soaring into its old heavens.

"He does not care for music!" interjected Sir Purcell, with something
like a frown. "I have nothing in common with him. But that I might have
known. I can have nothing in common with a man who is not to be
impressed by music."

"I love him quite as well," said Emilia. "He is a quick friend. I am
always certain of him."

"And I imagine also that you are quits with your quick friend," added
Sir Purcell. "You do not care for verse, or he for voices!"

"Poetry?" said Emilia; "no, not much. It seems like talking on tiptoe;
like animals in cages, always going to one end and back again...."

"And making the same noise when they get at the end--like the bears!" Sir
Purcell slightly laughed. "You don't approve of the rhymes?"

"Yes, I like the rhymes; but when you use words--I mean, if you are in
earnest--how can you count and have stops, and--no, I do not care
anything for poetry."

Sir Purcell's opinion of Emilia, though he liked her, was, that if a
genius, she was an incomplete one; and his positive judgement (which I
set down in phrase that would have startled him) ranked both her and
Tracy as a pair of partial humbugs, entertaining enough. They were both
too real for him.

Haply at that moment the girl was intensely susceptible, for she chilled