"Ah, but I have compensations."

"One you certainly have," said I, thinking of Dorothy,
"and that one is enough to make a man happy anywhere."

"Yes, yes," he answered, quickly, "but that is not what I
mean. It is not there that I look for a wider life. Love--do
you think that love broadens a man's outlook? To me it seems
to make him narrower--happier, perhaps, within his own little
circle--but distinctly narrower. Knowledge is the only thing
that broadens life, sets it free from the tyranny of the
parish, fills it with the sense of power. And love is the
opposite of knowledge. Love is a kind of an illusion--a happy
illusion, that is what love is. Don't you see that?"

"See it?" I cried. "I don't know what you mean. Do you
mean that you don't really care for Dorothy Ward? Do you mean
that what you have won in her is an illusion? If so, you are
as wrong as a man can be."

"No, no," he answered, eagerly, "you know I don't mean
that. I could not live without her. But love is not the only
reality. There is something else, something broader,
something----"

"Come away," I said, "come away, man! You are talking
nonsense, treason. You are not true to yourself. You've been
working too hard at your books. There's a maggot in your brain.
Come out for a long walk."