gimcrackery."

"You are a very gracious lady. I said so long ago," replied Septimus.

"I think I'm a fool," said Zora.

His face assumed a look of horror. His goddess a fool? She laughed gaily.

"You look as if you were about to remark, 'If any man had said that, the
word would have been his last'! But I am, really. I thought there might be
something between you and Emmy and that a little encouragement might help
you. Forgive me. You see," she went on, a trace of dewiness in her frank
eyes, "I love Emmy dearly, and in a sort of way I love you, too. And need I
give any more explanation?"

It was an honorable amends, royally made. Zora had a magnificent style in
doing such things: an indiscreet, venturesome, meddlesome princess she
might be, if you will; somewhat unreserved, somewhat too conscious of her
own Zoraesque sufficiency to possess the true womanly intuition and
sympathy; but still a princess who had the grand manner in her scorn of
trivialities. Septimus's hand shook a little as he fitted the tail to the
hollow bit of china dog-end. It was sweet to be loved, although it was
bitter to be loved in a sort of way. Even a man like Septimus Dix has his
feelings. He had to hide them.

"You make me very happy," he said. "Your caring so much for me as to wish
me to marry your sister, I shall never forget it. You see, I've never
thought of her in that way. I suppose I don't think of women at all in that
way," he went on, with a certain splendid mendacity. "It's a case of
cog-wheels instead of corpuscles. I'm just a heathen bit of machinery, with