fessor Binley stared at him in amazement and cried: "Charming!
Beautiful! Your own translation, you say?"

And he, somewhat shaken by her enthusiasm, waved it aside.

"A little exercise of my Freshman year. But to get back to
our--hyacinths: Theocritus, you remember, speaks of the 'lettered
hyacinth.' May I see whether we can find the words there?"

He bent forward to take and she bent forward to give the flowers. Her
hair brushed his forehead with a peculiar influence; and when their
fingers touched he noted how soft and warm her hand was. He flushed
strangely. She was flushed a little, too, possibly from
embarrassment--possibly from the warmth of the day, with its insinuation
of spring.

He pulled his spectacles over his eyes in a comfortable discomfiture and
peered at the flowers closely. And she peered, too, breathing foolishly
fast. When he could not find the living letters he shook his head and
felt again the soft touch of her hair.

"I can't find the words--can you? Your eyes are brighter than mine."

She bent closer and both their hands held the flowers. He looked down
into her hair. It struck him that it was a remarkably beautiful idea--a
woman's hair--especially hers, streaked as it was with white--silken
silver. When she shook her head a snowy thread tickled his nose
amusingly.

"I can't find anything like it," she confessed.

Then he said: "I've just remembered. Theocritus calls the hyacinth
black--_melan_--and so does Vergil. These cannot be hyacinths at all."

He was bitterly disappointed. It would have been delightful to meet the
flower in the flesh that he knew so well in literature. Doctor Martha
answered with quiet strength:

"These are hyacinths."

"But the Greeks--"

"Didn't know everything," she said; "or perhaps they referred to another
flower. But then we have dark-purple hyacinths."

"Ah!" he said. "Sappho speaks of the hyacinth as purple--_porphuron_."

Thus the modern world was reconciled with the Greek and he felt easier;
but there was a gentle forcefulness about her that surprised him. He
wondered whether she would not be interested in hearing about his
edition of Nonnus. He assumed that she would be, being evidently
intelligent. So he told her. He told her and told her, and she listened
with almost devout interest. He was still telling her when the students
in other classes stampeded to lunch with a many-hoofed clatter. When
they straggled back from lunch he was still tellin