“Well, Mr. Kent is an authority,” said the professor, surrendering a particular point with a certain grace. The little tribute fell gratefully on Clytie's ears. Suddenly she became conscious that her pleasure was greater than the occasion warranted. She turned round quickly to Mr. Vansittart, who was taking but mild interest in the affair, and somewhat abruptly opened a conversation. The Rev. Mr. Treherne joined them soon afterwards, asking permission to introduce a friend. Thus it came about that Clytie had a small group around her, and her interest in Kent's proceedings was checked for a time. Meanwhile Mrs. Farquharson had threaded her way through the crowd of black coats, and taken Kent off with her to an undisturbed corner. She was curious to examine Clytie's new “chum.” “So you live in the same house as Clytie Davenant. You rescued her from the flames, didn't you? She told me something about it. What happened, exactly?” Kent sketched briefly the little scene with the blazing curtains, and mentioned his visit next day and his subsequent meetings with Clytie. He politely expressed his agreeable surprise at meeting her to-night. “And what do you think of her?” asked Mrs. Farquharson confidentially. “I dare say it's an odd question, but if you will come and see us again, you will find we are given to saying odd things.” “Like Miss Davenant?” “You have found that out already? Well, come, what do you think of her?” “Honestly, or conventionally?” “If I meant conventionally, I should not ask you the question.” Kent waited for a moment, stroking his beard. He was scarcely prepared with an answer even to satisfy himself. “I don't know. She is a bit too complicated to be defined in a phrase like a term in Euclid. She is nearer to a man than any woman I know.” Mrs. Farquharson smiled inwardly, noting the phrase, yet liking him for it. It was so deliciously wrong, so absurdly off the track. She contemplated him from the empyrean of feminine wisdom, and from that moment took him under her protection. To blunder honestly in things feminine is one of the ways to a woman's pity, thence often to her heart. She encouraged him, however, instead of correcting him. “Why do you say that?” “For one reason, because I can talk to her as I would to a man. She has ideas and is not afraid of expressing them. In fact, she is different from the ordinary women one meets.” “Oh, yes! she is that,” Mrs. Farquharson granted. “She is all for _le nouveau jeu_. When I want to tease her I tell her she will find it _le vieux jeu_ all the time, but she won't believe it.” Then suddenly, “Don't you think she is very pretty?” “Pretty?” echoed Kent in some confusion. “Really, yes, I suppose she is. I hardly thought about it,” and leaning his body aside, so as to catch a distant glimpse of Clytie between the forms of the little circle of men round her, he added, “she is very pretty.”