who
know him."

"How very interesting!" cried Elisabeth enthusiastically. "I wonder how
unorthodox he is. Do you think he doesn't believe in anything?"

"In himself, I fancy. Even the baldest creed is usually self-embracing.
But I believe he indulges in the not unfashionable luxury of doubts.
You might attend to them, Elisabeth; you are the sort of girl who would
enjoy attending to doubts."

"I suppose I really am too fond of arguing."

"There you misjudge yourself. You are instructive rather than
argumentative. Saying the same thing over and over again in different
language is not arguing, you know; I should rather call it preaching, if
I were not afraid of hurting your feelings."

"You are a very rude boy! But, anyway, I have taught you a lot of
things; you can't deny that."

"I don't wish to deny it; I am your eternal debtor. To tell the truth, I
believe you have taught me everything I know, that is worth knowing,
except the things that you have tried to teach me. There, I must
confess, you have signally failed."

"What have I tried to teach you?"

"Heaps of things: that pleasure is more important than duty; that we are
sent into the world to enjoy ourselves; that the worship of art is the
only soul-satisfying form of faith; that conscience is an exhausted
force; that feelings and emotions ought to be labelled and scheduled;
that lobster is digestible; that Miss Herbert is the most attractive
woman in the world; etcetera, etcetera."

"And what have I taught you without trying?"

"Ah! that is a large order; and it is remarkable that the things you
have taught me are just the things that you have never learned
yourself."

"Then I couldn't have taught them."

"But you did; that is where your genius comes in."

"I really am tremendously quick in judging character," repeated
Elisabeth thoughtfully; "if I met you for the first time I should know
in five minutes that you were a man with plenty of head, and heaps of
soul, and very little heart."

"That would show wonderful penetration on your part."

"You may laugh, but I should. Of course, as it is, it is not
particularly clever of me to understand you thoroughly; I have known you
so long."

"Exactly; it would only be distinctly careless of you if you did not."

"Of course it would; but I do. I could draw a map of your mind with my
eyes shut, I know it so well."

"I wish you would. I should value it even if it were drawn with your
eyes open, though