“If wisdom can teach how to prolong the lease, what study can be compared with that of which the results may beautify the dwelling? What more can any man do for himself than make himself happy? The very question is absurd. What are you trying to do for yourself at the present moment? Is it for the sake of improving the physical condition or of promoting the moral case of mankind at large that you are dragging me through the slums and byways and alleys of the gloomiest city on this side of eternal perdition? It is certainly not for my welfare that you are sacrificing yourself. You admit that you are pursuing an idea. Perhaps you are in search of some new and curious form of mildew, and when you have found it--or something else--you will name your discovery _Fungus Pragensis_, or _Cryptogamus minor Errantis_--‘the Wanderer’s toadstool.’ But I know you of old, my good friend. The idea you pursue is not an idea at all, but that specimen of the _genus homo_ known as ‘woman,’ species ‘lady,’ variety ‘true love,’ vulgar designation ‘sweetheart.’” The Wanderer stared coldly at his companion. “The vulgarity of the designation is indeed only equalled by that of your taste in selecting it,” he said slowly. Then he turned away, intending to leave Keyork standing where he was. But the little man had already repented of his speech. He ran quickly to his friend’s side and laid one hand upon his arm. The Wanderer paused and again looked down. “Is it of any use to be offended with my speeches? Am I an acquaintance of yesterday? Do you imagine that it could ever be my intention to annoy you?” the questions were asked rapidly in tones of genuine anxiety. “Indeed, I hardly know how I could suppose that. You have always been friendly--but I confess--your names for things are not--always----” The Wanderer did not complete the sentence, but looked gravely at Keyork as though wishing to convey very clearly again what he had before expressed in words. “If we were fellow-countrymen and had our native language in common, we should not so easily misunderstand one another,” replied the other. “Come, forgive my lack of skill, and do not let us quarrel. Perhaps I can help you. You may know Prague well, but I know it better. Will you allow me to say that I know also whom it is you are seeking here?” “Yes. You know. I have not changed since we last met, nor have circumstances favoured me.” “Tell me--have you really seen this Unorna, and talked with her?” “This morning.” “And she could not help you?” “I refused to accept her help, until I had done all that was in my own power to do.” “You were rash. And have you now done all, and failed?” “I have.” “Then, if you will accept a humble suggestion from me, you will go back to her at once.” “I know very little of her. I do not altogether trust her--” “Trust! Powers of Eblis--or any other powers! Who talks of trust? Does the wise man trust himself? Never. Then how can he dare trust any one else?”