smooth arms, made he had thought for caressing, seemed muscular; the
hands meant for the doing of works of pity in his system, appeared
dexterous in the giving of "stingers," as Barnes might say, and the
smiling lips could sneer with great ease. Nor was he more fortunate in
his personal experiences. As has been told, Mrs. Dixon spoke of him in
connection with "judgments," and the younger ladies did not exactly
cultivate his acquaintance. Theoretically they "adored" books and thought
poetry "too sweet," but in practice they preferred talking about mares
and fox-terriers and their neighbors.

They were nice girls enough, very like other young ladies in other
country towns, content with the teaching of their parents, reading the
Bible every morning in their bedrooms, and sitting every Sunday in church
amongst the well-dressed "sheep" on the right hand. It was not their
fault if they failed to satisfy the ideal of an enthusiastic dreamy boy,
and indeed, they would have thought his feigned woman immodest, absurdly
sentimental, a fright ("never wears stays, my dear") and _horrid_.

At first he was a good deal grieved at the loss of that charming tender
woman, the work of his brain. When the Miss Dixons went haughtily by with
a scornful waggle, when the Miss Gervases passed in the wagonette
laughing as the mud splashed him, the poor fellow would look up with a
facie of grief that must have been very comic; "like a dying duck," as
Edith Gervase said. Edith was really very pretty, and he would have liked
to talk to her, even about fox-terriers, if she would have listened. One
afternoon at the Dixons' he really forced himself upon her, and with all
the obtuseness of an enthusiastic boy tried to discuss the _Lotus Eaters_
of Tennyson. It was too absurd. Captain Kempton was making signals to
Edith all the time, and Lieutenant Gatwick had gone off in disgust, and
he had promised to bring her a puppy "by Vick out of Wasp." At last the