promises, my circumstances, my prejudices; my little past, such as it is; my great future, such as it has been supposed it may be."
"I see, I see; it's admirable!" Nash exclaimed. "And Mrs. Dallow into the bargain," he added.
"Yes, Mrs. Dallow, if you like."
"Are you in love with her?"
"Not in the least."
"Well, she is with you—so I perceived."
"Don't say that," said Nick Dormer, with sudden sternness.
"Ah, you are, you are!" his companion rejoined, judging apparently from this accent.
"I don't know what I am—heaven help me!" Nick broke out, tossing his hat down on his little tin table with vehemence. "I'm a freak of nature and a sport of the mocking gods! Why should they go out of their way to worry me? Why should they do anything so inconsequent, so improbable, so preposterous? It's the vulgarest practical joke. There has never been anything of the sort among us; we are all Philistines to the core, with about as much æsthetic sense as that hat. It's excellent soil—I don't complain of it—but not a soil to grow that flower. From where the devil, then, has the seed been dropped? I look back from generation to generation; I scour our annals without finding the least little sketching grandmother, any sign of a building, or versifying, or collecting, or even tulip-raising ancestor. They were all as blind as bats and none the less happy for that. I'm a wanton variation, an unaccountable monster. My dear father, rest his soul, went through life without a suspicion that there is anything in it
