"Ah, yes, I forgot," interrupted Denham, "I did not finish my portrait.
This marvellous being is an athlete. She can ride any Bucephalus
produced, and rather prefers to do so bareback. She is a Michael Angelo
at painting, and has represented striking scenes from his 'Last Judgment'
on a set of after-dinner coffee cups. She drives, she skates, she swims,
she rows, she sails, has a thorough knowledge of business, and is up in
stocks, is femininely masculine and masculinely feminine, scorns novels,
and can order a dinner, is a churchwoman, and dresses always in the
latest style. Is there any thing else, Miss Phebe?"

"Only one thing else that I think you have rather forgotten, Mr.
Halloway: I love her and she is my friend."

"Miss Phebe," cried the young man in instant contrition, "have I hurt
you? Have I been thoughtless enough for that with my foolish fun? You
know I did not mean it. Will you forgive me?" He held out his hand.

Phebe hesitated. "Will you not make fun of her any more? And will you
like her if she comes? You know she may come here this summer; there is
just a chance of it. Will you promise?"

"I can safely promise to like any one whom you like, I know, Miss Phebe.
Soeur Angélique, make this stubborn child give me her hand. It is not
fitting that I crave absolution so abjectly."

"You are two silly children together," said Soeur Angélique, rising and
laughing. "You may settle your quarrels as you can while I order tea."

"Miss Phebe, have I really vexed you so much?" asked the young man,
earnestly, as his sister left the room. "You must know I would not do