"Think! It scarcely needs consideration. But I am not going to encourage you in morbid sentiment. I do not think you are a weak woman. I hope not. But I fancy you will need all your strength at some time in your life." "You talk like a sibyl. Do you possess the gift of second sight in addition to your other accomplishments?" laughs Lauraine. "I don't think so. It only needs a little thought, a mental trick of putting two and two together, to read most characters. Of course there is a great deal of mediocrity to be met with, and yet it is surprising how widely even mediocrities differ when you give yourself the trouble of analysing them. Human nature is like a musical instrument--there are but few notes, seven in all--but look at what volumes of melody have been written on those notes." "And, to pursue your metaphor, what a difference in the sound of the keys to each individual touch: some give back but a dull thud; others a rich, full, resonant sound, full of life and melody." "True, and therein lies the danger for many natures. The master-hand that produces the highest order of melody is perhaps too often that of some passing stranger who goes carelessly by--and who, so to speak, finds the instrument open--runs his hands lightly over the keys, awakens brilliance, life, beauty, where others have produced but dull, prosaic sounds, and then goes away and--forgets." "Ah, if we were only wood and leather, and had wire for our strings, not hearts and souls, we should not miss the player, or sigh for the vanished music," says Lauraine. "Unfortunately, forgetfulness is not always possible for us, desire it as we may." "Have you ever desired it?" asks Lady Etwynde, quickly. "Pardon me," she adds, as she notices the sudden whiteness of the beautiful face. "I should not have asked. But you will not misjudge me, idle curiosity had nothing to do with the question." "I know that," says Lauraine, quickly. "Yes, if there is one thing I desire on earth it is the possibility of forgetfulness." "The one thing that never comes for trying--or seeking--or praying," murmurs Lady Etwynde, dreamily. Alas, those melodies! A sad day indeed it is for the woman who confesses-- 'The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the foot-steps of thy soul.' It is a beautiful idea, is it not? That is one advantage of poetry--it clothes a thought in grace so exquisite that we feel as if conversing with a being from another world. I never can understand people saying they don't like, or can't comprehend it. Sense, memory, love, pleasure, joy, pain, all that is sensitive, emotional, purest, best, is acted upon and intensified by poetry. A word, a line, will thrill us to the very core and centre of our beings--will make joy more sweet---pain less bitter--love more exquisite and life less hard, even beneath its burden of regrets." "You love poetry so much?" questions Lauraine.