life quite a brilliant philosophy, though I suppose you do not know what
that is. It's holding to your ideal, the thing that seems most worth
while, and forcing everything else into line with that. Now, you see I
had a bad handicap--a clutch on me that made me a weak, sickly fellow,
but through it all I kept my ideal."

Priscilla was listening bravely. She was following this thought as she
had the music; something in her was responding. She did not speak, and
Travers went on talking, more to himself than to her.

"Always before the poor thing I really was, walked the fine thing I would
be. I _thought_ myself straight and strong and clean. Lord! how it hurt
sometimes; but I grew, after a time, into something approaching the ideal
going on before me, thinking high and strong thoughts, forgetting the
meannesses and aches--do you understand?"

This was a fairy story to the listener. Rigid and spellbound she replied:

"Yes. And that's what I've been doing--and nobody knew. I've just been
working hard for that _me_ of _me_ that I always see. I don't care what
I have to suffer, but--" the throbbing words paused--"I'm going to know
what--it is all about!"

"It?" Again Travers was bewildered and bound.

"Yes. Life and me and what we mean. I'm not going to stay here; when the
lure of the States gets me I'm--going!"

Things were getting too tense, and Travers yielded to a nervous impulse
to laugh again. This brought a frown to Priscilla's brow.