n Mabel had favoured him with
the perusal of the first act of a tragedy or poetic dialogue, in which
the hero, a kind of milk-and-watery Faustus, held converse, and argued
upon the deeper questions of life and faith, with a very mild Mephisto.

"I'm afraid you don't like the opening of my 'Tragedy of the Sceptic
Soul'," Lady Mabel said with a somewhat offended air, as she looked up
at the close of the act, and saw poor Rorie gazing at her with watery
eyes, and an intensely despondent expression of countenance.

"I'm afraid I'm rather dense this afternoon," he said with hasty
apology, "I think your first act is beautifully written--the lines are
full of music; nobody with an ear for euphony could doubt that; but
I--forgive me, I fancy you are sometimes a shade too metaphysical--and
those scientific terms which you occasionally employ, I fear will be a
little over the heads of the general public----"

"My dear Roderick, do you suppose that in an age whose highest
characteristic is the rapid advance of scientific knowledge, there can
be anybody so benighted as not to understand the terminology of
science?"

"Perhaps not, dear. I fear I am very much behind the times. I have
lived too much in Hampshire. I frankly confess that some expressions in
your--er--Tragedy of--er--Soulless Scept--Sceptic Soul--were Greek to
me."

"Poor dear Roderick, I should hardly take you as the highest example of
the _Zeitgeist;_ but I won't allow you to call yourself stupid. I'm
glad you like the swing of the verse. Did it remind you of any
contemporary poet?"

"Well, yes, I think it dimly suggested Browning."

"I am glad of that. I would not for worlds be an imitator; but Browning
is my idol among poets."

"Some of his minor pieces are awfully jolly," said the incorrigible
Rorie. "That little poem called 'Youth and Art,' for instance. And
'James Lee's Wife' is rather nice, if one could quite get at what it
means. But I suppose that is too much to expect from any great poet?"

"There are deeper meanings beneath the surface--meanings which require
study," replied Mabel condescendingly. "Those are the religion of
poetry----"

"No doubt," assented Rorie hastily; "but frankly, my dear Mabel, if you
want your book to be popular----"

"I don't want my book to be popular. Browning is not popular. If I had
wanted to be popular, I should have worked on a lower level. I would
even have stooped to write a novel."

"Well then I will say, if y