"I have," she exclaimed.
"Yes, no doubt, but that isn't the first impression when one sees you. Is it?"
"I hope not," said Lucia. "I'm sure an intellectual expression is delightful, yet I hope not."
"Why?"
Lucia refused ice, and put both her elbows on the table.
"Because Maud hasn't got an intellectual expression," she said.
"No, thank God!" he said.
"Ah! why that?" she asked.
"Clearly because, as she is quite perfect as she is, and has not got an intellectual expression, I thank God she hasn't, since any alteration must be for the worse!"
"Oh, but that is not very nice for her," said Lucia. "It eans that any change in her implies deterioration."
Charlie laughed.
"That's what comes of being perfect," he said.
There was something final about this: he seemed rather to sum up what they had said instead of leaving an opening for further developments in the conversation. She took his hint as instinctively as he had given it.
"You must bring her down to Brayton in the autumn," she said. "We are going to be there from October straight on for ever and ever. Do you know, I can't imagine you and Edgar alone. What do you talk about?"
"His character, chiefly," said Charlie.
"Ah! he would like that," said Lucia. "I mean he loves discussions."
Charlie filled his mouth very full, so as to avoid an immediate reply. He was shaking with internal laughter, for the first part of Lucia's speech had been so obviously genuine and unpremeditated; the second sentence so gloriously lame. Then, unfortunately, their eyes met; by a superhuman effort Charlie swallowed half a peach, and they both laughed.
"But he does love discussion," said Lucia.
"I know. So do I. Don't you?"
This was rather adroit.
"Yes, I like it, with limitations. But I don't think it's really the most enjoyable form of conversation."
"What is, then?"
"Ridiculous conversation—conversation which you can't re-
