The Emperor Tiberius is reported to have said that if a man does not

know what is good for him when he is forty years old, he must be either

a fool or a physician. Similarly, a woman who does not know her own

good points at twenty is either very foolish, or a raving beauty--or a

saint. Perhaps women can be all three; it is not safe to assert

anything positively about them. Margaret Donne was clever, she was a

good girl but not a saint, and she was a little more than fairly

good-looking. That was all, and she knew her good points. If she was

not perpetually showing them to advantage, she at least realised what

they were and that she might some day have to make the most of them.

They were her complexion, her mouth and her figure; and she was clever,

if cleverness be a 'point' in a human being, which is doubtful. It is

not considered one in a puppy.

Mr. Lushington discouraged the familiarity of men who called him plain

'Lushington.' When they were older than he, he felt that they were

patronising him; if they were younger, he thought them distinctly

cheeky. Occasionally he fell in with a relation, or an old

schoolfellow, who addressed him as 'Ned,' or even as 'Eddie,' This made

him utterly miserable; in the language of Johnson, when Mr. Lushington

was called 'Eddie,' he was convolved with agony--especially if a third

person chanced to be present. Margaret sometimes wondered whether she

should ever be in a position to use that weapon.

There was a possibility of it, depending on her own choice. In fact,

there were two possibilities, for she could marry him if she pleased,

or she could make an intimate friend of him, and they might then call

each other by their Christian names. At the present time she knew him

so well that she avoided using his name altogether, and he called her

'Miss Margaret' when he was pleased, and 'Miss Donne' when he was not.

'It is a pity you think me clever,' she said demurely, after a little

pause.

'Why?' he inquired severely.

'The idea makes you so uncomfortable,' Margaret answered. 'If I were

just a nice dull girl, you would only have to lay down the law, and I

should have to accept it. Or else you would not feel obliged to talk to

me at all, which would be simpler.' 'Much,' said Lushington, with some acerbity.

'So much simpler, that I wonder why you do not follow the line of least

resistance!' A short silence came after this suggestion, and Margaret turned over

the pages of her book as if making up her mind where to begin reading.

This was not quite a pretence, for Lushington had told her that it was

a book she ought to read, which it was her intellectual duty to read,

and which would develop her reasoning faculties. By way of

encouragement he had added that she would probably not like it. On that

point she agreed with him readily. To people who read much, every new

book has a personality, features and an expression, attractive, dull,

or repulsive, like most human beings one meets for the first time. This

particular book had a particularly priggish expression, like

Lushington's yellow shoes, which were too good and too new, and which

he was examining with apparent earnestness. To tell the truth he did

not see them, for he was wondering whether the blush of annoyance he

felt was unusually visible. The result of thinking about it was that it

deepened to scarlet at once.




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