"Not so different--except in degree, or experience. At present, he oscillates between the woe of love and the joy of life. You compared him to St. Augustine. St. Augustine never pretended that earthly happiness was a delusion. He knew better. He said, 'Do not trust it, but seek the happiness which hath no end.' Personally, I can accept with gratitude as much as I can get. 'Is not the life of men upon earth all trial, without any interval?' This may be; yet it is something to learn how to sympathise with happiness. Our best men and women devote themselves too exclusively to the diagnosis of misery." "You have thought a lot, I can see," said Reckage. The artist gave him a quick, friendly glance. "I have played the fool," said he. "I envy Orange. He will know things that I can never know--now. I haven't lived up to my thoughts. I am not remorseful--I don't believe in remorse. It is a thing for the half-hearted. But if I am not sad, I am not especially gay. The middle course between sentimentality and gallantry seems to me intimately immoral and ridiculous into the bargain. So I am an idealist with senses. There are times when I hate life. And why? Because life is evil? By no means; but because we tell lies about it, and write lies about it, from morning till night." "You seem a bit depressed," said Lord Reckage. "But, by the by, how is the portrait going? My brother Hercy, who paints a little, always declared that Agnes was unpaintable. Do you find her unpaintable?" "No," said Rennes; "oh no!" CHAPTER VII