"Not for worlds. I would not on any account disturb
or change your pretty little beliefs. It is your chief charm
that you always believe every-thing. How desperate would our case
be if young ladies only believed facts, and never accepted another
person's assurance, but preferred the evidence of their own eyes!
They would have no illusions, and a woman without illusions is
the dreariest and most difficult thing to manage possible."

"Thing?" protested Irais.

The Man of Wrath, usually so silent, makes up for it
from time to time by holding forth at unnecessary length.
He took up his stand now with his back to the fire,
and a glass of Glubwein in his hand. Minora had hardly
heard his voice before, so quiet had he been since she came,
and sat with her pencil raised, ready to fix for ever
the wisdom that should flow from his lips.

"What would become of poetry if women became so sensible
that they turned a deaf ear to the poetic platitudes of love?
That love does indulge in platitudes I suppose you will admit."
He looked at Irais.

"Yes, they all say exactly the same thing," she acknowledged.

"Who could murmur pretty speeches on the beauty of a common sacrifice,
if the listener's want of imagination was such as to enable her only
to distinguish one victim in the picture, and that one herself? "