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.