'He that woos a maid',— fol-de-rol—(hiccupping). But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. I do want them. As for me, I look twice at it. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. .
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