"Well, I am sure they must be very fine. I should rather hear the judgment of some one else. I should like to hear you speak first. You tell me what you think of them and then I'll tell you, as the children say." "I don't care about them," said Minola, shaking her head sadly. "I have tried, Mr. Heron; but I can't admire them. I can't see any originality, or poetry, or anything in them. I could not admire them--unless a command came express from the Queen to tell me to think them good." "So you read the 'Misanthrope'--Molière's 'Misanthrope?'" Victor said eagerly, and having caught in a moment Minola's whimsical allusion to the duty of a loyal critic when under royal command. "Yes, I used to pass half my time reading it; I have almost grown into thinking that I have a sort of copyright in it. Alceste is my chief hero, Mr. Heron." "I wish I were like him," said Mr. Heron. "I wish you were," she answered gravely. "But I am not--unfortunately." "Unfortunately," she repeated, determined to pay no compliment. "You must let me come some day and have a long talk with you about Molière," Victor said, nothing discouraged, having wanted no compliment, nor thought of any. "I shall be delighted; you shall talk and I will listen. I am so glad to find a companion in Molière. But I wish I could have admired Mr. Blanchet's poems. I prefer my own ever so much." "Your own!" The audacious self-complacency of the announcement astonished him, and seemed out of keeping with Miss Grey's character and ways. Do you write poems?" "Oh, no; if I did, I don't think I could admire them." "But how then--what do you mean?" "Well--one can feel such poetry in every blink of sunshine even in this West Centre, and every breath of wind, and every stray recollection of some great book that one has read, when we were young, you know. That poetry never is brought to the awful test of being written down and read out. I do so feel for Mr. Blanchet; I suppose his poems seemed glorious before they were written out." "But I think they seem glorious to him even still." "They do--and to Mary. Mr. Heron, tell me honestly and without affectation--are you really a judge of poetry?" "Not I," said Heron. "I adore a few old poets and one or two new ones, but I couldn't tell why--and those that I admire everybody else admires too, so that I can't pretend to myself that I have any original judgment. My opinion, Miss Grey, isn't worth a rush." "I am very glad to hear it--very. Neither is mine. So you see we may be both of us quite mistaken about Mr. Blanchet's poems." "Of course we may--I dare say we are; in fact I am quite sure we are," said Heron, growing enthusiastic. "Anyhow it is possible. Now I have been thinking----" "Yes, you have been thinking?" "I don't know whether I am only going to prove myself a busybody; but I am so fond of Mary Blanchet." "Yes: quite right; so am I--I mean I like her very much. But what do you think of doing?"