“No--rhymes--although they come to me very fast. At school I wrote lots of them.” “You will show them to me, Sweetheart? I will tell you then whether you are a true poet or simply a rhymester.” “I will show them to you on one condition, Mr. de Vere.” “Well?” “That you answer the question I asked you just now.” “What was it?” “Which do you prefer--beauty or intellect?” “But I answered it.” “No; you expressed a preference for a combination. I desire that you express a choice.” Norman laughed at her anxiety, with a little inward wonder over it. “I hardly know how to reply,” he said. “I own I am a beauty-worshiper; but then I admire intellect too, and I do not believe I could see any permanent charm in beauty unadorned by the graces of a superior mind.” “Then you declare in favor of mind?” “I suppose so, if you compel me to make a choice.” “I thought you would,” she said, and a soft little sigh ended the words. His keen ear caught it. “Why did you sigh, Sweetheart?” “Did I? Oh, I suppose I was wishing that I was very clever. But I am always wishing that, only I know I never can be. I am too fond of dancing and theaters, and all those giddy things that clever people scorn.” “The cleverest people like those things just as well as you do, child, only they can find pleasure in other things, too, and so, I suppose, can you. You have not had many dissipations since you came to Jacksonville, yet you have seemed to be happy.” “I have been. It is such a lovely place. I enjoy it so much. But I should have been content even if it had not been so charming. I try always to make my own sunshine,” she said, smiling. “And while you are making your own you shed some on the paths of others. You have made my life brighter since you came, Sweetheart.” “I am so glad,” she said, simply, and a brighter light came to the lustrous blue eyes, a warmer glow to the dimpled cheek. Unconsciously to himself, Norman de Vere’s words and glances were far warmer than those of a brother to a sister. Thea felt it, and thrilled at the consciousness. Perhaps he loved her better than he knew. “Ah, if I were only clever!” she thought, eagerly. “I will study--I will learn more things than they taught at school. My teachers said I could become very clever if I chose.” CHAPTER XXXVIII. The next day Thea had another delightful canter with her guardian, and when they returned, he told her to bring her verses down to him as she had promised yesterday. “I hoped you had forgotten,” Thea exclaimed, ruefully. Having spent hours over her portfolio last night, she had decided that the dozen or so poems she had picked out for his inspection were nothing but trash, and she regretted the promise she had made. But Norman de Vere would not release her until she promised to bring him the portfolio at once. “I am anticipating quite a treat,” he said, with a _soupçon_ of sarcasm that brought the color rushing to her cheeks.