"He went away with his teeth shut--" and Mr. Carlyon's smile deepened as
he stroked his white beard.

Halcyone laughed. She seldom asked questions herself. If the Professor
wished to tell her anything about the ladies he would do so--she was
dying to hear! Presently a set of disjointed sentences flowed from her
master's lips between his puffs of smoke.

"Girl--worth something--showy--honest--sure of
herself--clever--pretty--on her own roots--not a graft."

"Girl"--who was the girl? Halcyone wondered. But Cheiron continued his
laconic utterances.

"Woman--beautiful--determined--thick--roots of the commonest--grafting
of the best--octopean, tenacious--dangerous--my poor devil of a John!"

"And did you give the apple to either, Cheiron?" Halcyone asked with a
gleam of fine humor in her wise eyes. "Or, one of the trio being absent,
did you feel yourself excused?"

Mr. Carlyon glanced at her sharply, and then broke into a smile.

"Young woman, I do not think I have ever allowed you to read the
Judgment of Paris," he said. "Wherefore your question is ill-timed and
irrelevant."

Then they laughed together. How well they knew one another!--not only
over things Greek. And presently they began their reading. They were in
the middle of Symonds' "Renaissance," and so forgot the outer world.