“Perhaps not,” replied Winthrop, “although I hope you will. But even if not, I wouldn’t despair. Love is a very wonderful magician, who transmutes clay into gold, transforms baseness into nobility, and changes caitiffs into kings.” He laughed amusedly. “Great Scott! I’m actually becoming rhetorical! It’s this climate of yours, Miss Holly; there is something magical about it; it creeps into one’s veins like wine and makes one’s heart thump at the sound of a bird’s song. Why, hang it, in another week I shall find myself singing love songs under your window on moonlight nights!” “Oh, that would be lovely!” cried Holly, clapping her hands. “I haven’t been serenaded for the longest time!” “Do you mean that such things are really done here?” “Of course! The boys often serenade. When I came home from the Academy, Julian and a lot of them serenaded me. It was a white, white night and they stood over there under my windows; I remember how black their shadows were on the path. Julian and Jim Stuart played guitars and some of the others had banjos, and it was heavenly!” “And such things still happen in this prematurely-aged, materialistic world!” marvelled Winthrop. “It sounds like a fairy tale!” “I reckon it sounds silly to you,” said Holly. “Silly! Oh, my dear young lady, if you could only realize how very, very rich you are!” “Rich?” “Yes, rich and wise with the unparalleled wealth and wisdom of Youth! Hearken to the words of Age and Experience, Miss Holly,” he continued, half jestingly, half seriously. “The world belongs to you and your kind; it is the Kingdom of Youth. The rest of us are here on sufferance; but you belong. The world tolerates Age, but to Youth it owes allegiance and love. But your days are short in your kingdom, O Queen, so make the most of them; laugh and play and love and _live_; above all, live! And above all be extravagant, extravagant of laughter――and of tears; extravagant of affection; run the gamut of life every hour; be mad, be foolish――but _live_! And so when the World thrusts you to one side, saying: ‘The King is dead! Long live the King!’ you will have no regrets for a wasted reign, but can say: ‘While I ruled, I lived!’” “I――I don’t understand――quite!” faltered Holly. “Because you are too wise.” “I reckon you mean too stupid,” mourned Holly. “Too wise. You are Youth, and Youth is Perfect Wisdom. When you grow old you will know more but be less wise. And the longer you live the more learning will come to you and the more wisdom will depart. And in proof of this I point to myself as an example. For no wise person would try to convince Youth of its wisdom.” Winthrop stopped and drew his cigarette-case from his pocket. When he had lighted a cigarette he smiled quizzically across at the girl’s sober, half-averted face. “It’s very warm, isn’t it?” he asked, with a little laugh. But Holly made no reply for a minute. Then she turned a troubled face toward him.