‘So now we come to it. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. And life is much the same, whether taken in battle, on the couch, or by the road-side. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. ” “In his present mood,” Anna remarked, “he would follow me.
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