"He's been one of my best friends for the past ten years. I met him first at Yale, and a liking sprang up between us, which grew stronger as time went on. I played a sort of second fiddle to him, then, for he was president of the class in his senior year and was voted the most popular man in it. He came to New York, as soon as he was graduated, and got a place on the construction staff of the Pennsylvania road. He was assigned to one of the western divisions, and I didn't see anything of him for two or three years, but finally he was recalled, and we used to hobnob at the University Club. Since my marriage, he comes around to smoke a pipe with me occasionally and talk over old times. He's a social fellow, likes companionship, and, my wife says, is just the man to make a woman happy; so when he wrote me a note, two months ago, announcing his engagement, we were naturally curious concerning the woman in the case--for his ideals were high--too high, I always told him." Mr. Royce paused and sat for a moment smiling out the window at the grey wall of the building opposite. "I remember it was one evening early last winter," he went on at last, "that Curtiss happened in and, as we sat smoking together, our talk somehow turned to women. It was then I learned what an idealist he was. The woman to win his heart must be accomplished, of course; witty, knowing the world, and yet unsoiled by it, capable of original thought, of being her husband's intellectual companion--so much for the mental side. Physically--well, physically he wanted a Venus de Milo or Helen of Troy, nothing less. I laughed at him. I pointed out that beautiful women are seldom intellectual. But he was obdurate. He protested that he would capitulate on no other terms. I retorted that, in that case, he would probably remain a bachelor." "But," I remarked, "it seems to me that this friend of yours is a trifle egotistical. What has he to offer in exchange for such perfection?" "Well," said Mr. Royce slowly, "it would be a good bargain on both sides. Given such a woman, I could fancy her longing for such a man as Curtiss, just as he would long for her. I've told you something of his mental calibre--physically, he's the handsomest man I ever saw. And it seems to me he gets handsomer every year. In our college days, he was rather too stout, too girlish-looking, but hard work and contact with the world have rubbed all that away. George!" he added, "the children of such a pair would be fit for Olympus!" "And did he find her?" I asked, curious for the rest of the story. "After I got his note," said my companion, "I hunted him up at his apartments as soon as I could. He let me in himself, got out his cigars, and sat down opposite me fairly beaming. I looked him over--I had never before seen a man who seemed so supremely happy. "'So,' I asked at last, 'you've found her?' "'Yes,' he said; 'yes.' "'The woman you were looking for?' "'The very woman.' "'That impossible ideal?'