'What would that matter?' she replied. 'Some day, even, one of us would die. What would that matter, either, because we should only be parted by a year or two? Oh! whether we are old or young the sea never grows old, nor the hills and rocks--and the sunshine is always the same. And when we die there will be a new heaven and a new earth--you can read it in the Book of Revelation--but no more sea, no more sea. That I cannot understand. How could angels and saints be happy without the sea? If one lives among people in towns, I dare say it may be disagreeable to grow old, and perhaps to look ugly like poor Dorcas; but not, no, not when one lives in such a place as this.' 'Where did you get your wisdom, Armorel?' 'Is that wisdom?' 'When I go away my chief regret will be that I kept talking to you about myself. Men are selfish pigs. We should have talked about nothing but you. Then I should have learned a great deal. See how we miss our opportunities.' 'No, no; I had nothing to tell you. And you had such a great deal to tell me. It was you who taught me that everybody ought to try to grow to his full height.' 'Did I? It was only a passing thought. Such things occur to one sometimes.' She sat down on a boulder and crossed her hands in her lap, looking at him seriously and gravely with her great black eyes. 'Now,' she said, 'I want to be very serious. It is my last chance. Roland, I am resolved that I will try to grow to my full height. You are going away to-morrow, and I shall have no one to advise me. Give me all the help you can before you go.' 'What help can I give you, Armorel?' 'I have been thinking. You have told me all about yourself. You are going to be a great artist: you will give up all your life to your work: when you have grown as tall as you can, everybody will congratulate you, and you will be proud and happy. But who is to tell me? How shall I know when I am grown to my full height?' 'You have got something more in your mind, Armorel.' 'Give me a model, Roland. You always paint from a model yourself--you told me so. Now, think of the very best actual girl of all the girls you know--the most perfect girl, mind: she must be a girl that I can remember and try to copy. I must have something to think of and go by, you know.' 'The very best actual girl I know?' he laughed, with a touch of the abominable modern cynicism which no longer believes in girls. 'That wouldn't help you much, I am afraid. You see, Armorel, I should not look to the actual girls I know for the best girl at all. There is, however'--he pulled his shadowy moustache, looking very wise--'a most wonderful girl--I confess that I have never met her, but I have heard of her: the poets keep talking about her--and some of the novelists are fond of drawing her; I have heard of her, read of her, and dreamed of her. Shall I tell you about her?' 'If you please--that is, if she can become my model.'