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"Do you want to see him?" I gathered my horse.

"Don't you like him?"

"I suppose we might call him a romanticist," said I, "might we not?"

Foolish, idle cry, and meant for no more, by a heart on fire with temptations of which I knew nothing. But then and there my poor adolescent soul found out that the preceptive stuff of which it had built its treasure-house and citadel was not fire-proof.

I turned upon her choking with anger, but her melting beauty rendered me helpless. Black woods were on our left. "Shall we turn in here?" I asked.

I laughed a gay disdain. "Who is Lucius; is he Charlotte's husband?"

"Only to take care of you whenever I had the chance. Go, now, you must!"

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