ntemptible happiness. I must have an ideal life or else
annihilation--splendid misery or splendid content--nothing between the
two."

"You have not half showed your capabilities yet," replied Agnes. "We
have to look upon this world as the merest pilgrimage, but we can help
each other. I have hope because I have faith. Sara de Treverell said the
other day that, in men, experience often makes mere callousness of
character. Is this true, David?"

"Not of me; you have saved me from the worst things. But it simply
worries and almost exasperates me to hear religious talk from any one.
When I hear a sermon I feel an inclination always to say, 'My dear
fellow, can't you put your case better?' I want good stuff about Divine
and human nature--not this vagueness and platitude. Why don't they tell
one something about the optimism of God, even before the spectacle of
men's weakness? But, instead, we are told to moan about this vale of
tears; we are promised chastisements, disappointments, woes,
persecution. A philosophy of suffering makes men strong, but a
philosophy of despair is bound to make a generation of pleasure-seekers."

"And why?"

"Because the veritable world, even on its bare merits, _is not so bad_.
It is full of beauty, and interest, and enjoyment. It is a lie to call
it so many vile names. One's good sense revolts. Do you think, darling,
that I could look at you, love you, be loved by you, and call life a bad
joke?"

Since the beginning of time this logic has held its own against all
scientific criticism. The two, being secure from observation, kissed
each other and accepted the earth with perfect cheerfulness. They made
some plans, and after the agony of parting till the next day, each went
home to write the other a long letter. In the course of the afternoon
Rennes passed through Arlington Street four times in a hansom and twice
on foot. Agnes was always at one of the windows innocently observing the
weather. He thought her the loveliest thing created. He pitied, with
benevolence, all other men, and he spent an hour at his solicitor's
office, without begrudging the time, or chafing under the fatigue.

Two days later Lord Reckage received the following communication from
Miss Carillon:--

MY DEAR BEAUCLERK,--

This letter will astonish and grieve you. I have written several.
None please me. All say too much and yet leave all unsaid. I must
send this one and trust to your generosity. I am