But the strangest thing of all, the most ridiculous thing, considering his age, the oddest thing when one remembers that he himself is its creator--Professor Darmstetter is half in love with the beauty he has made; he would be, if he might, the gray and withered Pygmalion of my Galatea! CHAPTER VII. THE COMING OF THE LOVER. December 15. Really, I don't know which is the more aggravating, John Burke or Kitty. Such a battle as I've had with them to-day! I had quite stopped fretting over John's absence. Indeed, though of course I wished to see him, I dreaded it; I was so happy, just as I was, and I had so many things to think about, so many dreams to dream and plans to make. I liked John when he taught the little prairie school and praised me to my wondering relatives. All through my college course I was proud of his regard, because every one respected him; and last June I promised to marry him. We said then that our love wasn't just a "co-ed. flirtation," because he was a grown man and not a student any more. But--but--but last June I wasn't-- Why, I've but just come to possess the gift that I wouldn't exchange for the proudest throne on earth, and I mean to make it my throne in the great world. I haven't yet had time to think things out or realise my fairy fortune; but John and I mustn't do anything foolish. Wise love can wait. He came while I was at school. When I found him here, he actually didn't know me. He stared as if I were a stranger whose face drew, yet puzzled him. Then he was attracted by my beauty, then for a moment dismayed, and then--why, he was really so much in love that I--I--he gazed at me as if I were not quite real; with reverence. His eyes mirrored my power; the wonder of the new Me, the glory and the radiance of me shone in them. He worships me and--well, of course nobody could help liking that. He was just as he has always been, but somehow, here in the city, I couldn't help finding him bigger, stronger, more bucolic. His clothes looked coarse. His collar was low for the mode, his gloveless hands were red. There was something almost clerical in his schoolmasterly garb, but his bold dark eyes and short hair aggressively brushed to a standstill, as he used to say, looked anything but ministerial. It was plain that he was a man of sense and spirit, one to be proud of; plain that he was a countryman, too. I couldn't help seeing his thick shoes any more than I could his hurt face when I was distant and his ardour the moment I grew kind; and I was so ashamed--thinking of his looks and picking flaws, when three months ago I was a country girl myself--that I know--I don't know what I should have done, if Kitty hadn't returned.