"Ah!" said Mr. Haveloc, "there is one of Litzt, on the drawing-room mantel-piece in my villa--a wonderful likeness." "And you have not broken it to pieces?" claimed Aveline. "That would not be in accordance with the Ideal," said Mr. Haveloc. "Justice is a cardinal virtue, and I presume a subject worthy of the chisel; and M. Litzt does not belong to me." "Don't laugh," said Aveline. "I did not know," said Mr. Haveloc, "that you were such an enemy to the comic muse. I am sure you must enjoy wit." "Yes. But the spirit of wit is the very essence of prose, in direct opposition to poetry, which takes all things in a serious light. And in these days everything is mocked and parodied until people are laughed out of the little love they have left for what is noble and beautiful." "And then there will be a great reaction," said Mr. Haveloc. "We shall all become as sober as judges a few years hence." "I hope at least," said Aveline "that we shall learn to laugh in the right place, and that will be, not at great, but at little sentiments and actions." "Do you know, Miss Fitzpatrick, you will think me guilty of treason after your exordium on sculpture. But you talk of the chisel, and your instruments remind me of nothing so much as the apparatus of a dentist." "Oh, mamma, do scold him!" cried Aveline. "It is atrocious--a dentist too! A race of people of whom I have as much horror as the Egyptians had of their embalmers." "Well, really," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, looking up from her work. "All those mysterious slender little instruments, Aveline?" "It is a calumny!" cried Aveline, gathering up her tools. "Do not be angry, Miss Fitzpatrick," said Mr. Haveloc. "I will tell you what I do admire. This handkerchief; the border is superb. You got it abroad. I always know people who have travelled, by their coloured handkerchiefs--they are sure to pick them up at Paris." "Oh! they are common enough in England, now," said Aveline. "But that is a good border, the pattern is Arabesque. You wear them, don't you? Let me look at yours." Mr. Haveloc produced his handkerchief with a violet edge. "How dare you!" said Aveline playfully, "It is much finer than mine. What a coxcomb." "Change then," said Mr. Haveloc. Aveline seized his handkerchief with all the eagerness of a child, and threw him hers. Mrs. Fitzpatrick looked with rather a grave smile at Aveline; but she laughed and squeezed it behind the cushion at the back of her chair, as if to make sure of her new possession. "You will repent your bargain, but you shall not have it back," said Aveline. "Not at all," said he. "I have got the handsome border, and for the fineness I know nothing about it." "It is just dinner time," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "I hope, my dear Aveline, you are ready for it." "Quite hungry, mamma. Will you run and fetch Hakon Jarl, Mr. Haveloc? I hear Mark coming with his plate of bread." Mr. Haveloc went off directly, he never hesitated an instant at any of her commands.