would," said
Farquhar.

"Yes, I am complex; but not at the same moment. I have two distinct
natures, but the two are never on the stage at once. I don't in the
least know what St. Paul meant when he said that the evil he would not
that he did. I can quite understand doing the evil on Tuesday morning
that I would not on Monday afternoon; but I could never do anything and
disapprove of it at the same minute."

"That is because you are so good--and so cold."

"Am I?"

"Yes, dear Miss Farringdon; and so amiable. You never do things in a
temper."

"But I do; I really have got a temper of my own, though nowadays people
seem to find difficulty in believing it. I have frequently done things
in a temper before now; but as long as the temper lasts I am pleased
that I have done them, and feel that I do well to be angry. When the
temper is over, I sometimes think differently; but not till then. As I
have told you before, my will is so strong that it and I are never at
loggerheads with each other; it always rules me completely."

Farquhar sighed. "I wish I were as strong as you are; but I am not. And
do you mean to tell me that there is no worldly side to you, either; no
side that hankers after fleshpots, even while the artist within you is
being fed with manna from heaven?"

"No; I don't think there is," Elisabeth replied slowly. "I really do not
like people any the better for having money and titles and things like
that, and it is no use pretending that I do."

"I do. I wish I didn't, but I can't help it. It is only you who can help
me to look at life from the ideal point of view--you whose feet are
still wet with the dew of Olympus, and in whom the Greek spirit is as
fresh as it was three thousand years ago."

"Oh! I'm not as perfect as all that; far from it! I don't despise people
for not having rank or wealth, since rank and wealth don't happen to be
the things that interest me. But there are things that do interest
me--genius and wit and culture and charm, for instance--and I am quite
as hard on the people who lack these gifts, as ever you are on the
impecunious nobodies. I confess I am often ashamed of myself when I
realize how frightfully I look down upon stupid men and dull women, and
how utterly indifferent I am as to what becomes of them. So I really am
as great a snob as you are, though I wear my snobbery--like my rue--with
a difference."

"Not a snob, dear lady--never a snob! There never existed a woman wi