t even the doting father had laid aside his grudge, and turned into
special pleader. He had advanced one by one the different claims to
consideration possessed by the said suitor, and to every argument Margot
had meekly agreed, until the moment arrived at which she was naturally
expected to say "Yes" to the concluding exhortation, when she said "No"
with much fervour, and stuck to it to the end of the chapter. Pressed
for reasons for her obstinacy, she could advance none more satisfying
than that "she did not like the shape of his ears"! but the worthy man
was rejected nevertheless, and took a voyage to the Cape to blow away
his disappointment.

No man crossed as much as a road for the sake of Agnes Vane! It was a
tragedy, because this incapacity of her nature by no means prohibited
the usual feminine desire for appreciation. Agnes could not understand
why she was invariably passed over in favour of her sisters, and why
even her father was more influenced by the will-o'-the-wisp Margot than
by her own staid maxims. Agnes could not understand many things. In
this obtuseness, perhaps, and in a deadly lack of humour lay the secret
of her limitations.

On the morning after the conversation between the brother and sister
recorded in the last chapter the young poet paced his attic sitting-
room, wrestling with lines that halted, and others which were palpably
artificial. Margot's accusations had gone home, and instead of
indulging in fresh flights, he resolved to correct certain errors in the
lines now on hand until the verses should be polished to a flawless
whole. Any one who has any experience with the pen understands the
difficulty of such a task, and the almost hopeless puzzle of changing a
stone in the mosaic without disturbing the whole. The infinite capacity
for taking pains is not by any means a satisfying definition of genius,
but it is certainly one great secret of success.

Ronald's awkward couplet gave him employment for the rest of the
morning, and lunch-time found him still dissatisfied. An adjective
avoided his quest--the right adjective; the one and only word which
expressed the precise shade of meaning desired. From the recesses of
his brain it peeped at him, now advancing so near that it was almost
within grasp, anon retreating to a shadowy distance. There was no help
for it but to wait for the moment when, tired of its game of hide-and-
seek, it would choose the most unexpected and inappropri