eagerly,
leaning across the table as she spoke. "I can't allow that plea.
It's degrading to Shelley, and to all true appreciation of the
duties of genius. Not less but more than most of us is the genius
bound to act up with all his might to the highest moral law, to be
the prophet and interpreter of the highest moral excellence. To
whom much is given, of him much shall be required. Just because
the man or woman of genius stands raised on a pedestal so far above
the mass have we the right to expect that he or she should point us
the way, should go before us as pioneer, should be more careful of
the truth, more disdainful of the wrong, down to the smallest
particular, than the ordinary person. There are poor souls born
into this world so petty and narrow and wanting in originality that
one can only expect them to tread the beaten track, be it ever so
cruel and wicked and mistaken. But from a Shelley or a George
Eliot, we expect greater things, and we have a right to expect
them. That's why I can never quite forgive George Eliot--who knew
the truth, and found freedom for herself, and practised it in her
life--for upholding in her books the conventional lies, the
conventional prejudices; and that's why I can never admire Shelley
enough, who, in an age of slavery, refused to abjure or to deny his
freedom, but acted unto death to the full height of his principles."

The benevolent-looking clergyman gazed aghast at Herminia. Then he
turned slowly to Alan. "Your wife," he said in a mild and
terrified voice, "is a VERY advanced lady."

Herminia longed to blurt out the whole simple truth. "I am NOT his
wife. I am not, and could never be wife or slave to any man. This
is a very dear friend, and he and I are travelling as friends
together." But a warning glance from Alan made her hold her peace
with difficulty and acquiesce as best she might in the virtual
deception. Still, the incident went to her heart, and made her
more anxious than ever to declare her convictions and her practical
obedience to them openly before the world. She remembered, oh, so
well one of her father's sermons that had vividly impressed her in
the dear old days at Dunwich Cathedral. It was preached upon the
text, "Come ye out and be ye separate."

From Milan they went on direct to Florence. Alan had decided to
take rooms for the summer at Perugia, and there to see Herminia
safely through her maternal troubles. He loved Perugia, he said;