"Well! I'm not so sure!" and Gwent looked ruminative--"She's got a
smart way of settling problems while the rest of us are talking
about them."

"To her own satisfaction only"--said Miss Herbert, ironically,--
"Certainly not to the satisfaction of anybody else! She talks the
wildest nonsense about controlling the world! Imagine it! A world
controlled by Morgana!" She gave an impatient little shake of her
skirts. "I do hate these sorts of mysterious, philosophising women,
don't you? The old days must have been ever so much better! When it
was all poetry and romance and beautiful idealism! When Dante and
Beatrice were possible!"

Gwent smiled sourly.

"They never WERE possible!" he retorted--"Dante was, like all poets,
a regular humbug. Any peg served to hang his stuff on,--from a child
of nine to a girl of eighteen. The stupidest thing ever written is
what he called his 'New Life' or 'Vita Nuova.' I read it once, and
it made me pretty nigh sick. Think of all that twaddle about
Beatrice 'denying him her most gracious salutation'! That any
creature claiming to be a man could drivel along in such a style
beats me altogether!"

"It's perfectly lovely!" declared Miss Herbert--"You've no taste in
literature, Mr. Gwent!"

"I've no taste for humbug"--he answered--"That's so! I guess I know
the difference between tragedy and comedy, even when I see them side