e returned
without coming further south. It is wrong, however, to say that I _saw_
anything; my mind was in far too crude a state to direct my eyes to any
purpose. I stared about me a good deal, and got some notions of
topography, and there the matter ended for the time."

"The benefit came with subsequent reflection, no doubt," said Mrs.
Lessingham, who found one of her greatest pleasures in listening to the
talk of young men with brains. Whenever it was possible, she gathered
such individuals about her and encouraged them to discourse of
themselves, generally quite as much to their satisfaction as to her
own. Already she had invited with some success the confidence of Mr.
Clifford Marsh, who proved interesting, but not unfathomable; he
belonged to a class with which she was tolerably familiar. Reuben
Elgar, she perceived at once, was not without characteristics linking
him to that same group of the new generation, but it seemed probable
that its confines were too narrow for him. There was comparatively
little affectation in his manner, and none in his aspect; his voice
rang with a sincerity which claimed serious audience, and his eyes had
something more than surface gleamings. Possibly he belonged to the
unclassed and the unclassable, in which case the interest attaching to
him was of the highest kind.

"Subsequent reflection," returned Elgar, "has, at all events, enabled
me to see myself as I then was; and I suppose self-knowledge is the
best result of travel."

"If one agrees that self-knowledge is ever a good at all," said the
speculative lady, with her impartial smile.

"To be sure." Elgar looked keenly at her, probing the significance of
the remark. "The happy human being will make each stage of his journey
a phase of more or less sensual enjoyment, delightful at the time and
valuable in memory. The excursion will be his life in little. I envy
him, but I can't imitate him."

"Why envy him?" asked Eleanor.

"Because he is happy; surely a sufficient ground."

"Yet you give the preference to self-knowledge."

"Yes, I do. Because in that direction my own nature tends to develop
itself. But I envy every lower thing in creation. I won't pretend to
say how it is with other people who are forced along an upward path; in
my own case every step is made with a groan, and why shouldn't I
confess it?"

"To do so enhances the merit of progress," observed Mrs. Lessingham,
mischievously.

"Merit? I know nothing of