"Jack is not a man to write poems," said I, "but he is one of the men poets write about. After you had gone up stairs last night Helen sang to her father, and the words of one of her songs were Heine's: it reminded me of Holt beneath your window." "One of those German songs? I understand nothing but English." "They have translated it, and it runs like this: Silent the streets by night overtaken: This house my darling's presence did grace; But she the town has long forsaken, Yet there stands the house in the selfsame place; And there stands a man who upward is staring, His hands hard wringing in outbursts of woe!" I paused and looked into her face. "That is not all of it?" "No: I will tell you the rest some day." "Did Jack 'wring his hands in outbursts of woe'?" "Good Heavens, no! I presume we both stood with our hands in our pockets: I was smoking a cigar myself. It is only in poetry that one may be picturesque in one's grief now-a-days." "Did you think of me when you stood there, Floyd?" Her little fingers closed on the edge of my coat and she looked up in my eyes. I smiled demurely. I was determined to be quite the master of myself with Georgina. I had suffered too much from her in the past not to be on my guard. Still, it was hard to resist the upturned face--the face with which was associated all the passionate inspiration of my early life--the face I had carried in my mind and heart through all my wanderings, finding none to compare with it--the face which always came with flash and quickness when I felt the warm desire and longing to love somebody which youth must always know. I kissed her. She looked at me startled, and ran ten paces away and sat down upon a rock. "Upon my word!" she exclaimed, bursting into light laughter, "you have learned pretty manners abroad!" "I am so glad you like them," said I, going up to her. "But I don't like them at all," she retorted, shaking her head. "You remind me of a toy I used to play with years ago--a very pretty, harmless, inoffensive-looking toy, but which when touched unguardedly changed all of a sudden into a dreadful little fiend that flew right up into your face. Such a surprise is enough to make one's hair turn gray." "At any rate, I have vindicated myself from the charge of being, 'pretty, harmless and inoffensive,' have I not? As for the gray hairs, I don't see one." "I quite admired you last night," sighed Georgy, "you looked so interesting and innocent. Now--" "Have I then suffered in your estimation?" "I shall remember hereafter," she said with a delightful little laugh, "to whom I am talking. Now let us forget all about it. There are other things I want to talk about. I want to ask you how you like Helen." "How I like Helen?" I did not fancy her question: I had never approved her tone regarding her cousin. "I think Miss Floyd very beautiful, and a very elegant girl besides."