that the fair-haired student admired her greatly.

Claudius, for his part, wondered at himself, when he found a moment to
reflect on what he had been saying. He tried to remember whether any of
these thoughts had been formulated in his mind a month ago. He was,
indeed, conscious that his high reverence for women in the abstract had
been growing in him for years, but he had had no idea how strong his
belief had grown in this reverence as an element in social affairs.
Doubtless the Doctor had often questioned why it was that women had so
little weight in the scale, why they did so little of all they might do,
and he had read something of their doings across the ocean. But it had
all been vague, thick, and foggy, whereas now it was all sharp and
clean-edged. He had made the first step out of his dreams in that he
had thought its realisation possible, and none but dreamers know how
great and wide that step is. The first faint dawning, "It may be true,
after all," is as different from the remote, listless view of the
shadowy thought incapable of materialisation, as a landscape picture
seen by candle-light is different from the glorious reality of the scene
it represents. Therefore, when Claudius felt the awakening touch, and
saw his ideal before him, urging him, by her very existence which made
it possible, to begin the fight, he felt the blood run quickly in his
veins, and his blue eyes flashed again, and the words came flowing
easily and surely from his lips. But he wondered at his own eloquence,
not seeing yet that the divine spark had kindled his genius into a broad
flame, and not half understanding what he felt.

It is late in the day to apostrophise love. It has been done too much by
people who persuade themselves that they love because they say they do,
and because it seems such a fine thing. Poets and cynics, and good men
and bad, have had their will of the poor little god, and he has grown so