nk to the little
Madonna, each with a secret thought linking Frederick's outburst with the
girl in the club-house. The glasses rang, and Frederick continued rather
daringly: "I wish it had been granted me to do with divine intelligence
and human hands, as Goethe said, what the animal man can and must do with
the animal woman." He made a cup of his hands as if to dip up water. "I
feel my Madonna in the hollow of my hands like a homunculus. She is alive
there. The palms of my hands are warm. They are a golden shell. Conceive
my Madonna to be a hand's breadth high, of live ivory, and imagine some
rosy flecks here and there on her. Imagine her robed in the garments that
Godiva wore, that is, nothing but her hair of flowing sunbeams, and so
on, and so on." Frederick began to improvise poetry.

"Said the master: 'Come into my workshop.'
And he took, like unto the Creator,
God! in both his hands a little image,
And his heart with mighty throb vibrated.
'As thou seest it, once I saw it living.'
And so on, and so on.

Over my hands
Flowed golden wavelets,
Cool, sweet lips and--

I'll say no more. I'll merely add that I should like to carve that
Madonna in German linden-wood and give her all the colours of life
itself, and then die, for all I care."

Frederick's enthusiastic outburst was received with great applause.

Eva Burns was a beautiful young woman of over twenty-five years, imposing
and perhaps somewhat masculine in appearance. Her German was rather hard,
suggesting to a hypercritical person that her tongue was too thick for
her mouth, like a parrot's. Her abundant hair was parted in the middle
and drawn over her ears. Her figure was broad, stately, and perfectly
formed. While Frederick spoke, and even after he had done speaking, she
looked at him with searching interest in her large, intelligent,
meditative eyes. Finally she said:

"You really ought to try to do it."

Eva Burns was one of those knowing, companionable women that are always
welcome and never disturbing in a company of men. Her eyes and
Frederick's eyes met, and the young scholar answered her in a tone of
mixed raillery and gallantry:

"Miss--Miss--"

"Burns," Willy helped him, "Miss Burns from Birmingham."

"Miss Burns from Birmingham, you said something of great significance. On
you be the blame if the world is impoverished by the loss of a poor
physician and enriched by the addition