“Is my poor opinion really worth anything to you?” he said, and rising he walked over to the girl and touched her hand, which made her start a little. “I wish to see your eyes--won't you look at me?” He spoke very gently. Fan glanced up into his face for a moment. “Thank you--just what I thought,” said he, returning to his seat. “Well?” said Miss Starbrow. “Must I put it in words--those poor symbols?” he returned. “I know so well that you can understand without them.” “Perhaps I might if I tried very hard, but I choose not to try,” she replied, with a slight toss of her head. “It is a pleasure to obey; but the poor girl looks nervous and uncomfortable, and would be so glad _not_ to hear my personal remarks.” “Oh yes, it was thoughtless of me to keep her here--thanks for reminding me,” said Miss Starbrow, with a strange softening of her voice her friends were not accustomed to hear. “Run up to your room, Fan, and go to bed. I'm sorry I've kept you up so late, poor child.” And Fan, with a grateful look towards Mr. Chance, left the room gladly enough. “When she first came into the room I wondered what had attracted you,” said Mr. Chance. “I concluded that it must be something under those long drooping eyelashes, and when I looked there I found out the secret.” “Intelligent eyes--very intelligent eyes--I noticed that also,” said Mr. Brown. “Oh no, heaven forbid--I did not mean anything of the kind,” said Mr. Chance. “Intelligence is a masculine quality which I do not love to see in a woman: it is suitable for us, like a rough skin and--moustachios,” with a glance at Captain Horton, and touching his own clean-shaven upper lip. “The more delicate female organism has something finer and higher than intelligence, which however serves the same purpose--and other purposes besides.” “I don't quite follow you,” said the curate, again preparing to take his leave. “I dare say it's all plain enough to some minds, but--well, Mr. Chance, you'll forgive me for saying that when you talk that way I don't know whether I'm standing on my head or my heels.” “Naturally, you wouldn't,” said Captain Horton, with a mocking smile. “But don't go yet, Brown; have some more whisky-and-water.” “No, thanks, no more. I never exceed two or three glasses, you know. Thank you, my dear Miss Starbrow, for a most delightful evening.” And after shaking hands he made his way to the door, bestowing a kindly touch on each chair in passing, and appearing greatly relieved when he reached the hall. Captain Horton lit a cigarette and threw himself into an easy-chair. Mr. Chance lit another cigarette; if the other was an idle man, he (Chance) was in the Foreign Office, and privileged to sit up as late as he liked. “On the whole,” he said in a meditative way, “I am inclined to think that Brown is a rather clever fellow.”