ffections. Already the
great philosopher of the age has pronounced that the passion of love
plays far too important a part in human existence, and that it is a
terrible obstacle to human progress.

The general temper of the times echoes the sentence of Mr. Mill. The
enthusiastic votary who has been pouring his vows at the feet of his
mistress consoles himself, as he leaves her, with the thought that
engagements cannot last for ever, and that he shall soon be able to get
back to the real world of business and of life. He presses his beloved
one, with all the eloquence of passion, to fix an early day for their
union, but the eloquence has a very practical bearing. While Corydon is
piping to Phyllis, he is anxious about the engagements he is missing,
and the distance he is losing in the race for life. But Phyllis remains
the nymph of passion and poetry and romance.

Time has no meaning for her; she is not neglecting any work; she is
only idle, as she always is idle. But love throws a new glory and a new
interest around her indolence. The endless little notes with which she
worries the Post-Office and her friends become suddenly sacred and
mysterious. The silly little prattle hushes into confidential whispers.
Every crush through the season, becomes the scene of a reunion of two
hearts which have been parted for the eternity of twenty-four hours.
Love, in fact, does not in the least change woman's life, or give it new
earnestness or a fresh direction; but it makes it infinitely more
interesting, and it heightens the enjoyment of wasting a day by a new
sense of power. For that brief space of triumph Phyllis is able to make
Corydon waste his day too. The more he writhes and wriggles under the
compulsion, the more lingering looks he casts back on the work he has
quitted, the greater her victory.

He cannot decently confess that he is tired of the little comedy in
which he takes so romantic a part, and certainly his fellow actress will
not help him to the confession. By dint of acting it, indeed, she comes
at last to a certain belief in her _role_. She really imagines herself
to be very busy, to have sacrificed her leisure as well as her heart to
the object of her devotion. She scolds him for his backwardness in not
more thoroughly sacrificing his leisure to her. Work may be very
important to him, but it is of less importance to the self-sacrificing
being who hasn't had one moment to finish the third volume of the last
sensa