of alluding to her."

"Not to me," said Marian Fancourt with her clear eyes. "That wouldn't be
right, would it?" she asked gravely.

"Not particularly; so I'm glad he doesn't mention her to you. To praise
her might bore you, and he has no business to do anything else. Yet he
knows you better than me."

"Ah but he respects _you_!" the girl cried as with envy.

Her visitor stared a moment, then broke into a laugh. "Doesn't he
respect you?"

"Of course, but not in the same way. He respects what you've done--he
told me so, the other day."

Paul drank it in, but retained his faculties. "When you went to look at
types?"

"Yes--we found so many: he has such an observation of them! He talked a
great deal about your book. He says it's really important."

"Important! Ah the grand creature!"--and the author of the work in
question groaned for joy.

"He was wonderfully amusing, he was inexpressibly droll, while we walked
about. He sees everything; he has so many comparisons and images, and
they're always exactly right. C'est d'un trouve, as they say."