“How is that?”
“Wait a minute, and I'll read the description.”
Mr. Benton pulled a paper from his pocket,—the last copy of the Weekly Budget,—and by the light of a street lamp read the following extract to his amused auditor.
“Miranda was just eighteen. Her form was queenly and majestic. Tall and stately, she moved among her handmaidens with a dignity which revealed her superior rank. Her eyes were dark as night. Her luxuriant tresses,—there, the rest is torn off,” said Mr. Benton, in a tone of vexation.
“She is tall, then?” said Paul.
“Yes, just like Miranda.”
“Then,” said our hero, in some hesitation, “I should think she would not be very well suited to you.”
“Why not?” asked Mr. Benton, quickly.
“Because,” said Paul, “you're rather short, you know.”
“I'm about the medium height,” said Mr. Benton, raising himself upon his toes as he spoke.