flavoured with epigram--was such a relief to her that Elfride
smiled, almost laughed, in the new-comer's face.

Stephen Smith, who has hitherto been hidden from us by the
darkness, was at this time of his life but a youth in appearance,
and barely a man in years. Judging from his look, London was the
last place in the world that one would have imagined to be the
scene of his activities: such a face surely could not be nourished
amid smoke and mud and fog and dust; such an open countenance
could never even have seen anything of 'the weariness, the fever,
and the fret' of Babylon the Second.

His complexion was as fine as Elfride's own; the pink of his
cheeks as delicate. His mouth as perfect as Cupid's bow in form,
and as cherry-red in colour as hers. Bright curly hair; bright
sparkling blue-gray eyes; a boy's blush and manner; neither
whisker nor moustache, unless a little light-brown fur on his
upper lip deserved the latter title: this composed the London
professional man, the prospect of whose advent had so troubled
Elfride.

Elfride hastened to say she was sorry to tell him that Mr.
Swancourt was not able to receive him that evening, and gave the
reason why. Mr. Smith replied, in a voice boyish by nature and
manly by art, that he was very sorry to hear this news; but that
as far as his reception was concerned, it did not matter in the
least.

Stephen was shown up to his room. In his absence Elfride
stealthily glided into her father's.