"A man who always laughs is as bad as a dog who always wags his tail. Neither is fit for a maid," she grumbled to Phyllida as they stepped briskly along beneath the tall poplars that fringed the road leading to the entrance of Curtain Garden. "Truly I vow he has a romantick air," protested Phyllida. "La! what's romantick? 'Tis no more than reading a book on the shady side of the street." Betty tossed a contemptuous head. "Indeed, Betty, I think 'tis a great deal more than that. To be romantick, child, is to have a noble heart, and to have a noble heart----" "'Is to lead the Venite on a Sunday morning," interrupted the maid. "No! 'tis not." "Well! 'tes to kneel very obstreperous." "'Tis no such a thing," said Phyllida, stamping on the pavement. By this time, they had reached the famous wrought-iron gates of the principal entrance, where an old man in an enormous three-cornered hat and long heavily laced surtout walked up and down. Sometimes he would stop and, over gnarled hands twisted round the ivory crook of his cane, stare fiercely at the stamped effigies of AEsculapius and Flora while he addressed the presiding deities in a wheezy monotone. "Curtain Garden! Curtain Garden! Lads and lasses, ye'll grow old. Fit for maids is Curtain Garden." Thus having droned a warning to Olympus, he would resume his walk. In two months the broad gravelled path which he guarded would be thronged by the Exquisite Mob, but at present his only audience on fine days was composed of Phyllida and Betty. On wet days, when not even they ventured out, he would sit in a little pagoda whence every few minutes he would pop out his head, and in the same wheezy monotone lament 'Rain! Rain! on the windowpane!' and retire as abruptly as a cuckoo that has told the hour. With this aged janitor Phyllida used to have a daily conversation which never varied by a single letter. "Nobody in the garden this morning?" "Not a soul nor a body, young miss." "Are you better of your cold?" "Very much worse." As Phyllida used to tell Betty when they had left the gateway behind them, 'he must be very ill indeed because he has been very much worse every day.' This customary conversation interrupted the argument over Mr. Lovely's romantick character of mind, and when they turned down the path which led to the Maze all discussion went to the wind at the prospect of again seeing her dear Amor.