"

"Quite."

"Then I maintain that it is perfectly mathematical; the object of
mathematics is to arrive at the truth."

"_Vox et preterea nihil._ Come out of that corner, my dear. I hate
arguing with a person I cannot see. But there, there, what is the use
of arguing at all? The fact is, Angela, you are a first-class
mathematician, and I am only second-class. I am obliged to stick to
the old tracks; you cut a Roman road of your own. Great masters are
entitled to do that. The algebraic formula never occurred to me when I
worked the problem out, and it took me two days to do."

"You are trying to make me vain. You forget that whatever I know,
which is just enough to show me how much I have to learn, I have
learnt from you. As for being your superior in mathematics, I don't
think that, as a clergyman, you should make such a statement. Here is
your tea." And the owner of the voice came forward into the ring of
light.

She was tall beyond the ordinary height of woman, and possessed
unusual beauty of form, that the tight-fitting grey dress she wore was
well calculated to display. Her complexion, which was of a dazzling
fairness, was set off by the darkness of the lashes that curled over
the deep grey eyes. The face itself was rounded and very lovely, and
surmounted by an ample forehead, whilst her hair, which was twisted
into a massive knot, was of a tinge of chestnut gold, and marked with
deep-set ripples. The charm of her face, however, did not, as is so
often the case, begin and end with its physical attractions. There was
more, much more, in it than that. But how is it possible to describe
on paper a presence at once so full of grace and dignity, of the soft
loveliness of woman, and of a higher and more spiritual beauty? There
hangs in the Louvre a picture by Raphael, which represents a saint
passing with light steps over the prostrate form of a dragon. There is
in that heaven-inspired face, the equal of which has been rarely, if
ever, put on canvas, a blending of earthly beauty and of the calm,
awe-compelling spirit-gaze--that gaze, that holy dignity which can
only come to such as are in truth and in deed "pure in heart"--that
will give to those who know it a better idea of what Angela was like
than any written description.

At times, but, ah, how rarely! we may have seen some such look as that
she wore on the faces of those around us. It may be brought by a great
sorrow, or be the companion of an overwhelming jo