up the golden beach, would be the Mediterranean. What a
colourful scene! Soft breezes would lull you to my mood, and on their
spicy-laden breath would come the notes of faery music."

While preparing for this call Leofwin had laboured over that conceit
with all the diligence at his command; perhaps too diligently, for even
he, had he not been blinded by zeal, might have seen that it was
something too ornate to appeal to a rather practical young lady of
twenty-five. It was much too ornate, that is certain; and it alone would
have made him absurd had not fate joined forces against him and at
precisely this point prompted Harry, who was for once impatient with his
progress, to try to reproduce the larger music coursing through his
soul. This he did by striking out wildly upon the keys in all
directions; and at the same time the faithful Clarence, slumberingly
waiting for his master's return to earthly matters, burst into full
cry.

"Good gracious, what is that?" cried Leofwin.

Nancy sped to the door of the music room, while strange and crashing
harmonies rang through the house. "Stop, Harry. Stop that dreadful
noise. You mustn't do that. Some one is calling on me. I think you had
better go out and play, anyway."

"Oh, please, Auntie, please let me play the scales some more. Just for
fifteen minutes."

It would have taken a heart of flint to withstand such pleading. Nancy
left the musician and went boldly back to her visitor.

Leofwin was plainly annoyed by the interruption. He should now have to
start all over again, and starting was difficult. As Nancy reappeared,
however, the clouds rolled from his brow.

"Is everything quite all right?" he asked solicitously.

"Quite all right, thank you."

"Well, in speaking just now of the Libyan grotto, I think I probably
suggested the theme of my visit to you this afternoon. I confess, I am a
passionate man. Things of the senses appeal to me more than to most; it
is, of course, the artist within me. I am like a mountain torrent or the
beetling crest of an ocean comber rushing, full-bodied, down
upon--upon--the floor." He came to a full stop and stared with pursed
lips at the object of his love, sitting unhappily before him. What the
devil _do_ mountain torrents and ocean combers rush down upon? Nothing
as domestic, surely, as a floor. The thing was unhappily met.

"Please, Mr. Balch," said Nancy, rising, "please don't go any further. I
really can't listen to you."

"N