Miss Leigh looked at him questioningly. "You think not?" she said. He gave a quick sigh. "It is difficult to know what to think," he answered--"But I have lived a long life--long enough to have seen the dispersal of many illusions! I fear selfishness is the keynote of the greater part of humanity. Those who do the kindest deeds are invariably the worst rewarded--and love in its highest form is so little known that it may be almost termed non-existent. You"--and he looked at Innocent--"you write in a very powerful and convincing way about things of which you can have had no real experience--and therein lies your charm! You restore the lost youth of manhood by idealisation, and you compel your readers to 'idealise' with you--but 'to idealise' is rather a dangerous verb!--and its conjugation generally means trouble and disaster. Ideals--unless they are of the spiritual kind unattainable on this planet--are apt to be very disappointing." Innocent smiled. "But love is an ideal which cannot disappoint, because it is everlasting!" she said, almost joyously. "The story of the old French knight is, in its way, a proof of that. He loved his ideal all his life, even though he could not win her." "Very wonderful if true!" he answered--"But I cannot quite believe it! I am too familiar with the ways of my own sex! Anyhow, dear child, I should advise you not to make too many ideals apart from the characters in the books you write. Fortunately your special talent brings you an occupation which will save you from that kind of thing. You have ambition as an incentive, and fame for a goal." She was silent for a moment. In relating the story of her life at Briar Farm she had not spoken of Robin Clifford,--some instinct told her that the sympathies of her hearers might be enlisted in his favour, and she did not want this. "Well, now you know what my 'literary education' has been," she went on--"Since I came to London I have tried to improve myself as much as I can--and I have read a great many modern books--but to me they seem to lack the real feeling of the old-time literature. For instance, if you read the account of the battle of the Armada by a modern historian it sounds tame and cold,--but if you read the same account in Camden's 'Elizabeth'--the whole scene rises before you,--you can almost see every ship riding the waves!" Her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone,--Lord Blythe smiled approvingly. "I see you are an enthusiast!" he said--"And you could not have better teachers than the Elizabethans. They lived in a great age and they were great men. Our times, though crowded with the splendid discoveries of science, seem small and poor compared to theirs. If you ever come to me, I can give you the run of a library where you will find many friends." She thanked him by a look, and he went on--