I stood stupidly wondering at this exchange of rather ardent compliments, without an inkling of what it all meant; nor could I divine why John was in such spirits on the homeward drive. He talked so entertainingly, and with such delightful abandonment, that his companion, Mrs. Ellerton, seemed quite swept out of her usual placid indolence, and responded with an animation which I had not thought her capable of. Miss Lamb and I did more listening than talking.
To cap the climax of this exhilarating morning, we found an advance copy of Leslie Smith's poems awaiting us at the hotel, John tore open the wrapper with feverish impatience, as we walked along the corridor to our rooms, and by the time we got to his door he had taken a bird's-eye view of the entire contents.
"Isn't that a pretty bit of binding and printing?" said he, exultantly, as we shut the door behind us.
It was, indeed, all and more than our fancy had painted. Whoever might be their author, the poems of Leslie Smith
