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 and divine perfection of this Greek girl’s; her ears were as delicate and as finely wrought. The colour of her skin was so tender that it reminded you vaguely of all beautiful soft things, the radiancy of sunset and the darkness of the night, the heart of roses and the depth of running water. The goddess’s hand was raised to her right shoulder, and Margaret’s hand was as small, as dainty, and as white.

“Don’t be so foolish,” said she, as Arthur looked silently at the statue.

He turned his eyes slowly, and they rested upon her. She saw that they were veiled with tears.

“What on earth’s the matter?”

“I wish you weren’t so beautiful,” he answered awkwardly, as though he could scarcely bring himself to say such foolish things. “I’m so afraid that something will happen to prevent us from being happy. It seems too much to expect that I should enjoy such extraordinary good luck.”

She had the imagination to see that it meant much for the practical man so to express himself. Love of her drew him out of his character, and, though he could not resist, he resented the effect it had on him. She found nothing to reply, but she took his hand.

“Everything has gone pretty well with me so far,” he said, speaking almost to himself. “Whenever I’ve really wanted anything, I’ve managed to get it. I don’t see why things should go against me now.”

He was trying to reassure himself against an