"Is there? It was set up from a new fount specially made for this
edition. I always supposed my grandfather invented it."

"Oh no, he couldn't have done that. He may have adapted it. In fact,
he must have adapted it."

This young man had set aside a cherished tradition, as lightly as if
he were blowing the dust off the leaves. She was interested.

"How can you tell that?"

"Oh, I know. It's very like a manuscript in the British Museum."

"What manuscript?"

"The Greek text of the Complutensian Polyglot." (He could not help
saying to himself, 'That ought to fetch her!') "But it doesn't follow
that it's the same type. Whatever it is, it's very beautiful."

"It's easier to read, too, than the ordinary kind."

He was still turning over the pages, handling the book as a lover
handles the thing he loves. The very touch of the vellum thrilled him
with an almost sensual rapture. Here and there a line flashed from a
chorus and lured him deeper into the text. His impulse was still to
exclaim, but a finer instinct taught him to suppress his scholarly
emotion. Looking up as she spoke he saw her eyes fixed on him with a
curious sympathy. And as he thought of the possible destiny of the
Euripides he felt guilty as of a treachery towards her in loving the