"Mr. Davy! Handsome! I am quite sure you are laughing, or you would never call him handsome."
"Well, I have just given offence to my wife in the same way. It is very well for me that Millicent does not especially care for what is handsome."
"But she likes beauty, Mr. Davy; she likes whatever I like; and I know just exactly how she feels when she looks at your eyes. What very beautiful eyes yours are, Mr. Davy! Don't you think so, Millicent?"
Davy laughed so very loud that the echoes called back to him again, and Millicent said,—
"He knows what I think, Charles."
"But you never told me so much, did you, my love?"
"I like to hear you say 'my love' to Millicent, Mr. Davy."
"And I like to say it, Charles."
"And she likes to hear it. Now, Mr. Davy, about 'handsome.' You should not call him so,—why do you? You did not at the festival."
"Well, Charles, when I saw this wonderful being at the festival, there was a melancholy in his expression which was, though touching, almost painful; and I do not see it any longer, but, on the contrary, an exquisite sprightliness instead. He was also thinner then, and paler,—no one can wish to see him so pale; but his colour now looks like the brightest health. He certainly is handsome, Charles."