"Exquisite--superb!" he muttered; and he was a man whose own ideals were so matchless that living women rarely could wring out his praise.
"She is nearly perfect, your Princesse Corona!" "Nearly!" cried a Roman sculptor.

"What, in Heaven's name, can she want ?" "Only one thing!" "And that is----" "To have loved." Wherewith he turned into the Greco.
He had found the one flaw--and it was still there.

What he missed in her was still wanting..