er age, in
the presence of a son who desired but to fade out of the world like a
breath--and she suggested filial duty. "Good mother," he answered,
"there are duties towards the intellect also, which women can but
rarely understand."

The artists and their wives were come to supper again, with the
Burgomaster van Storck. Mademoiselle van Westrheene was also come, with
her sister and mother. The girl was by this time fallen in love with
Sebastian; and she was one of the few who, in spite of his terrible
coldness, really loved him for himself. But though of good birth she
was poor, while Sebastian could not but perceive that he had many
suitors of his wealth. In truth, Madame van Westrheene, her mother, did
wish to marry this daughter into the great world, and plied many arts
to that end, such as "daughterful" mothers use. Her healthy freshness
of mien and mind, her ruddy beauty, some showy presents that had
passed, were of a piece with the ruddy colouring of the very house
these people lived in; and for a moment the cheerful warmth that may be
felt in life seemed to come very close to him,--to come forth, and
enfold him. Meantime the girl herself taking note of this, that on a
former occasion of their meeting he had seemed likely to respond to her
inclination, and that his father would readily consent to such a
marriage, surprised him on the sudden with those coquetries and
importunities, all those little arts of love, which often succeed with
men. Only, to Sebastian they seemed opposed to that absolute nature we
suppose in love. And while, in the eyes of all around him to-night,
this courtship seemed to promise him, thus early in life, a kind of
quiet happiness, he was coming to an estimate of the situation, with
strict regard to that ideal of a calm, intellectual indifference, of
which he was the sworn chevalier. Set in the cold, hard light of that
ideal, this girl, with the pronounced personal views of her mother, and
in the very effectiveness of arts prompted by a real affection,
bringing the warm life they prefigured so close to him, seemed vulgar!
And still he felt himself bound in honour; or judged from their manner
that she and those about them thought him thus bound. He did not
reflect on the inconsistency of the feeling of honour (living, as it
does essentially, upon the concrete and minute detail of social
relationship) for one who, on principle, set so slight a value on
anything whatever that is merely relat