“Oh, of course, darling, very clever; otherwise, how could he possibly gain so much notice? Just think--why, there are millions of people in London, and I’m sure only about a thousand of them, at most, attract any real attention. I think Mr. Eustace Lane is a genius.” “Do you really, Jenny?” “I do indeed.” Winifred mused for a moment. Then she said: “It must be very interesting to marry a genius, I suppose?” “Oh, enthralling, simply. And, then, so few people can do it.” “Yes.” “And it must be grand to do what hardly anybody can do.” “In the way of marrying, Jenny?” “In any way,” responded Miss Fraser, who was an enthusiast, and habitually sentimental. “What would I give to do even one unique thing, or to marry even one unique person!” “You couldn’t marry two at the same time--in England.” “England limits itself so terribly; but there is a broader time coming. Those who see it, and act upon what they see, are pioneers; Mr. Lane is a pioneer.” “But don’t you think him rather extravagant?” “Oh yes. That is so splendid. I love the extravagance of genius, the barbaric lavishness of moral and intellectual supremacy.” “I wonder whether the supremacy of Eustace Lane is moral, or intellectual, or--neither?” said Winifred. “There are so many different supremacies, aren’t there? I suppose a man might be supreme merely as a--as a--well, an absurdity, you know.” Jenny smiled the watery smile of the sentimentalist; a glass of still lemonade washed with limelight might resemble it. “Eustace Lane likes you, Winnie,” she remarked. “I know; that is why I am wondering about him. One does wonder, you see, about the man one may possibly be going to marry.” There had never been such a man for Jane Fraser, so she said nothing, but succeeded in looking confidential. Presently Winifred allowed her happy foil to lace her up. She was going to a ball given by the Lanes in Carlton House Terrace. “Perhaps he will propose to you to-night,” whispered Jane in a gush of excitement as the two girls walked down the stairs to the carriage. “If he does, what will you say?”. “I don’t know.” “Oh, darling, but surely----” “Eustace is so odd. I can’t make him out.” “That is because he is a genius.” “He is certainly remarkable--in a way. Good-night, dear.” The carriage drove off, and the happy foil joined her maid, who was waiting to conduct her home. On the way they gossipped, and the maid expressed a belief that Mr. Lane was a fine young gentleman, but full of his goings-on. Jane knew what she meant. Eustace had once kissed her publicly in Jane’s presence, which deed the latter considered a stroke of genius, and the act of a true and courageous pioneer.