"You speak just like him," laughed our youth.

"Ah but sometimes I want to"--and the girl coloured. "I don't read
everything--I read very little. But I _have_ read you."

"Suppose we go into the gallery," said Paul Overt. She pleased him
greatly, not so much because of this last remark--though that of course
was not too disconcerting--as because, seated opposite to him at
luncheon, she had given him for half an hour the impression of her
beautiful face. Something else had come with it--a sense of generosity,
of an enthusiasm which, unlike many enthusiasms, was not all manner. That
was not spoiled for him by his seeing that the repast had placed her
again in familiar contact with Henry St. George. Sitting next her this
celebrity was also opposite our young man, who had been able to note that
he multiplied the attentions lately brought by his wife to the General's
notice. Paul Overt had gathered as well that this lady was not in the
least discomposed by these fond excesses and that she gave every sign of
an unclouded spirit. She had Lord Masham on one side of her and on the
other the accomplished Mr. Mulliner, editor of the new high-class lively
evening paper which was expected to meet a want felt in circles
increasingly conscious that Conservatism must be made amusing, and
unconvinced when assured by those of another political colour that it was
already amusing enough. At the end of an hour spent in her company Paul
Overt thought her still prettier than at the first radiation, and if her
profane allusions to her husband's work had not still rung in his ears he
should have liked her--so far as it could be a question of that in
connexion with a woman to whom he had not yet spoken and to whom probably
he should never speak if it were left to her. Pretty women were a clear
need to this genius, and for the hour it was Miss Fancourt who supplied
the want. If Overt had promised himself a closer view the occasion was