“I suppose,” said Muriel thoughtfully, “that depends on how one uses it; one must carry things on to their farthest extent. I mean—it’s stifling to be satisfied. If we go on far enough we shall come to a vista, and it’s not till we get to see that things have no end that we are really beginning at all. It is what you can’t grasp makes life worth living.” Cynthia listened reluctantly. “But love,” she said again, “you can grasp that; and it won’t go, will it?” “All that’s best and highest in love you can’t grasp, I think,” replied Muriel. “It’s because one expects to do that that it hurts. The invincible thrill of things is only meant as a launching into life. After that friendship, comradeship, a blending of life to life and heart to heart becomes unconscious development. Paroxysms aren’t love, and they have their reaction; but love is beyond and through all, and even in the most sad and sordid moments gleams and throbs an impossible possibility! A thing always to strive for, never to attain!” Cynthia rose and paced the room restlessly. “Oh, Muriel! Muriel!” she said, “you don’t know——” Then she stopped short, and went over and kissed her, an unusual demonstration from Cynthia. “You’re so good,” she said, “and yet somehow so remote from it all! I think I begin to see now why you didn’t marry Jack. I should have faced it as you did, but I should have read the letters, talked about them—and then married him!” “And been unhappy ever afterwards,” said Muriel softly. “Yes! but that’s nothing to do with it,” cried Cynthia impatiently. “I acknowledge no afterwards. I would give myself body and soul to the man I loved, like Browning’s lady, even if he were the greatest rascal unhung!” “That’s a horribly selfish theory!” said Muriel with sudden emphasis, “and a very dangerous one. You would degrade yourself, hurt the man, and ruin future generations, simply because of an effervescing passion, which soon becomes stagnant if you give it time enough. No one can afford to ignore consequences, least of all a lover. Why is it, do you suppose, that these girls of mine, living like animals, working like slaves, suffering like human beings, don’t oftener catch at this passion-flower of yours, and take the poison of it? Simply because they are face to face with the consequences. They can’t get away from themselves, and their life is visible and public. They know what a few days’ rapture implies—shame, pain, publicity, perhaps starvation. They know that to cut off your nose spites your face, however you may wish to make the surrender! You don’t risk a rapid when you see the rocks, only when the rocks are hidden; the consequences ignored, then the selfish, hopeless, aimless life gives in to its instincts; and though before the leap you may have ignored the consequences, it will not prevent the rocks beneath from grinding your life out after the fall.” She stopped, her eyes flashing with the intensity of all she meant.