"Poor Luini!" said Newman.

"I mean that I am afraid I overestimated him. I don't think that he is a
painter of the first rank."

"Luini?" Newman exclaimed; "why, he's enchanting--he's magnificent!
There is something in his genius that is like a beautiful woman. It
gives one the same feeling."

Mr. Babcock frowned and winced. And it must be added that this was, for
Newman, an unusually metaphysical flight; but in passing through Milan
he had taken a great fancy to the painter. "There you are again!"
said Mr. Babcock. "Yes, we had better separate." And on the morrow he
retraced his steps and proceeded to tone down his impressions of the
great Lombard artist.

A few days afterwards Newman received a note from his late companion
which ran as follows:--

My Dear Mr. Newman,--I am afraid that my conduct at Venice, a week ago,
seemed to you strange and ungrateful, and I wish to explain my position,
which, as I said at the time, I do not think you appreciate. I had long
had it on my mind to propose that we should part company, and this step
was not really so abrupt as it seemed. In the first place, you know, I
am traveling in Europe on funds supplied by my congregation, who kindly
offered me a vacation and an opportunity to enrich my mind with the
treasures of nature and art in the Old World. I feel, therefore, as if I
ought to use my time to the very best advantage. I have a high sense of
responsibility. You appear to care only for the pleasure of the hour,