ings, and even such faces; and I felt that the crisis demanded all my lucidity, all my wisdom. "Oh, yes! I'm a student of physiognomy. Do you mean," I pursued, "that you've a passion for Mr. Paraday's books?"
"They've been every thing to me, and a little more beside—I know them by heart. They've completely taken hold of me. There's no author about whom I feel as I do about Neil Paraday."
"Permit me to remark then," I presently rejoined, "that you're one of the right sort."
"One of the enthusiasts? Of course I am!"
"Oh, there are enthusiasts who are quite of the wrong. I mean you're one of those to whom an appeal can be made."
"An appeal?" Her face lighted as if with the chance of some great sacrifice.
If she was ready for one it was only waiting for her, and in a moment I mentioned it. "Give up this crude purpose of seeing him. Go away without it. That will be far better."
She looked mystified; then she turned visibly pale. "Why, hasn't he any personal charm?" The girl was terrible and laughable in her bright directness.
"Ah, that dreadful word 'personal'!" I exclaimed; "we're dying of it, and you women bring it out with murderous effect. When you encounter a genius as fine as this idol of ours, let him off the dreary duty of being a personality as
