“How funny it seems,” said Mrs. Goddard, “without knowing a person, to write verses to them!  How did you manage to do it?”

“I was going to say that I think—­I am quite sure—­I could write much better things to you now.”

“Oh, that is impossible—­quite absurd, Mr. Short,” said Mrs. Goddard, laughing more gaily than usual.

“Why?” asked John, somewhat emboldened by his success.  “I do not see why, if one has an ideal, you know, one should not understand it much better when one comes near to it.”

“Yes—­but—­how can I possibly be your ideal?” She felt herself so much older than John that she thought it was out of the question to be annoyed; so she treated him in a matter of fact way, and was really amused at his talk.

“I don’t see why not,” answered John stoutly.  “You might be any man’s ideal.”

“Oh, really—­” ejaculated Mrs. Goddard, somewhat startled at the force of the sweeping compliment.  To be told point-blank, even by an enthusiastic youth of one and twenty, that one is the ideal woman, must be either very pleasant or very startling.

“Excuse me,” she said quickly, before he could answer her, “you know of course I am very ignorant—­yes I am—­but will you please tell me what is an ’ideal’?”

“Why—­yes,” said John, “it is very easy.  Ideal comes from idea.  Plato meant, by the idea, the perfect model—­well, do you see?”

“Not exactly,” said Mrs. Goddard.

“It is very simple.  When I, when anybody, says you are the ideal woman, it is meant that you are the perfect model, the archetype of a woman.”

“Yes—­but that is absurd,” said his companion rather coldly.

“I am sorry that it should seem absurd,” said John in a persuasive tone; “it seems very natural to me.  A man thinks for a long time about everything that most attracts him and then, on a sudden, he sees it all before him, quite real and alive, and then he says he has realised his ideal.  But you liked the verses, Mrs. Goddard?” he added quickly, hoping to bring back the smile that had vanished from her face.  He had a strong impression that he had been a little too familiar.  Probably Mrs. Goddard thought so too.

“Oh yes, I think they are very nice,” she answered.  But the smile did not come back.  She was not displeased, but she was not pleased either; she was wondering how far this boy would go if she would let him.  John, however, felt unpleasantly doubtful about what he had done.

“I hope you are not displeased,” he said.

“Oh, not in the least,” said she.  “Shall we go to the park and skate?”

“I am not sure that I will skate to-day,” said John, foolishly.  Mrs. Goddard looked at him in unfeigned surprise.

“Why not?  I thought it was for that—­”

“Oh, of course,” said John quickly.  “Only it is not very amusing to skate when Mr. Juxon is pushing you about in a chair.”

“Really—­why should not he push me about, if I like it?”