gravel, and now, with that charming smile of his, turned to Arthur.

'I never cease to be astonished at the unexpectedness of human nature,'
he remarked. 'It is really very surprising that a man like you should
fall so deeply in love with a girl like Margaret Dauncey.'

Arthur made no reply, and Dr Porhoët, fearing that his words might
offend, hastened to explain.

'You know as well as I do that I think her a very charming young person.
She has beauty and grace and sympathy. But your characters are more
different than chalk and cheese. Notwithstanding your birth in the East
and your boyhood spent amid the very scenes of the Thousand and One
Nights, you are the most matter-of-fact creature I have ever come
across.'

'I see no harm in your saying insular,' smiled Arthur. 'I confess that I
have no imagination and no sense of humour. I am a plain, practical man,
but I can see to the end of my nose with extreme clearness. Fortunately
it is rather a long one.'

'One of my cherished ideas is that it is impossible to love without
imagination.'

Again Arthur Burdon made no reply, but a curious look came into his
eyes as he gazed in front of him. It was the look which might fill the
passionate eyes of a mystic when he saw in ecstasy the Divine Lady of
his constant prayers.

'But Miss Dauncey has none of that narrowness of outlook which, if you