they have never a light of their own, but are always the reflectors
of some other light which you cannot see. He would allow that they
were extraordinarily quick in assimilating another person's views,
but that was all. I quoted some very shrewd remarks which a lady had
made to me at dinner. 'Those are the traces of the last man,' said
he. According to his preposterous theory, you could in conversation
with a woman reconstruct the last man who had made an impression to
her. 'She will reflect you upon the next person she talks to,' said
he. It was ungallant, but it was ingenious.

Dearest sweetheart, before I stop, let me tell you that if I have
brought any happiness into your life, you have brought far, far more
into mine. My soul seemed to come into full being upon the day when
I loved you. It was so small, and cramped, and selfish, before--and
life was so hard, and stupid, and purposeless. To live, to sleep, to
eat, for some years, and then to die--it was so trivial and so
material. But now the narrow walls seem in an instant to have
fallen, and a boundless horizon stretches around me. And everything
appears beautiful. London Bridge, King William Street, Abchurch
Lane, the narrow stair, the office with the almanacs and the shining
desks, it has all become glorified, tinged with a golden haze. I am
stronger: I step out briskly and breathe more deeply. And I am a
better man too. God knows there was room for it. But I do try to
make an ideal, and to live up to it. I feel such a fraud when I
think of being put upon a pedestal by you, when some little hole
where I am out of sight is my true place. I am like the man in
Browning who mourned over the spots upon his 'speckled hide,' but
rejoiced in the swansdown of his lady. And so, my own dear sweet
little swansdown lady, good-night to you, with my heart's love now
and for ever from your true lover,