up house with life as a lover sets up house with his mistress, takes an
attic near the stars, or builds a mansion that amazes the street-urchins.
And they dwell together. And youth strives in every way to know his
mistress. He tests her, tries her, kisses and cuffs her, gives her
presents, weeps at her knees. And at first she is magical, and a wonder,
and a dream, and eternity. And then, perhaps, she is a faded creature,
and terrible as a lost girl whom one has known in innocence. She is grim
and arid. She fills youth with a great horror and with a great fear. He
dare not kiss her any more. And then, perhaps, at last he prays, "Deliver
me from this bondage!" And he thinks that he knows his mistress. But,
happy or sad, does he ever quite know her? Is she not always a mystery,
this life, a sphinx who jealously guards a great secret?

His evening with the two boys, for so the doctor called them in his
thoughts, had set him musing thus definitely. Was there not a wonder
and a secret in their dual life of friendship? For is not the potent
influence of one soul over another one of the marvels of time? The
doctor loved Valentine as a human saint loves another saint. But he
loved Julian as a saint loves a sinner. Not that he named Julian sinner,
but it was impossible to be with him, observantly, sensitively, and not
to feel the thrill of his warm, passionate humanity, which cried aloud
for governance, for protection. Julian could be great, with the greatness
only attained by purged humanity, superior surely to the peaceful purity
of angels. But he could be a castaway, oh! as much a castaway as the
fainting shipwrecked man whom the hoarse surf rolls to the sad island of
a desert sea.

Without Valentine what might he not have been? And the little doctor
let his imagination run loose until his light eyes were dim with absurd
tears. He winked them away as he turned into Regent Street. The hour