“‘Is this the face that launched a thousand ships?’” he quoted from Marlowe; “upon my word, I would not be surprised to hear it was. A beautiful woman, Maurice; she has the loveliness of the Argive Helen.” “And the name also; she is called Helena.” “Ah! then I understand she is a real woman?” “Flesh and blood, according to Caliphronas.” The Rector put down the picture with a sudden movement of irritation quite foreign to his usual courtly manner. “I do not like Count Caliphronas,” he said abruptly. “Did he give you this portrait?” “Yes.” “Humph! And may I ask whom it is intended to represent?” “A Greek girl, called Helena, who lives in the Island of Fantasy.” “The Island of Fantasy?” repeated the Rector in a puzzled tone. “I mean the Island of Melnos, in the southern archipelago of Greece.” “How did it come by the extraordinary name of Fantasy?” “Caliphronas called it so,” said Maurice carelessly. There was silence for a few moments, and the Rector rubbed his nose in a vexed manner, as he by no means approved of the frequent introduction of the Greek’s name into the conversation, but hardly saw his way how to prevent it. At length he determined to leave the matter in abeyance for the present, and reverted to the question of Helena. “Is it for the sake of this woman you are going to the Levant?” he asked, picking up the picture and tapping it with his _pince-nez_. “Yes.” “Is this not rather a mad freak?” Maurice did not answer for a moment, but moved uneasily in his seat; for, although he was quite prepared to be discouraged in his project by the Rector, he by no means liked the displeased tone in which he spoke. Mr. Carriston waited for an answer to his question, so Maurice was at length forced to give him one, and burst out into a long speech, so as to give his tutor no opportunity of making any remark until he had heard all the views in favor of such Quixotism.