The Sweetheart of M. Briseux

To this unexpectedly flattering conclusion, of course, she was slow in coming; it was the result of the winter we passed together after Harold had turned his attention, as his mother always publicly phrased it, to art. He had declared that we must immediately go abroad that he might study the works of the masters. His mother, I believe, suggested that he might begin with the rudiments nearer home. But apparently he had mastered the rudiments, for she was overruled and we went to Rome. I don’t know how many of the secrets of the masters Harold learned; but we passed a delightful winter.