he would have
invoiced as a fair sample of the middle-class German woman,--healthy,
comfort-loving, home-abiding, the very genius of domesticity. Even in
her virgin outlines the future wholesome matron was already forecast,
from the curves of her broad hips, to the flat lines of her back and
shoulders. Of the wine he was to judge later. THAT required an even more
subtle and unimpassioned intellect.

She placed two bottles before him on the table,--one, the traditional
long-necked, amber-colored Rheinflasche; the other, an old, quaint,
discolored, amphorax-patterned glass jug. The first she opened.

"This," she said, pointing to the other, "cannot be opened."

Mr. Clinch paid his respects first to the opened bottle, a good quality
of Niersteiner. With his intellect thus clarified, he glanced at the
other.

"It is from my great-grandfather. It is old as the wall."

Mr. Clinch examined the bottle attentively. It seemed to have no cork.
Formed of some obsolete, opaque glass, its twisted neck was apparently
hermetically sealed by the same material. The maiden smiled, as she
said,--

"It cannot be opened now without breaking the bottle. It is not good
luck to do so. My grandfather and my father would not."

But Mr. Clinch was still examining the bottle. Its neck was flattened
towards the mouth; but a close inspection showed it was closed by some
equally hard cement, but not glass.

"If I can open it without breaking the bottle, have I your permission?"

A mischievous glance rested on Mr. Clinch, as the maiden answered,--

"I shall not object; but for what will you do it?"

"To taste it, to try it."

"You are not afraid?"

There was just enough obvious admiration of Mr. Clinch's audacity in the
maiden's manner to impel him to any risk. His only answer was to take
from his pocket a small steel instrument. Holding the neck of the bottle
firmly in one hand, he passed his thumb and the steel twice or thrice
around it. A faint rasping, scratching sound was all the wondering girl
heard. Then, with a sudden, dexterous twist of his thumb and finger, to
her utter astonishment he laid the top of the neck, neatly cut off, in
her hand.

"There's a better and more modern bottle than you had before," he said,
pointing to the cleanly-divided neck, "and any cork will fit it now."

But the girl regarded him with anxiety. "And you still wish to taste the
wine?"

"With your permission, yes!"

He looked up in her eyes. There