of noblest
speech.

That, he must renounce. But not thereby was he condemned to a foolish
or base alliance. Women innumerable might be met, charming, sensible,
good, no unfit objects of his wooing; in all modesty he might hope for
what the world calls happiness. But, put it at the best, he would be
doing as other men do, taking a wife for his solace, for the defeat of
his assailing blood. It was the bitterness of his mere humanity that he
could not hope to live alone and faithful. Five years ago he might have
said to himself, "Irene or no one!" and have said it with the honesty
of youth, of inexperience. No such enthusiasm was possible to him now.
For the thing which is common in fable is all but unknown in life: a
man, capable of loving ardently, who for the sake of one woman, beyond
his hope, sacrifices love altogether. Piers Otway, who read much verse,
had not neglected his Browning. He knew the transcendent mood of
Browning's ideal lover--the beatific dream of love eternal, world after
world, hoping for ever, and finding such hope preferable to every less
noble satisfaction. For him, a mood only, passing with a smile and a
sigh. To that he was not equal; these heights heroic were not for his
treading. Too insistent were the flesh and blood that composed his
earthly being.

He must renounce the best of himself, step consciously to a lower
level. Only let it not prove sheer degradation.

In all his struggling against the misery of loss, one thought never
tempted him. Never for a fleeting instant did he doubt that his highest
love was at the same time highest reason. Men woefully deceive
themselves, yearning for women whose image in their minds is a mere
illusion, women who scarce for a day could bring them happiness, and
whose companionship through life would become a curse. Be it so; Piers
knew it, dwelt upon it as a perilous fact; it had no application to his
love for Irene Derwent. Indeed, Piers was rich in that least common
form of intelligence--the intelligence of the heart. Emotional
perspicacity, the power of recognising through all forms of desire
one's true affinity in the other sex, is bestowed upon one mortal in a
vast multitude. Not lack of opportunity alone accounts for the failure
of men and women to mate becomingly; only the elect have eyes to see,
even where the field of choice is freely opened to them. But Piers
Otway saw and knew, once and for ever. He had the genius of love: where
he could not