They
must be as dead as mutton before they can awaken his interest. If you
want to see him roused to a perfect frenzy of enthusiasm you should see
him arguing with Henry as to the comparative dramatic values of Homeric
hexameters and Ionian iambics.
But to return to Gladys--or rather Gladys and William, for they
remained inseparable for the remainder of the evening. He even
accompanied her home, for I saw him dart forward (in his patent leather
boots, too, which demanded slow movement on his part), when she rose to
go, and hurry out to act as her escort.
A few days later he called in to see us for the sole purpose of
inquiring about her. He pretended he wanted to borrow Ruskin's _Munera
Pulveris_, but as he went away without the volume we saw how feeble was
that pretext.
'With regard to--er--Miss Harringay,' he began, almost as soon as he
arrived, 'I must say I consider her a remarkable young lady.'
'She _is_,' I said grimly.
'Would you believe it,' he went on, addressing himself to Henry, 'she
is actually a Dr. Johnson enthusiast.'
'Nonsense!' ejaculated Henry.
'It's a fact. Isn't it unusual in one so young and--er--tender and
timid that she recalls Keats' dissertation on woman, "she is like a
milk-white lamb that bleats for man's protection."'
'Oh, so she's been bleating, has she?' I said cruelly.
'It makes it all the more astonishing that she should have leanings
toward the study of serious literature.
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