“Below the first balcony there must be another wider one,” said she in her soft voice, “and it must have steps at each end down to the lawn—­the lawn is so lovely just here.”

The unheard-of presumption of her demand inoculated him with the idea, and at length he consented to this as well.

“The rooms must be refurnished,” she gravely commanded.  “The one next to the balcony which is to be built under here shall be in yellow pine, and the floor must be polished.”  She pointed with her long delicate hand.  “All the floors must be polished.  I will give you the design for the room above, I have thought it carefully out.”  And in imagination she papered the walls, arranged the furniture, and hung up curtains of wondrous patterns.

“I know, too, how the other rooms are to be done,” she added.  And she went from one to the other, remaining a little while in each.  He followed, like an old horse led by the bridle.

Before their visit was half over he most coolly neglected three out of his four guests.

His deep-set eyes twinkled with the liveliest admiration whenever she approached.  He sought in the faces of the others the admiration which he himself felt:  he would amble round her like an old photographic camera which had the power of setting itself up.

But from the day when she took down from his bookshelf a French work on mechanics, a subject with which she was evidently acquainted and for which she declared that she had a natural aptitude, it was all over with him.  From that day forward, if she were present, he effaced himself both in word and action.

In the mornings when he met her in one of her characteristic costumes he laughed softly, or gazed and gazed at her, and then glanced towards the others.  She did not talk much, but every word that she uttered aroused his admiration.  But he was most of all captivated when she sat quietly apart, heedless of every one:  at such times he resembled an old parrot expectant of sugar.

His linen had always been snowy white, but beyond this he had taken no special pains with his toilet; but now he strutted about in a Tussore silk coat, which he had bought in Algiers, but had at once put aside because it was too tight—­he looked like a clipt box hedge in it.

Now, who was this lion-tamer of twenty-one, who, without in the least wishing to do so, unconsciously even (she was the quietest of the party), had made the monarch of the forest crouch at her feet and gaze at her in abject humility?

Look at her, as she sits there, with her loose shining hair of the prettiest shade of dark red; look at her broad forehead and prominent nose, but more than all at those large wondering eyes; look at her throat and neck, her tall slight figure; notice especially the Renaissance dress which she wears, its style and colour, and your curiosity will still remain unsatisfied, for she has an individuality all her own.