ment.

"Nothing special. Only a pass. It isn't in _that_ way that his
cleverness shows."

"Just so! Just so! I've met men like that before. Well, don't spoil
him, that's all. Worship him in your heart, but not to his face. Looks
to me as if he needed hardening up. A bit moony and sentimental. What?
Don't mind my saying so, do you?"

"Not a bit!" returned Margot proudly; but she cared horribly, all the
same, and for the moment her liking for her companion suffered a
distinct eclipse. "I know him, you see, and understand him as no
stranger can do. He needs appreciation, for he is too apt to lose faith
in himself, and he is not sentimental at all. He has plenty of
sentiment, but that's a different thing!"

"Yes--Um!" responded the Chieftain mischievously, his little eyes
twinkling with amusement as they scanned the girl's flushed, injured
face. "Quite so! Sorry I spoke. He is, without doubt, an unusually
gifted young man." He bowed towards Margot, with an inference too
transparent to be mistaken, and at which she was obliged to laugh,
despite herself.

Ronald joined them at this moment, and looked from one to the other with
his big, dreamy eyes. Margot was irritated to see that he looked even
more absent-minded than usual, just when she was anxious that he should
show to most advantage. He asked no questions in words, however, but
Mr Elgood hastened to reply to the unspoken query in his eyes.

"Your sister and I have been having an argument. I don't know how it
came about. Hate arguments myself, especially on a holiday. Besides,
it's a waste of time. Whoever knew any one converted by an argument?
Each one goes away more satisfied than ever that he is in the right, and
that his opponent is talking rubbish; present company excluded, of
course. So far as I can remember, we were discussing cleverness. If
you were asked for a definition of a clever man, what would you say?
How would you describe him?"

Ronald stood in the centre of the road, his hands clasped behind his
back, his brows knitted in thought. Ninety-nine people out of a hundred
would have answered such a question off-hand with a few light words; Ron
bent the weight of his mind to it, with whole-hearted earnestness.

"Cleverness!" he repeated slowly. "It's a poor word! There's no depth
in it. When a man is called clever, it means, I think, more an ability
to display a superficial knowledge than any real, stored-up wisdom. It
ma