Mr. Barker was a man in whom a considerable experience of men
supplemented a considerable natural astuteness. He was not always right
in the judgments he formed of people and their aims, but he was more
often right than wrong. His way of dealing with men was calculated on
the majority, and he knew that there are no complete exceptions to be
found in the world's characters. But his standard was necessarily
somewhat low, and he lacked the sympathetic element which enables one
high nature to understand another better than it understands its
inferiors. Barker would know how to deal with the people he met;
Claudius could understand a hero if he ever met one, but he bore himself
toward ordinary people by fixed rules of his own, not caring or
attempting to comprehend the principles on which they acted.

If any one had asked the Doctor if he loved the Countess, he would have
answered that he certainly did not. That she was the most beautiful
woman in the world, that she represented to him his highest ideal, and
that he was certain she came up to that ideal, although he knew her so
little, for he felt sure of that. But love, the Doctor thought, was
quite a different affair. What he felt for Margaret bore no resemblance
to what he had been used to call love. Besides, he would have said, did
ever a man fall in love at such short notice? Only in books. But as no
one asked him the question, he did not ask it of himself, but only went
on thinking a great deal of her, and recalling all she said. He was in
an unknown region, but he was happy and he asked no questions.
Nevertheless his nature comprehended hers, and when he began to go often
to the beautiful little villa, he knew perfectly well that Barker was
mistaken, and that the dark Countess would think twice and three times
before she would be persuaded to go to America, or to write a book, or
to do anything in the world for Claudius, except like him and show him