“And of sense, too, I think.  Mr. Wayland, who is a student, had a splendid library, and he gave me some ideas as to reading.”

“Can you part with any of them?”

“That depends,” she replied, with a manner as brusque as his own.

“On what?”

“The inducements and natural opportunities.  I’m not going to recite a lesson like a schoolgirl.”

“One would think you had been to school.”

“I have, where much is taught and learned thoroughly.”

“Now, that is enigmatical again.”

“The best of the books you sent me left some room for the imagination.”

“Ha, ha, ha, Madge! you are scoring points right along.  I told you, Graydon, that you couldn’t understand her in a moment or in a week.”

“I never regarded your imagination as rampant, Henry.  Have you fathomed all her mystery?”

“Far from it; nor do I expect to, and yet you will grant to me some degree of penetration.”

“Well, to think that I should have come home to find a sphinx instead of little Madge!”

“Thank you.  A sphinx is usually portrayed with at least the head of a woman.”

“In this case she has one that would inspire a Greek sculptor.  Perhaps in time I may discover a heart also.”

“That’s doubtful.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“What far-fetched nonsense!” said Mrs. Muir, sententiously.  “Madge has come back one of the best and most sensible girls in the world.  Men and poets are always imagining that women are mysteries.  The fact is, they are as transparent as glass when they know their own minds; when they don’t, who else should know them?”

“Who indeed?” said Graydon, laughing.  “Your saving clause, Mary, is as boundless as space.”

“How absurd!  I understand Madge perfectly, and so does Henry.”

“You said last evening that the change in her was a miracle.  Once in the realm of the supernatural, what may not one expect?”

“You knew what I meant.  I referred to Madge’s health and appearance and accomplishments and all that.  She has not changed in heart and feeling any more than I have, and I’m sure I’m not a sphinx.”

“No, Mary; you are a sensible and excellent wife and my very dear sister.  You suggest no mystery.  Madge certainly does, for you have, in addition to all the rest, announced an indefinite list of accomplishments.”

“If I remain the subject of conversation I shall complain that your remarks are personal,” said Madge, her brows contracting with a little vexation.

“That is what makes our talk so interesting.  Personals are always read first.  In drawing Mary and Henry out, I am getting acquainted with you.”

“It’s not a good way.  You like it merely because it teases me and saves trouble.  If you must gossip and surmise about me, wait till I’m absent.”

“There, Madge, you know I’m nine-tenths in fun,” said he, laughing.