"Me!" I exclaimed, in amazement--"I'm very far from that--"

"Well, you are a dreamer!" he said, and resting his arms on the deck
rail he looked away from me down into the sunlit sea--"You do not
live here in this world with us--you think you do,--and yet in your
own mind you know you do not. You dream--and your life is that of
vision simply. I'm not sure that I should like to see you wake. For
as long as you can dream you will believe in the fairy tale;--the
'princess' of Hans Andersen and the Brothers Grimm holds good--and
that is why you should have pretty things about you,--music, roses
and the like trifles,--to keep up the delicate delusion."

I was surprised and just a little vexed at his way of talking. Why,
even with the underlying flattery of his words, should he call me a
dreamer? I had worked for my own living as practically as himself in
the world, and if not with such financially successful results, only
because my aims had never been mere money-spinning. He had attained
enormous wealth,--I a modest competence,--he was old and I was
young,--he was ill and miserable,--I was well and happy,--which of
us was the 'dreamer'? My thoughts were busy with this question, and
he saw it.

"Don't perplex yourself,"--he said,--"and don't be offended with me
for my frankness. My view of life is not yours,--nor are we ever
likely to see things from the same standpoint. Yours is the more
enviable condition. You are looking well,--you feel well--you are
well! Health is the best of all things." He paused, and lifting his
eyes from the contemplation of the water, regarded me fixedly.
"That's a lovely bit of bell-heather you're wearing! It glows like
fiery topaz."