"I didn't think it was the second, fond lover. But I understand the second time was the critical one."
"Exactly! It was last August," said Axton, speaking rapidly, so as to give Fanks no further opportunity of interrupting. "I was, as I have stated, at Ventnor, with the idea of writing a drama--Shakespearean, of course--Elizabethan style, you understand, with a dash of modern cynicism, and _fin de siècle_ flippancy in it. Wandering about Ventnor, I came across Judith Varlins."
"For the second time of asking--I mean meeting," interpolated Fanks, lightly. "So her name was Judith. Heroic name, suggestive of queenly woman, dark-browed Cleopatra, and all that sort of thing. I picture to myself a grand Semiramis."
"No; she was not a handsome woman. Tall, graceful, dark-browed, if you like, but not pretty."
"Pshaw! who ever called regal Semiramis pretty? Such a weak adjective. But I guess your meaning. Her mind was more beautiful than her face."
"If her face had been as beautiful as her mind, sir," replied Axton, in the Johnsonian style, "she would have been the most beautiful woman in the world."
"Like Dulcinea, eh, Don Quixote Roger? Well; and you met often--juxtaposition is fatal--and love sprang up like Jonah's gourd in one night."
"No; she was not a woman to be lightly won. Judith had with her a cousin--a pretty, golden-haired damsel, whom she worshipped."
"Yes; but I didn't take much notice of her."
"Of course. Preferred brunette to blonde!"
"Yes. Florry Marson was a foolish, frivolous little thing, who had been confided to Judith's care by her dead mother."
"Whose dead mother, Florry's or Judith's?" asked Fanks, lightly.
"Florry's, of course," replied Roger, impatiently; "and Judith looked after her like the apple of her eye, though I'm afraid she had rather a hard task, for Miss Marson was one of those irritating girls who did all manner of things without thinking. She was engaged to marry a man called Spolger."
"Anything to do with 'Spolger's Soother, a Good Night's Rest'?"
"Oh! and frivolous Florry didn't like him."
"How do you know?" asked Roger, in a startled tone.
"Because I've seen Spolger's Soother, and he's not pretty enough for such an empty-headed minx as you describe Miss Marson."