"An enchantress?" repeated Stanmer, looking at me askance.

He is a very simple youth, but who am I to blame him?

"A charmer," I said "a fascinatress!"

He turned away, staring at the altar candles.

"An artist--an actress," I went on, rather brutally.

He gave me another glance.

"I think you are telling me all," he said.

"No, no, there is more." And we sat a long time in silence.

At last he proposed that we should go out; and we passed in the street,
where the shadows had begun to stretch themselves.

"I don't know what you mean by her being an actress," he said, as we
turned homeward.

"I suppose not. Neither should I have known, if any one had said that to
me."

"You are thinking about the mother," said Stanmer. "Why are you always
bringing _her_ in?"

"My dear boy, the analogy is so great it forces itself upon me."