and fastidious women like Madame Tallafferr--unite in terming a smiling
human freckle "_sweet_," there is nothing more to be said. Adonis may as
well take a back seat and the Apollo Belvedere seek the helpful
resources of a beauty parlor. Said young Phil carelessly:

"Dominie, who's the newcomer?"

"That," said I, "is Barbran."

"Barbran," he repeated with a rising inflection. "It sounds like a
breakfast food."

"As she pronounces it, it sounds like a strain of music," said I.

"What's the rest of her name?"

"I am not officially authorized to communicate that."

"Are you officially authorized to present your friends to her?"

"On what do you base your claim to acquaintanceship, my boy?" I asked
austerely.

"Oh, claim! Well, you see, a couple of days ago, she was on the
cross-town car; and I--well, I just happened to notice her, you know.
That's all."

"Yet I am informed on good and sufficient authority that her appearance
is not such as to commend her, visually, if I may so express myself, to
the discriminating eye."