 other times the contemner of the commonplace.
    »So you leave us to-morrow, Mr. Elgar? I have just met Mr. Spence, and heard
the news from him. I am glad you could find a moment to call. You are going to
be very busy, I hear, for the rest of the winter.«
    »I hope so,« Elgar replied, walking across the room to fetch his
half-emptied teacup.
    »We shall look eagerly for the results of your work.«
    For ten minutes the conversation kept a rather flat course. Cecily only
spoke when addressed by her aunt; then quite in her usual way. Elgar took the
first opportunity to signal departure. When Cecily gave him her hand, it was
with a moment's unfaltering look - a look very different from that which charmed
everyday acquaintances at their coming and going, unlike anything man or woman
had yet seen on her countenance. The faintest smile hovered about her lips as
she said, »Good-bye;« her steadfast eyes added the hope which there was no need
to speak.
    When he was gone, Mrs. Lessingham sipped her tea in silence. Cecily moved
about and presently brought a book to her chair by the tea-table.
    »No doubt you had the advantage of hearing Mr. Elgar's projects detailed,«
said her aunt, with irony which presumed a complete understanding between them.
    »No.« Cecily shook her head and smiled.
    »Curious how closely he and Mr. Marsh resemble each other at times.«
    »Do you think so?«
    »Haven't you noticed it? There are differences, of course. Mr. Elgar is
originally much better endowed; though at present I should think he is even less
to be depended upon, either intellectually or morally. But they belong to the
same species. What numbers of such young men I have met!«
    »What are the characteristics of the species, aunt?« Cecily inquired, with a
pleasant laugh.
    »I dare say you know them almost as well as I do. You might write an essay
on The Young Man of Promise of our day. I should be rather too severe; you would
treat them with a lighter hand, and therefore more effectually.«
    In speaking, she kept her eyes on the girl, who appeared to muse the subject
with sportful malice.
    »I am not sure,« said Cecily, »that Mr. Elgar would come into the essay.«
    »You mean that his promise is too obviously delusive?«
    »Not
