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common with her。 So these two young persons sat discussing high
themes in their eclectic drawing…room； in their London 〃season〃 …
discussing； with extreme seriousness； the high theme of perfection。
It must be said in extenuation of this eccentricity that they were
interested in the business。 Their tone had truth and their emotion
beauty； they weren't posturing for each other or for some one else。
The subject was so wide that they found themselves reducing it； the
perfection to which for the moment they agreed to confine their
speculations was that of the valid； the exemplary work of art。 Our
young woman's imagination； it appeared； had wandered far in that
direction； and her guest had the rare delight of feeling in their
conversation a full interchange。 This episode will have lived for
years in his memory and even in his wonder； it had the quality that
fortune distils in a single drop at a time … the quality that
lubricates many ensuing frictions。 He still； whenever he likes；
has a vision of the room； the bright red sociable talkative room
with the curtains that； by a stroke of successful audacity； had the
note of vivid blue。 He remembers where certain things stood； the
particular book open on the table and the almost intense odour of
the flowers placed； at the left； somewhere behind him。 These facts
were the fringe； as it were； of a fine special agitation which had
its birth in those two hours and of which perhaps the main sign was
in its leading him inwardly and repeatedly to breathe 〃I had no
idea there was any one like this … I had no idea there was any one
like this！〃 Her freedom amazed him and charmed him … it seemed so
to simplify the practical question。 She was on the footing of an
independent personage … a motherless girl who had passed out of her
teens and had a position and responsibilities； who wasn't held down
to the limitations of a little miss。 She came and went with no
dragged duenna； she received people alone； and； though she was
totally without hardness； the question of protection or patronage
had no relevancy in regard to her。 She gave such an impression of
the clear and the noble combined with the easy and the natural that
in spite of her eminent modern situation she suggested no sort of
sister…hood with the 〃fast〃 girl。 Modern she was indeed； and made
Paul Overt； who loved old colour； the golden glaze of time； think
with some alarm of the muddled palette of the future。 He couldn't
get used to her interest in the arts he cared for； it seemed too
good to be real … it was so unlikely an adventure to tumble into
such a well of sympathy。 One might stray into the desert easily …
that was on the cards and that was the law of life； but it was too
rare an accident to stumble on a crystal well。 Yet if her
aspirations seemed at one moment too extravagant to be real they
struck him at the next as too intelligent to be false。 They were
both high and lame； and； whims for whims； he preferred them to any
he had met in a like relation。 It was probable enough she would
leave them behind … exchange them for politics or 〃smartness〃 or
mere prolific maternity； as was the custom of scribbling daubing
educated flattered girls in an age of luxury and a society of
leisure。 He noted that the water…colours on the walls of the room
she sat in had mainly the quality of being naives； and reflected
that naivete in art is like a zero in a number： its importance
depends on the figure it is united with。 Meanwhile； however； he
had fallen in love with her。 Before he went away； at any rate； he
said to her： 〃I thought St。 George was coming to see you to…day；
but he doesn't turn up。〃
For a moment he supposed she was going to cry 〃Comment donc？ Did
you come here only to meet him？〃 But the next he became aware of
how little such a speech would have fallen in with any note of
flirtation he had as yet perceived in her。 She only replied： 〃Ah
yes； but I don't think he'll come。 He recommended me not to expect
him。〃 Then she gaily but all gently added： 〃He said it wasn't
fair to you。 But I think I could manage two。〃
〃So could I；〃 Paul Overt returned； stretching the point a little to
meet her。 In reality his appreciation of the occasion was so
completely an appreciation of the woman before him that another
figure in the scene； even so esteemed a one as St。 George； might
for the hour have appealed to him vainly。 He left the house
wondering what the great man had meant by its not being fair to
him； and； still more than that； whether he had actually stayed away
from the force of that idea。 As he took his course through the
Sunday solitude of Manchester Square； swinging his stick and with a
good deal of emotion fermenting in his soul； it appeared to him he
was living in a world strangely magnanimous。 Miss Fancourt had
told him it was possible she should be away； and that her father
should be； on the following Sunday； but that she had the hope of a
visit from him in the other event。 She promised to let him know
should their absence fail； and then he might act accordingly。
After he had passed into one of the streets that open from the
Square he stopped； without definite intentions； looking sceptically
for a cab。 In a moment he saw a hansom roll through the place from
the other side and come a part of the way toward him。 He was on
the point of hailing the driver when he noticed a 〃fare〃 within；
then he waited； seeing the man prepare to deposit his passenger by
pulling up at one of the houses。 The house was apparently the one
he himself had just quitted； at least he drew that inference as he
recognised Henry St。 George in the person who stepped out of the
hansom。 Paul turned off as quickly as if he had been caught in the
act of spying。 He gave up his cab … he preferred to walk； he would
go nowhere else。 He was glad St。 George hadn't renounced his visit
altogether … that would have been too absurd。 Yes； the world was
magnanimous； and even he himself felt so as； on looking at his
watch； he noted but six o'clock； so that he could mentally
congratulate his successor on having an hour still to sit in Miss
Fancourt's drawing…room。 He himself might use that hour for
another visit； but by the time he reached the Marble Arch the idea
of such a course had become incongruous to him。 He passed beneath
that architectural effort and walked into the Park till he got upon
the spreading grass。 Here he continued to walk； he took his way
across the elastic turf and came out by the Serpentine。 He watched
with a friendly eye the diversions of the London people； he bent a
glance almost encouraging on the young ladies paddling their
sweethearts about the lake and the guardsmen tickling tenderly with
their bearskins the artificial flowers in the Sunday hats of their
partners。 He prolonged his meditative walk； he went into
Kensington Gardens； he sat upon the penny chairs； he looked at the
little sail…boats launched upo