He  never  thought  of  how  little  she  talked  when  they  were
alone  together;  the  hours  seemed  to  him  wanting  in  noth-


go  RODGER  LATIMER'S  MISTAKE

ing. The  inspiration  of  her  listening  face  awakened  the
best  there  was  in  him,  and  he" talked  a  great  deal  of
books,  and  of  art,  and  of  life. At  times  his  mentaJ
excitement  carried  him  into  waters  far  beyond  her  depth,
and  he  enlarged  upon  the  relation  of  nation  to  nation,
the  development  which  the  race  was  working  out  for  it-
self, and  the  probable  beautiful  outcome  of  all  tangled
human  affairs. She  listened  to  all  that  he  said  with
eager  attention,  as  though  she  feared  to  lose  one  word
that  fell  from  his  lips. How  beautiful  she  looked  to  him,
with  the  constant  play  of  rising  and  falling  eyelids,  her
whole  being  seemingly  absorbed  in  the  thought  to  which
he  gave  utterance. Had  Rodger  Latimer  been  told  that
he  was  living  in  an  imaginary  world,  fashioned  and  im-
pressed by  his  own  excited  mind,  that  his  infatuation  was  a
sensuous  one,  and  that  Marie  Edwards  was  playing  a  part,
he  would  have  accused  the  speaker  of  blasphemy,  and  smit-
ten him  in  a  white  heat. He  said  to  himself,  again  and
again,  that  he  loved  Marie  Edwards,  and  that  he  never
had  loved  Margaret  McVey. This  was  the  first  delirium  of
his  life,  and  he  called  it  the  first  love. It  would  have
been  useless  for  any  one  to  have  told  him,  that  he  vastly
overrated  Miss  Edwards'  beauty  of  person,  and  warmth
of  nature;  he  could  no  more  correctly  estimate  her  qual-
ities of  person  or  mind,  than  could  the  man  with  senses
dulled,  and  faculties  stimulated  into  supernatural  intensity
by  a  dose  of  hasheesh,  estimate  correctly  the  length  of  the
passing  minute,  or  the  relative  size  of  objects  within  his
view. He  did  attempt  to  reason  regarding  his  relation
to  Margaret,  but  made  a  sad  jumble  of  it. He  said  to
himself,  not  only  that  he  did  not  love  her,  but  also  that  he
could  not  marry  her;  he  declared  to  himself  that  he  did
love  Marie  Edwards,  but  there  he  stopped. That  he
loved  her  was  enough. 