shining white, especially when the moon goes in. Then you look like a
beautiful spirit new lit upon the edge of the world."

At first Mary was pleased, the compliment was obvious, and, coming from
Morris, great. She had never heard him say so much as that before. Then
she thought an instant, and the echo of the word "spirit" came back to
her mind, and jarred upon it with a little sudden shock. Even when he
had a lovely woman at his side must his fancy be wandering to these
unearthly denizens and similes.

"Please, Morris," she said almost sharply, "do not compare me to a
spirit. I am a woman, nothing more, and if it is not enough that I
should be a woman, then----" she paused, to add, "I beg your pardon,
I know you meant to be nice, but once I had a friend who went in for
spirits--table-turning ones I mean--with very bad results, and I detest
the name of them."

Morris took this rebuff better than might have been expected.

"Would you object if one ventured to call you an angel?" he asked.

"Not if the word was used in a terrestrial sense. It excites a vision of
possibilities, and the fib is so big that anyone must pardon it."

"Very well, then; I call you that."

"Thank you, I should be delighted to return the compliment. Can you
think of any celestial definition appropriate to a young gentleman with
dark eyes?"