"Well? What about Augusta?" enquired the Professor, as Lawrence paused.
"Oh—she's awful! She's the accomplished one."
"I thought you said that the middle one—what's her name?—was the cleverest."
"Yes, but cleverness never goes with what they call accomplishments," answered the young man. "I've heard of great men playing the flute, but I never heard of anybody who was 'musical' and came to anything—especially women. Fancy Cleopatra playing the piano—or Catherine the Great painting a salad of wild flowers on a fan! Can you? Or Semiramis sketching a lap dog on a cushion!"
"What very strange ideas you have!" observed the Professor, gravely.
Lawrence did not say anything in reply, but looked out over the blue water at the dark green islands or the deep bay as the Sappho paddled along, beating up a wake of egg-white froth. He was glad that Professor Knowles was going over to the other side to dwell amongst the placid inhabitants of North East Harbour, where the
