"I should have imagined that men, with their robuster minds and sounder common sense, would have despised such small vanities as these," remarked Miss Dallicot.
"Not we; we like them."
"I always used to think that a profound and scholarly mind would not find happiness apart from profound and scholarly companionship, and would experience an extreme distaste for what I might call foolish and frivolous society. But I learnt afterwards that these views of mine were incorrect."
"I am afraid they were."
A far-away look came into Miss Drusilla's faded eyes; her thoughts had gone back to the long-ago.
"When I was comparatively young," she said dreamily, "I was honoured by the friendship of a most cultured and accomplished man. He was a great scholar; and under his tuition I made myself proficient in both Greek and Latin. It is true that I loved learning for its own sake, but I loved it still better for his; and I worked long and late in order to render myself more fit for his companionship and more congenial to his taste. As you will perceive, I felt it only natural that so profound a mind should shrink from the society of the flippant and the unlearned."
"I see," said Paul, and his voice was very tender.
"My friend's profession was tutorial," continued Miss Dallicot, "and in later life he became the headmaster of one of our great public schools. He and I were so intimately acquainted that I speculated much as to his future; and I felt sure that—if he ever did enter the holy estate of matrimony—he would naturally require a helpmeet who could assist him in the fulfilment of his scholastic duties, and accompany him in his ceaseless pursuit after knowledge."
Paul felt very pitiful; the world is so full of sad little mistakes like this, which are too pathetic to be comedies and too commonplace to be tragedies.
"Did you study very hard?" he asked.