"Oh Lord, I don't mind that!" cried Newman, with a laugh.

"But it's very distressing to me. It keeps me in a state of unrest. It
irritates me; I can't settle anything. I don't think it's good for me."

"You worry too much; that's what's the matter with you," said Newman.

"Of course it must seem so to you. You think I take things too hard, and
I think you take things too easily. We can never agree."

"But we have agreed very well all along."

"No, I haven't agreed," said Babcock, shaking his head. "I am very
uncomfortable. I ought to have separated from you a month ago."

"Oh, horrors! I'll agree to anything!" cried Newman.

Mr. Babcock buried his head in both hands. At last looking up, "I don't
think you appreciate my position," he said. "I try to arrive at the
truth about everything. And then you go too fast. For me, you are too
passionate, too extravagant. I feel as if I ought to go over all this
ground we have traversed again, by myself, alone. I am afraid I have
made a great many mistakes."

"Oh, you needn't give so many reasons," said Newman. "You are simply
tired of my company. You have a good right to be."

"No, no, I am not tired!" cried the pestered young divine. "It is very
wrong to be tired."

"I give it up!" laughed Newman. "But of course it will never do to go
on making mistakes. Go your way, by all means. I shall miss you; but you
have seen I make friends very easily. You will be lonely, yourself;
but drop me a line, when you feel like it, and I will wait for you
anywhere."

"I think I will go back to Milan. I am afraid I didn't do justice to
Luini."

"Poor Luini!" said Newman.

"I mean that I am afraid I overestimated him. I don't think that he is a
painter of the first rank."

"Luini?" Newman exclaimed; "why, he's enchanting--he's magnificent!
There is something in his genius that is like a beautiful woman. It
gives one the same feeling."

Mr. Babcock frowned and winced. And it must be added that this was, for
Newman, an unusually metaphysical flight; but in passing through Milan
he had taken a great fancy to the painter. "There you are again!"
said Mr. Babcock. "Yes, we had better separate." And on the morrow he
retraced his steps and proceeded to tone down his impressions of the
great Lombard artist.

A few days afterwards Newman received a note from his late companion
which ran as follows:--

My Dear Mr. Newman,--I am afraid that my conduct at Venice, a week ago,
seemed to you