"'At some future date I hope to present to you Mademoiselle de Beaugarde—and looking forward to your reply, I remain,
"'My dear Woodville,
"'Yours, with a thousand good wishes,
"'G. Ridokanaki.
"'P.S.—I should have written at greater length, but I am expecting Madame Beaugarde and her daughter, as I am to escort them to see some pictures. You will, therefore, grant me your indulgence for the bold, almost abrupt way in which I have conveyed to you my news. You will make excuses for the happy lover! She has an oval face, with a peach-like complexion. Her eyes resemble sapphires: her teeth are like pearls. Let me hear from you soon.'"
"Now, isn't he a wonderful chap?" asked Woodville. "And the best fellow in the world. I always liked him. How gifted he is! He describes people in detail, and by the yard, without giving one the very slightest idea of their appearance. He has a real genius for platitudes."
"And what an original description! Peach cheeks and sapphire eyes! Fruit and jewellery! But I daresay she's a dear, and I forgive him now. And Frank, do you realise what this means—to us?"
"I've been realising it since the first post this morning, Sylvia."
"You'll accept it?"
"Naturally. Everything is right, as you said it would be. We'll tell Sir James to-day."