"Oh, but surely," she caught him up, "if their taste were
greater, their prosperity would be less?"

"I don't know," said he. "The Greeks were fairly prosperous,
were n't they? And the Venetians? And the French are not yet
quite bankrupt."

Still again she laughed--always with that little air of
humorous meditation.

"You--you don't exactly overwhelm one with compliments," she
observed.

He looked alarm, anxiety.

"Don't I? What have I neglected?" he cried.

"You 've never once evinced the slightest curiosity to learn
what I think of the book in question."

"Oh, I'm sure you like it," he rejoined hardily. "You have
'the seeing eye.'"

"And yet I'm just a humble member of the Anglo-Saxon public."

"No--you're a distinguished member of the Anglo-Saxon
'remnant.' Thank heaven, there's a remnant, a little scattered
remnant. I'm perfectly sure you like 'A Man of Words.'"