there are no fogs in London, and Mr. Pembroke, though he would
not go to this, was only restrained by the certainty of being
found out. On this occasion he remarked that the Greeks lacked
spiritual insight, and had a low conception of woman.

"As to women--oh! there they were dreadful," said Rickie, leaning
his hand on the chapel. "I realize that more and more. But as to
spiritual insight, I don't quite like to say; and I find Plato
too difficult, but I know men who don't, and I fancy they
mightn't agree with you."

"Far be it from me to disparage Plato. And for philosophy as a
whole I have the greatest respect. But it is the crown of a man's
education, not the foundation. Myself, I read it with the utmost
profit, but I have known endless trouble result from boys who
attempt it too soon, before they were set."

"But if those boys had died first," cried Rickie with sudden
vehemence, "without knowing what there is to know--"

"Or isn't to know!" said Mr. Pembroke sarcastically.

"Or what there isn't to know. Exactly. That's it."

"My dear Rickie, what do you mean? If an old friend may be frank,
you are talking great rubbish." And, with a few well-worn
formulae, he propped up the young man's orthodoxy. The props were
unnecessary. Rickie had his own equilibrium. Neither the
Revivalism that assails a boy at about the age of fifteen, nor
the scepticism that meets him five years later, could sway him