“There are some isolated, superb but lonely souls whose work robs them of human ties and leaves them chaste yet wistful. True, again, on the firm yet terrible foundation of expiated sins is genius often laid—the splendid blossom of the tree of experience. The greatest leaders have often, to their enemies’ delight, pleaded guilty to a youth of folly, small faults, petty actions—and yet there has come an awakening and with the handicap of the past as a ballast, they forge on to the heights. I sometimes think handicaps are as necessary for an artist as ballast for a balloon. Without them we would sail upwards beyond ordinary comprehension and the whole purpose would be of no avail. Let us stay sufficiently earthbound to insure usefulness and proper responsibility.... Come, Thurley, even if the poets say the children of dark and the children of light tread the same pathway, our lanterns may fail us and we would have to scramble to find the house.” He helped her up. “You mean, too,” she said, not content to stop the argument, “that artists should set the example—as well as prescribe one—” “Those who are not sufficiently developed to perceive the higher cosmic laws must have man-made laws to teach the first great principle—which is to obey. Obedience either forced or voluntary is the first requisite in moulding character. Those of us who can glimpse the higher laws must also keep annoying man-made ones to help those less developed by our example.” Thurley began picking her way along the beach, singing softly: If all the seas were one sea—what a great sea it would be! If all the trees were one tree—what a great tree it would be! If all the axes were one axe—what a great axe that would be! AND if all the men were one man—what a great man Bliss would be! Three weeks later when Hobart drove Thurley into the nearest station, he asked almost timidly if she felt it had been worth while. “So worth while,” she said, “it showed me what I must not do.” Miss Clergy gave a sigh of relief as she was settled on the local train running down to the main line. “You look like a little girl again,” she told Thurley. “I’m sure it was very kind of him.... Did you ever fancy he might fall in love with you? Imagine how distressing it would be for him—knowing your position!” Thurley resigned herself to the inevitable, and as they jolted onward she thought of how very great and how very small was love and that from atom to apostle the personal equation would come blundering in on one’s most sacred thoughts. CHAPTER XXXIII The remainder of the summer found Thurley undecided as to what she should do next and not having Hortense as an aide-de-camp and with Polly still squandering her legacy, Thurley stayed in town to collect her faculties and study new rôles.