At the age of twelve or so, having given up dolls and broken our steam engines, France, but much more probably Italy, and India almost for a certainty, draws the superfluous imagination.

One's aunts have been to Rome; and every one has an uncle who was last heard of--poor man--in Rangoon.

He will never come back any more.

But it is the governesses who start the Greek myth.

Look at that for a head (they say)--nose, you see, straight as a dart, curls, eyebrows--everything appropriate to manly beauty; while his legs and arms have lines on them which indicate a perfect degree of development--the Greeks caring for the body as much as for the face.