"They say imagination can make a paradise of a desert, given the necessary
contingencies."

"A solitude of two who love? Dr. Kemp, methinks you are a romantic."

"You supplied the romance, Miss Gwynne. My knowledge is of the hard,
matter-of-fact sort."

"Such as bones, I suppose. Still you seem to be interested in the
soft-looking piece of humanity over by that cabinet."

"Yes; his expression is reminiscent of a boy's definition of a vacuum, --a
large space with nothing in it. Who is he?"

"And I thought you not unknown! He is the husband of a brilliant woman,
Mrs. Ames, who has written a novel."

"Clever?"

"Decidedly so; it stands the test of being intoxicating and leaving a bad
taste in the mouth, --like dry champagne."

"Which is not made for women."

"You mean school-girls. There she is, --that wisp of a creature listening
so eagerly to that elegant youth of the terrier breed. No wonder he
interests her; he is as full of information in piquant personal history as
a family lawyer, and his knowledge is as much public property as a social
city directory."