f my smile
from another boy, whose sisters had considered all the smiles they knew
and placed mine on top. My friend was scornful, and I bribed him to
mention the plebiscite to no one, but secretly I was elated and amazed.
I feel lost to-night without my smiles. I rose a moment ago to look for
it in my mirror.

I like to believe that she has it now. I think she may have some other
forgotten trifles of mine with it that make the difference between that
man and this. I remember her speaking of my smile, telling me it was my
one adornment, and taking it from me, so to speak, for a moment to let
me see how she looked in it; she delighted to make sport of me when she
was in a wayward mood, and to show me all my ungainly tricks of voice
and gesture, exaggerated and glorified in her entrancing self, like a
star calling to the earth: "See, I will show you how you hobble round,"
and always there was a challenge to me in her eyes to stop her if I
dared, and upon them, when she was most audacious, lay a sweet mist.

They all came to her court, as is the business of young fellows, to
tell her what love is, and she listened with a noble frankness, having,
indeed, the friendliest face for all engaged in this pursuit that can
ever have sat on woman. I have heard ladies call her coquette, not
understanding that she shone softly upon all who entered the lists
because, with the rarest intuition, she foresaw that they must go away
broken men and already sympathised with their dear wounds. All wounds
incurred for love were dear to her; at every true utterance about love
she exulted with grave approval, or it might be a with a little "ah!" or
"oh!" like one drinking deliciously. Nothing could have been more fair,
for she was for the first comer who could hit the target, which was her
heart.

She adored all beautiful things in their every curve and fragrance, so
that they became part of her. Day by day, she gathered beauty; had she
had no heart (she who was the bosom of womanhood) her thoughts would
still have been as lilies, because the good is the beautiful.

And they all forgave her; I never knew of one who did not forgive her;
I think had there been one it would have proved that there was a flaw in
her. Perhaps, when good-bye came she was weeping because all the pretty
things were said and done with, or she was making doleful confessions
about herself, so impulsive and generous and confidential, and so devoid
of humour, that they com