“Find themselves being regarded with much very genuine liking and friendship by those to whom they are good enough to give their company,” Mosscrop finished the sentence for her. He smiled to himself as he pressed her arm still more closely. The girl was not accustomed to drink, and the Capri and maraschino had gone to her tongue. He was pleasantly conscious of their influences himself, and upon second thought he liked his companion all the more for the innocent fearlessness with which she had followed his example. The charm of the whole experience strengthened its hold upon him. He looked down with tenderness upon her. “Yes, very genuine friendship--and gratitude,” he reiterated, with ardour in his low voice. She did not conceal the enjoyment she had in both look and tone. “The idea of _real_ companionship is so precious in my eyes,” she murmured--“a true communion of minds. There is nothing else in life worth living for. Do you think there can be any _real_ friendship without genuine intellectual respect?” “Oh, I wouldn’t lay too much stress on that myself,” he answered, lightly. “I find that the fellows I really like the most--the men that I take the most solid comfort in putting in time with--are tremendous duffers from any intellectual point of view, but of course”--he found himself hastily adding--“that is among _men_. I have never known anything at all about women friends--that is, of what one may honestly call friends. But I am learning fast. I have reached the point of forming an ideal: she must be tall, with her hat just brushing above my collar. She must have the most wonderful pale yellow hair in the world, and the prettiest face, and new French boots--and----” “You don’t care in the least what kind of a mind she has,” put in Vestalia, dolefully. “Ah, you didn’t let me finish. She will have a spirit brave and yet tender, a mind broad and capable yet without arrogance, a temperament attuning itself to each passing mood, sunny, shadowed, merry, pensive, adventurous, timid--all as full of sweet little turns and twists and unexpected things in general as an April day. I don’t want her learned: I should hate her to be logical. I like her just as she is: I wouldn’t have her changed for the world.” In details the definition perhaps left something to be desired. But its form of presentation brought a flush of satisfaction to Ves-talia’s cheek. She nestled closer still against his shoulder for a dozen paces or so, and when she drew away then, let him feel that it was because they were at Oxford Street, and for no other reason. “Oh, the beautiful day!” was all she said.