d under his hand; he reserved him for final
appeal or for some other mysterious use.

"You can't tell me you don't know her now," he said, one evening as the
two young men strolled along the Lichtenthal Alley--"now that you have
had a whole week's observation of her."

"What is a week's observation of a singularly clever and complicated
woman?" Bernard asked.

"Ah, your week has been of some use. You have found out she is
complicated!" Gordon rejoined.

"My dear Gordon," Longueville exclaimed, "I don't see what it signifies
to you that I should find Miss Vivian out! When a man 's in love, what
need he care what other people think of the loved object?"

"It would certainly be a pity to care too much. But there is some excuse
for him in the loved object being, as you say, complicated."

"Nonsense! That 's no excuse. The loved object is always complicated."

Gordon walked on in silence a moment.

"Well, then, I don't care a button what you think!"

"Bravo! That 's the way a man should talk," cried Longueville.

Gordon indulged in another fit of meditation, and then he said--

"Now that leaves you at liberty to say what you please."

"Ah, my dear fellow, you are ridiculous!" said Bernard.

"That 's precisely what I want you to say. You always think me too
reasonable."

"Well, I go back to my first assertion. I don't know Miss Vivian--I mean
I don't know her to have opinions about her. I don't suppose you wish
me to string you off a dozen mere banalites--'She 's a charming
girl--evidently a superior person--has a great deal of style.'"

"Oh no," said Gordon; "I know all that. But, at any rate," he added,
"you like her, eh?"

"I do more," said Longueville. "I admire her."

"Is that doing more?" asked Gordon, reflectively.

"Well, the greater, whichever it is, includes the less."

"You won't commit yourself," said Gordon. "My dear Bernard," he added,
"I thought you knew such an immense deal about women!"

Gordon Wright was of so kindly and candid a nature that it is hardly
conceivable that this remark should have been framed to make Bernard
commit himself by putting him on his mettle. Such a view would imply
indeed on Gordon's part a greater familiarity with the uses of irony
than he had ever possessed, as well as a livelier conviction of the
irritable nature of his friend's vanity. In fact, however, it may be
confided to the reader that Bernard was pricked in a tender place,
though the resentment of va