" Trenchard took up a pen. The hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth's bosom was as suddenly extinguished. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. She wished she had not stood up. The only part of his otherwise-interesting countenance, to which one could decidedly object, was the mouth; a feature that, more than any other, is conceived to betray the animal propensities of the possessor. Now the sense of beauty was spreading to a multitude of hitherto unsuspected aspects of the world about her.
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