“I hardly know. But at any given moment I can’t realize that it’s any conviction which I don’t share at that moment.”
Maud flushed ever so faintly before she spoke again.
“What is your conviction at this moment?”
Tom looked at her seriously, and examined the ferrule of his stick without speaking.
“What is yours?” he asked.
“Ah! but my question came first.”
“My conviction is that a man can realize either in others, or in some image in his brain which he works out perfectly or imperfectly, ideal beauty. It may be moral or physical beauty. And his mission is to do it.”
Maud had waited for his answer with an anxiety she could hardly explain to herself; her heart took upon itself to beat with quick throbs, that seemed to make her whole being alert. But this was only half an answer.
“And what is he to do with it when he has realized it?” she asked, with the same intentness.
“Surely that is enough,” said Tom. “He loves it, of course.”