her. The
fascination is inexplicable!"

"We all experience it, and that is why we like Mike," said Harding.
"I heard a lady, and a woman whose thoughts are not, I assure you,
given to straying in that direction, say that the first time she saw
him she hated him, but soon felt an influence like the fascination
the serpent exercises over the bird stealing over her. We find but
ourselves in all that we see, hear, and feel. The world is but our
idea. All that women have of goodness, sweetness, gentleness, they
keep for others. A woman would not speak to you of what is bad in
her, but she would to Mike; her sensuality is the side of her nature
which she shows him, be she Messalina or St. Theresa; the proportion,
not the principle is altered. And this is why Mike cannot believe in
virtue, and declares his incredulity to be founded on experience."

"No doubt, no doubt!"

Fresh brandies-and-sodas were poured out, fresh cigars were lighted,
and John descended the staircase and walked with his friends into
Pump Court, where they met Mike Fletcher.

"What have you been talking about to-night?" he asked.

"We wanted Norton to read us the pessimistic poem he is writing, but
he says it is in a too unfinished state. I told him you were at work
on one on the same subject. It is curious that you who differ so
absolutely on essentials should agree to sink your differences at the
very point at which you are most opposed to principle and practice."

After a pause, Mike said--

"I suppose it was Schopenhauer's dislike of women that first
attracted you. He used to call women the short-legged race, that were
only admitted into society a hundred and fifty years ago."

"Did he say that? Oh, how good, and how true! I never could think
a female figure as beautiful as a male. A male figure rises to the
head, and is a symbol of the intelligence; a woman's figure sinks to
the inferior parts of the body, and is expressive of generation."

As he spoke his eyes followed the line and balance of Mike's neck and
shoulders, which showed at this moment upon a dark shadow falling
obliquely along an old wall. Soft, violet eyes in which tenderness
dwelt, and the strangely tall and lithe figure was emphasized by the
conventional pose--that pose of arm and thigh which the Greeks never
wearied of. Seeing him, the mind turned from the reserve of the
Christian world towards the frank enjoyment of the Pagan; and John's
solid, rhythmless form was as symbol