up?" he asked Susanna.

This time, however, he rose, and went to the table.

"The world is so strange," he said.

"Come! we 're waiting for the experience of your life," said Anthony.

"You must n't hurry me--you must n't worry me," Adrian remonstrated.
"I 'm in a very over-wrought condition. You must let me approach it in
my own way."

"I believe the flighty creature has forgotten it," said Anthony.

"Flighty creature?" Adrian levelled eyes black with reproach upon him.
Then turning to the ladies: "That shows how he misunderstands me. Just
because I had a witty mother,--just because I 'm not a stolid,
phlegmatic ox of a John Bull,--just because I 'm sensitive and
impressionable,--he calls me flighty. But you know better, _don't_
you? You, with all your fine feminine instincts and perceptions, you
know that I 'm really as steady and as serious as the pyramids of
Egypt. Even my very jokes have a moral purpose--and what I teach in
them, I learned in sorrow. Flighty!" He shot another black glance at
the offender, and held out his cup for a third filling.

"Blessings be on the man who invented tea," he devoutly murmured. "On
Friday especially"--he appealed to Susanna--"_is n't_ it a boon? I
don't know how one could get through Friday without it. You poor dear
fortunate Protestants"--he directed his remark to Miss Sandus--"have no
conception how frequently Friday comes. I think there are seven
Fridays in the week."

Susanna was softly laughing, where (in that wonderful, crisp, fresh,
close-fitting, blue-grey gown, with its frills and laces and
embroideries) she sat in the corner of a long, red-damask-covered sofa,
by the prettily decked tea-table. Anthony, standing near her, looking
down at her, was conscious of a great content in his heart, and of a
great craving. "How splendid she is. Was there ever such hair? Were
there ever such eyes, such lips? Was there ever such a frock? And
then that faint, faint, faintest perfume, like a remembrance of
violets!" I daresay something to this effect was vaguely singing
itself to his thoughts.

"But the experience of your life? The experience of your life?" Miss
Sandus insisted.

"He's clean forgotten it," Anthony assured her.

"Forgotten it? Tush," Adrian flung back, with scorn. "But you 're all
so precipitate. One has to collect one's faculties. There are fifty
possible ways of telling a thing--one must select the most effective.
And then, if you