"I don’t know that I intended to tell you," said he. "Fact is, Mrs. Ellison hinted that I’d better follow her example; and have nothing to say on a certain subject; but really, Vin, really—I had no idea—really——" "Yes?—what?" said Vincent, rather breathlessly. "Well, to be candid with you, I never was so surprised in my life! Why, you remember that afternoon in Piccadilly, when I first saw them—perhaps I did not pay much attention to the girl—she seemed a slip of a thing—pretty, oh, yes, pretty enough; but yesterday—when I saw her yesterday—by George, she’s grown to be one of the most beautiful creatures I ever beheld! And so distinguished-looking—and apparently so unconscious of it too! Again and again I noticed people half-turn their heads to get another glimpse of her as she went by—and no wonder—why, really, such a carriage—such an air of distinction and quiet self-possession, for all she looked so young—I never was so surprised in all my life! Oh, a most beautiful creature!—and that I must say in common honesty, whatever comes of it." Nay, the very incoherence of his praise was proof of its sincerity; and Vincent’s face burned with pleasure and pride. How could sweeter words have been poured into a lover’s ears? "Did you chance to notice her hair?—did you?" said he, eagerly. "Did you chance to see the sunlight on it? And—and you were behind her—you must have seen how she walked—the lightness and grace of her step. Mind you, Mussel burgh," he went on—and his breakfast received but scant attention, now that he had found someone to whom he could talk on this enchanting and all-engrossing theme. "A light and graceful step means far more than mere youth and health—it means a perfect and supple figure as well. Did you think she was rather pale?" he asked—but only to answer his own question. "Yes, I dare say you might think she was rather pale. But that is not because she is delicate—oh, dear, no!—not in the least: it is the natural fineness of her complexion; and when brisk walking, or a cold wind blowing, brings colour into her cheeks, then that is all the rarer and more beautiful. Of course you couldn’t see her eyes at all?—she doesn’t stare at people in the streets; she seems to find the sea more interesting when we are walking up and clown; but they are the clearest, the most expressive, eyes you could imagine! She hardly has to speak—she has only to look! I do think blue-grey is by far the prettiest colour of eyes; they vary so much; I’ve seen Maisrie Bethune’s eyes quite distinctly blue—that is when she is very strong and well, and out in the open air. I don’t suppose it possible that any reflection from the sky or sea can affect the colour of the eyes; it must be simply that she is in the fresh air, and stimulated with exercise and happy——" He paused for a second. "Is there anything so very amusing?"