"It was as much as ever I remembered, that. I'm not a giant in poetry. I'm a dub at any fine job." Of this quality was their talk. To those of us who are old and dim-eyed, it seems of no account, perhaps, but to those who can remember similar walks and talks it is of higher worth than the lectures in the Sorbonne. Learning is a very chill abstraction on such a night to such a pair. Would we not all go back again to this sweet land of love and longing--if we could? Victor did not deliberately plan to draw Leonora closer to his side, and the proud girl did not intend to permit him to do so; but somehow it happened that his arm stole round her waist as they walked the shadowy places of the drive, and their laggard feet were wholly out of rhythm to their leaping pulses. The proof of Victor's naturally dependable character lay in the fact that he presumed no further. He was content with the occasional touch of her rounded hip to his, the caressing touch of her skirt as it swung about his ankle. To have attempted a kiss would have broken the spell, would have alarmed and repelled her. He honored her, loved her, but he was still in awe of her proud glance and the imperious carriage of her head. He preferred to think she suffered rather than invited the clasp of his arm. She, on her part, was astonished and a little scared by her own complaisant weakness, and as they came out into the lighter part of the walk she disengaged herself with a self-derisive remark, and asked, "Do you always take such good care of the arms of your girl friends?" "Always," he replied, instantly, though his heart was still in the clutch of his new-born passion. "I shall be on my guard next time.... I see Mr. Bartol in the doorway. Don't you think we'd better go in? What time do you suppose it is?" "The saddest time in the world for me if you are going to leave me." "Don't be maudlin." She had recovered her self-command, and was disposed to be extra severe. "Sentimental nothings is hardly your strong point." "What is my strong point?" She was ready with an answer. "Plain down-right impudence." He, too, was recovering speech. "I'm glad I have _one_ strong trait. I was afraid there was nothing about me to make a definite impression on a proud beauty like you." "Please don't try to be literary. Stick to your oars and your baseball raquet." "Bat," he corrected. "I meant bat." "I know you did; but you said raquet." In this juvenile spat they approached the porch where Mr. Bartol stood waiting for them. "Young people," he called, in a voice that somehow voiced a deep emotion, "do you realize that it is midnight?" Protesting their amazement, they mounted the steps and entered the house; but the moment they looked into their host's face they became serious, perceiving that something very tremendous had taken place in his laboratory. "What has happened?" asked Leo. "What did she do?"