a little sudden shock. Even when he
had a lovely woman at his side must his fancy be wandering to these
unearthly denizens and similes.

"Please, Morris," she said almost sharply, "do not compare me to a
spirit. I am a woman, nothing more, and if it is not enough that I
should be a woman, then----" she paused, to add, "I beg your pardon,
I know you meant to be nice, but once I had a friend who went in for
spirits--table-turning ones I mean--with very bad results, and I detest
the name of them."

Morris took this rebuff better than might have been expected.

"Would you object if one ventured to call you an angel?" he asked.

"Not if the word was used in a terrestrial sense. It excites a vision of
possibilities, and the fib is so big that anyone must pardon it."

"Very well, then; I call you that."

"Thank you, I should be delighted to return the compliment. Can you
think of any celestial definition appropriate to a young gentleman with
dark eyes?"

"Oh! Mary, please stop making fun of me," said Morris, with something
like a groan.

"Why?" she asked innocently. "Besides I wasn't making fun. It's only my
way of carrying on conversation; they taught it me at school, you know."

Morris made no answer; in fact, he did not know what on earth to say, or
rather how to find the fitting words. After all, it was an accident and
not his own intelligence that freed him from his difficulty. Mary moved
a little, causing the white cloak, which was unfastened, to slip from
her shoulders. Morris put out his hand to catch it, and met her hand. In
another instant he had thrown his arm round her, drawn her to him, and
kissed her on the lips. Then, abashed at what he had done, he let her go
and picked up the cloak.

"Might I ask?" began Mary in her usual sweet, low tones. Then her voice
broke, and her blue eyes filled with tears.

"I beg your pardon; I am a brute," began Morris, utterly abased by the
sight of these tears, which glimmered like pearls in the moonlight,
"but, of course, you know what I mean."

Mary shook her head vacantly. Apparently she could not trust herself to
speak.

"Dear, will you take me?"

She made no answer; only, after pausing for some few seconds as though
lost in thought, with a little action more eloquent than any speech, she
leant herself ever so slightly towards him.

Afterwards, as she lay in his arms, words came to him readily enough:

"I am not worth your having," he said. "I know I am an