ut not enough that is good."

"O, you Philistine. How can you go on reading these exquisite lyrics and
not soar above Puritan casuistry in the enjoyment of beauty for its own
sake?"

"You misunderstand me, my dear. I never said that I did not appreciate
the beauties of this rhythm and the subtleties of this language. What I
mean is that I see no reason why a poet's errors should be pardoned
because his quatrains are above criticism. Now Petrarch, by his own
confession, was not exceptionally well-behaved, but whatever his morals
may have been they should not be judged by his lyrics. Nor, for that
matter, should his lyrics be judged by his behavior."

"You have lived in a New Hampshire village too long to view the world
through the broad lenses of cosmopolitanism."

"I have been away from a New Hampshire village long enough to look
through the sordid spectacles of worldliness, and I was glad enough to
return to my Puritan blue glasses."

"Stop talking such nonsense, Florence. I don't believe a word of it.
Here you are not quite twenty-four years old. You have had the same
education I had; we went to the same school, studied the same books,
lived in the same room, traveled about Europe together for nearly a
year, met the same people, have almost the same tastes, and have spent a
winter in Washington together, to say nothing of our countless letters
to each other in the interim. The only real difference between us is
that you were born in Fairville and I in Chicago, that I am married and
you are not, and that I am fourteen months your senior; yet with all
this affinity of tastes and education, you deliver a bit of
straight-laced Calvinism which makes me shudder and smell sulphur and
roasting flesh."

"I deny the implied accusation, although, if finding fault with the
recklessness of life of the present day constitutes being a Puritan, I
fear I shall be compelled to plead guilty. They say one's face is an
index of one's character, so I suppose mine is as long as the one
hundred and nineteenth Psalm, and as narrow as it is long."

"No, Florence, you are a dissembler, for your sparkling blue eyes,
bright cheeks, and soft brown hair are more Parisienne than Puritan, to
say nothing of those white teeth and that sweet little mouth. No, my
dear, there is nothing narrow about your face; in fact, I think it is
almost round enough for a Breton peasant."

"You cruel woman! I shall never forgive you for such an insulting
rema