Publisher's Synopsis
'I'm sure you don't deserve that prize. Let me see if it isn't too good for you.'Mynors smiled playfully down upon Agnes Tellwright as he idly turned the leaves ofthe book which she handed to him. 'Now, do you deserve it? Tell me honestly.'She scrutinised those sparkling and vehement black eyes with the fearless calmof infancy. 'Yes, I do, ' she answered in her high, thin voice, having at length decidedwithin herself that Mr. Mynors was joking.'Then I suppose you must have it, ' he admitted, with a fine air of giving way.As Agnes took the volume from him she thought how perfect a man Mr. Mynorswas. His eyes, so kind and sincere, and that mysterious, delicious, inexpressiblesomething which dwelt behind his eyes: these constituted an ideal for her.Willie Price stood somewhat apart, grinning, and pulling a thin honey-colouredmoustache. He was at the uncouth, disjointed age, twenty-one, and nine yearsyounger than Henry Mynors. Despite a continual effort after ease of manner, hewas often sheepish and self-conscious, even, as now, when he could discover noreason for such a condition of mind. But Agnes liked him too. His simple, pale blueeyes had a wistfulness which made her feel towards him as she felt towards her dollwhen she happened to find it lying neglected on the floo
