"It has all been just as is best. You have been most fortunate," she declared. "Love is not the be-all and end-all of any life, you know, and when you think of your chosen work--which is the real thing--I'm sure you can't regret any emotional experiences, however distressing they may have been in the learning. They are all needful training for the production of soul-stirring pictures; as necessary, in their way, as is the enchantment of loving and being loved that is now going to help you still further. Mental turmoil of every type bears its own special fruit that may be garnered by an artist to his own advantage. Stagnation, ignorance and lack of variety in emotions brings ultimate failure in imaginative work. Thus speaks Diotima the Second." Far-away, curious echoes seemed ringing in Evarne's brain. When and where and in what familiar voice had she heard such sentiments spoken long, long ago? "Well, it certainly is consoling to put all one's mental worries into the same category as freehand drawing and perspective," declared Geoff; and being both ardently happy and therefore easily amused, they laughed merrily. After a moment's pause he went on-- "But don't you think the secret tragedy of many a seemingly commonplace and prosaic person is the lack of someone to be earnestly and devotedly adored? Don't you think many and many a heart suffers from a craving to exercise strong powers of loving forever ungratified? I'm speaking of a spiritual demand--not of the universal desire to find a mate that is just part of Nature's artful little scheme for ensuring the due arrival of the next generation. Do you think that demand of the spirit proves a man merely a willing follower of Dante?" "Oh, no no!--I suppose not. But, despite your specious arguments, I still maintain that you, individually, are one to rate love higher than any object. Obstinate, am I not?" "Absolutely wicked, you dearest. I love you, my Evarne--you yourself--in every possible way under the sun, including the ordinary human love of any man, artist or not, for the woman he seeks for his wife. There is perhaps a tiny atom of truth in one of the charges you have hurled at me, but----" "I knew it, my dear commonplace lover. Confess, and I'll see if I can forgive you." "I think, perhaps--dearest, I don't like even to speak of it--but perhaps even your--I mean, if the world lost you, my own beloved----" "If I died?" He flinched even at the words that expressed the possibility, but went on-- "That it would cause a more--how can I express my meaning? Well, in one way, possibly, even that would cause a less ever-present gap in my mental life than would the destruction of my love for you.... It's no use hitting me," he laughed; "I can't help it, sweetest!" Then he clasped her closely with sudden eager passion. "But do not think that your dreamer is at all content to worship only in spirit, Evarne."