“I never wrote poetry but once,” said Tranton, in a voice that scarcely explained whether he was speaking to the mandarin or to me. “Perhaps that was because I never _lived_ poetry but once.” Then he stopped as if he had said more than he should, and reaching for his pipe he began filling it again, deliberately. When he had finished this labor and had the smoke rising again, he reached down and drew out one of the drawers of the desk and lifted a little ebony box. This he placed on the desk, and opened casually with his left hand, pulling hard at the pipe and staring straight before him. From out the velvet recesses of the box came a miniature photograph framed in gold. “I think I never showed you that,” said Tranton simply. “You never did,” I answered. I had seen the face if I had not seen the picture before. The picture called up the breathing loveliness of a young girl with frank American eyes, and lips that always seemed about to ask the question her eyes answered; a girl with wonderful hair, and above all, with a manner which the word “charm” seems but vaguely to suggest. Every one liked Celeste. It was a great shock when suddenly they took her away to Colorado.... I remember the wonderful glow of flowers when they carried her out of the church.... Tranton said not a word. It was plain enough.... We sat there silently for a moment. I held the miniature in my hand. “Tranton,” I said, not knowing what else to say, “I guess the women understand you pretty well, after all.” There was a moment of silence. “I am very easy,” said Tranton, “—to them.” [Illustration] [Illustration] IX WITH AN ENGAGED GIRL [Illustration] _Miss Velrose and Rollington will be engaged within twenty-four hours._ In the sanctuary of love we find many who came to scoff and remain to pray; and Cupid in the sacristy, tugging at his vestments, is guilty of a purely voluntary and perhaps not wholly decorous drooping of one eyelid. _Miss Velrose and Rollington have come back from the boathouse. They are sitting on the stone bench under that maple._ Ah! Cupid has changed! Now he is reared in a kindergarten and is object-taught rather than book-taught. Arrows have gone out. Anyway, they sometimes were geared with a white feather. Cupid is now using a repeater—and smokeless powder. You can’t locate him. _It is not so much that there is any difference in Rollington. The difference is in Miss Velrose. I have seen it coming on. They will be engaged to-day._ A man might propose and give no sign. There may be nothing absurd in the supposition that men ceased going on their knees when they abandoned knee-breeches and began wearing trousers, to which such an attitude is assumed to be an injustice. The theory has a chronological plausibility. But doubtless we shall find that there are other, if less pictorial, reasons for the change.