of those least inclined to idolatry of Nature. She was of the noblest
type of English beauty, and she seemed as calmly unconscious of its
excellence and rarity as one of the grand Greek women of the Parthenon.
She had, however, a sensuous fulness and bloom, a queenly carriage of
head and neck, a clearness of feature, and a liquid kindness of eye that
suggested a deep potentiality of passion.

They drove round the Row, and round again, and they talked and laughed
their fill of wisdom and frivolity and folly. To be foolish wisely and
gracefully is a rare attainment. When they had almost completed their
third round, Julius (who had finished a marvellous story of a fairy
princess and a cat) said, "I can see you are fond of beasts, Miss
Lefevre. I should like to take you to the Zoological Gardens and show
you my favourites there. May we go now, Lady Lefevre?"

"By all means," said Lady Lefevre, "let us go. What do you say, John?"

"Oh, wherever you like, mother," answered her son.

Arrived in the Gardens, Julius took possession of his companions, and
exerted all his arts to charm and fascinate. He led the ladies from cage
to cage, from enclosure to enclosure, showed himself as familiar with
the characters and habits of their wild denizens as a farmer is with
those of his stock, and they responded to his strange calls, to his
gentleness and fearlessness, with an alert understanding and confidence
beautiful to see. His favourites were certain creatures of the deer
species, which crowded to their fences to sniff his clothes, and to lick
his hands, which he abandoned to their caresses with manifest
satisfaction. His example encouraged the queenly Nora and her sprightly
mother to feed the beautiful creatures with bread and buns, and to feel