se, Lala," Arnold went on with an ingenuous blush, "I suppose
that you have perceived that--that--in fact--I love her."

The Philosopher inclined his head.

"Do you think--you who know her so well--that she suspects or knows
it?"

"The thoughts of a maiden are secret thoughts. As well may one search
for the beginnings of a river as inquire into the mind of a woman.
Their ways are not our ways, nor are their thoughts ours, nor have we
wit to understand, nor have they tongue to utter the things they
think. I know not whether she suspects."

"Yet you have had experience, Lala Roy?"

A smile stole over the Sage's features.

"In the old days when I was young, I had experience, as all men have.
I have had many wives. Yet to me, as to all others, the thoughts of
the harem are unknown."

"Yet, Iris--surely you know the thoughts of Iris, your pupil."

"I know only that her heart is the abode of goodness, and that she
knows not any evil thought. Young man, beware. Trouble not the clear
fountain."

"Heaven knows," said Arnold, "I would not--" And here he stopped.

"Youth," said the Sage presently, "is the season for love. Enjoy the
present happiness. Woman is made to be loved. Receive with gratitude
what Heaven gives. The present moment is your own. Defer not until the
evening what you may accomplish at noon."

With these words the oracle became silent, and Arnold sat down and
began to think it all over again.

An hour later he presented himself at the house in the King's Road.
Iris was alone, and she was playing.

"You, Arnold? It is early for you."

"Forgive me, Iris, for breaking in on your afternoon; but I
thought--it is a fine afternoon--I thought that, perhaps--You have
never taken a walk with me."

She blushed, I think in sympathy with Arnold, who looked confused and
stammered, and then she said she would go with him.

They left the King's Road by the Royal Avenue, where the leaves were
already thin and yellow, and passed through the Hospital and its broad
grounds down to the river-side; then they turned to the right, and
walked along the embankment, where are the great new red houses, to
Cheyne Walk, and so across the Suspension Bridge. Arnold did not speak
one word the whole way. His heart was so full that he could not trust
himself to speak. Who would not be four-and-twenty again, even with
all the risks and dangers of life before one, the set traps, the
gaping holes, and the treacherous quicksands,