He replied, "Inasmuch as truth is always greater than human achievement--which at best may only approximate the truth,--the value of a work of art should be determined by its merit alone, and not by the artist's reputation, or any other remote influence,--of course I do not include particular objects consecrated by association or by time. But suppose a man paints a great picture, for which he recieves a great price, and thereafter uses the fame he has won as speculating capital to enrich himself,--I beg the pardon of every artist for setting up the hideous hypothesis!--But to complete it: the moment a man does that, he loses his self-respect, which is about as bad as anything that can happen to him; it is moral suicide. And he has done a grievous wrong to art by lowering the high standard he himself helped to raise. But his crime is no greater than that of the name-worshipers, who, ignorantly, or insolently, set up false standards and scorn the real test of values. However, these important matters are not left entirely to individual consciences; artists, and so-called art-critics, are not the only judges of art. We have no mysterious sanctuaries for a privileged few; all may enter,--all are indeed made to enter, not by violence, but by the simple, natural means employed in all teaching. All will not hold the brush, or the pen, or the chisel; but from their earliest infancy our children are carefully taught to recognize the forms of truth in all art; the eye was made to see, the ear to hear, the mind to understand." The visit was at an end. When he left us it was as though the sun had passed under a cloud. Clytia went out with him, her arm lovingly linked in his; and I turned to Ariadne. "Tell me," I said, "why is he called Master? Is it a formal title, or was it bestowed in recognition of the quality of the man?" "Both," she answered. "No man receives the title who has not the 'quality.' But it is in one way perfunctory; it is the distinguishing title of a teacher of the highest rank." "And what are teachers of the highest rank, presidents of colleges?" I asked. "O, no," she replied with a smile, "they are not necessarily teachers of schools--old and young alike are their pupils. They are those who have advanced the farthest in all the paths of knowledge, especially the moral and the spiritual." "I understand," said I; "they are your priests, ministers, pastors,--your Doctors of Divinity." "Perhaps," she returned, doubtfully; our terminology was not always clear to those people. "Usually," she went on, "they begin with teaching in the schools,--as a kind of apprenticeship. But, naturally, they rise; there is that same quality in them which forces great poets and painters to high positions in their respective fields." "Then they rank with geniuses!" I exclaimed, and the mystery of the man in whose grand company I had spent the past hour was solved.