipped in moonlight, not coarse canvas,
camel's hair, and oils, if one is even to do her justice. Some day I
must try water-colours, or pastels. _Sans doute ca ira mieux_." He
was off on his Pegasus now, far above Mrs Mayhew's bewildered head.
"She would make a divine Undine--moonlight, and overhanging trees. The
face and figure dimly seen through a veil of water weeds.--But where is
she, then?" he broke off, falling suddenly to earth like a rocket.
"May one see her this afternoon? I want to hear from herself that she
is satisfied."

Mrs Mayhew smiled and nodded, a world of comprehension in her eyes.

"Yes, yes, I can quite believe _that_. I will tell her you are here.
She looked rather a wisp after the dance last night, so I sent her up
to rest, for the sake of her complexion! But, of _course_, she must
come down now. You will find her more entertaining than '_la petite
mere_,' She has taken to calling me that lately!"

The complacent little lady took a step forward, then--a bubble with
maternal satisfaction--spoke the word too much that is responsible for
half the minor miseries of life.

"Do you know, Mr Maurice, it is quite charming of you to have shown me
your feelings so openly, and I think the least that I can do is to
assure you of my sympathy and approval. I don't feel _quite_ so
certain about her father. He is wrapped up in the child, and man-like,
wants to keep her for himself. But no doubt between us we shall
persuade him to listen to reason! Now, I will go to Elsie."

But Michael made haste to interpose;--a changed Michael, puzzled to the
verge of anger, yet punctiliously polite withal.

"One moment, Mrs Mayhew, please. It might be as well if you and I
understood one another first. It seems that I have been clumsy in
expressing myself, that I have given you a false impression. If so, I
ask your pardon. Believe me, I fully sympathise with Colonel Mayhew's
reluctance to part with such a daughter; and I am not arrogant enough
to dream of asking him to make such a sacrifice,--on my behalf."

It was very neatly done. Michael's detached self, looking on at the
little scene, applauded it as quite a masterpiece in its way. But Mrs
Mayhew stood petrified. Her brain worked slowly, and it took her an
appreciable time to realise that she h