The appearance of Miss Lucy Morgan the next day, as she sat in George's fast cutter, proved so charming that her escort was stricken to soft words instantly, and failed to control a poetic impulse.

Her rich little hat was trimmed with black fur; her hair was almost as dark as the fur; a great boa of black fur was about her shoulders; her hands were vanished into a black muff; and George's laprobe was black.

"You look like--" he said.

"Your face looks like--it looks like a snowflake on a lump of coal.

I mean a--a snowflake that would be a rose-leaf, too!" "Perhaps you'd better look at the reins," she returned.