"Describe her to me." He was delighted at the prospect of drawing her out on any subject. Magdalena hesitated, wondering if she should have the courage to continue, did she begin a monologue. She recalled the sustained animation of the girls at her dinner, and moved as if to shake her head, then recollected her ambition to shine in conversation. To no one had she ever found it so easy to express herself as to this man. Why not take advantage of that fact? And that represented but the half of her present ambition. If she could only interest him! He watched her closely, divining some cause of her hesitation, but not all. Her complexion was even less desirable by day than by gas, but her hair was tumbled, her eyes were sparkling softly; and the deep green arbours of the wood were an enchanting aid to youth. "She has curly shining hair about the colour of mahogany, and big--long--dark blue eyes that look as if they were not afraid of anything, and make you afraid sometimes, and regular features, and a whiter skin than Tiny's, with a beautiful pink colour--" She stopped short, feeling that her attempt at description was as ineffective as the hours wasted upon her much modelled hero. "That sounds very charming, but still--never mind her appearance. Tell me what you so much admire in her." "She talks so much, and she isn't afraid of anybody. She says she wouldn't lie because she wouldn't pay anyone that compliment. She loves to 'cheek' and shock people. She walks all round the outside of the house--upstairs--on a narrow ledge, and she runs to fires--at least she ran to one--and she won't study when she doesn't feel like it. And--and--she even snatched off papa's skull-cap once." Trennahan threw back his head and laughed loud and long. "And you would have me believe that all that is what moves you to admiration. Don't you know, my dear child, that you love your friend in spite of her tomboy eccentricities, not because of them? You wouldn't be or do one of those things if you could." Again Magdalena hesitated. The implied approval was delightful; but she would not hold it on false pretences. She answered firmly,-- "I went to the fire with her." "You? Delightful! Tell me about it. Every detail." She told him everything except the terrible sequel. It was lamely presented, but he cared nothing for the episode. His sympathies were immediate if temporary, and experience had eaten off the very cover of the book of seals. He followed her through every mental phase she unconsciously rehearsed; and when she brought the story to an abrupt close, lacking the art to run it off into generalities, he inferred something of the last development and did not press her to continue. He pitied her grimly. But he was an intensely practical man.