miliar only with the great masterpieces of literature, for if they are
masterpieces, little or great, they exhibit human nature in all its
aspects. And, further than this, it ought to be demonstrable, a priori,
that a mind fed on the best and not confused by the weak and diluted, or
corrupted by images of the essentially vulgar and vile, would be morally
healthy and best fitted to cope with the social problems of life. The
Testaments reveal about everything that is known about human nature, but
such is their clear, high spirit, and their quality, that no one ever
traced mental degeneration or low taste in literature, or want of
virility in judgment, to familiarity with them. On the contrary, the
most vigorous intellects have acknowledged their supreme indebtedness to
them.

It is not likely that Philip made any such elaborate analysis of the girl
with whom he was in love, or attempted, except by a general reference to
the method of her training, to account for the purity of her mind and her
vigorous discernment. He was in love with her more subtle and hidden
personality, with the girl just becoming a woman, with the mysterious sex
that is the inspiration of most of the poetry and a good part of the
heroism in the world. And he would have been in love with her, let her
education have been what it might. He was in love before he heard her
speak. And whatever she would say was bound to have a quality of
interest and attraction that could be exercised by no other lips. It
might be argued--a priori again, for the world is bound to go on in its
own way--that there would be fewer marriages if the illusion of the sex
did not suffice for the time to hide intellectual poverty, and, what is
worse, ignobleness of disposition.

It was doubtless fortunate for this particular lovemaking, though it did
not seem so to Philip, that it was very much obstructed by lack of
opportunities, and that it was not impaired in its lustre by too much
familiarity. In truth, Philip would have said that he saw very little of
Evelyn, because he never saw her absolutely alone. To be sure he was
much in her presence, a welcome member of the group that liked to idle on
the veranda of the inn, and in the frequent excursions, in which Philip
seemed to be the companion of Mrs. Mavick rather than of her daughter.
But she was never absent from his thought, his imagination was wholly
captive to her image, and the passion grew in these hours of absence
until she