"And I say so still, Miss Carnaby; but one must not press the rule too far. We must, of course, live our own lives and cultivate our own characters, and must not try to grow roses on apple-trees nor lilies on oaks. But our healthy desire for individuality must not carry us into the error of becoming a law unto ourselves, and doing whatsoever is right in our own eyes."
"I think I see what you mean."
"I speak from experience," continued Paul; "as I told you, I was brought up in a narrow world, and also in a very religious one; and I was taught that few things were right and that many things were wrong, and that we must all try and conform ourselves to the same pattern. As I grew older, and saw more of the world, I found that this view of life was too narrow a one, and then I joined in the modern worship of Individuality and the glorification of Humanity; and I abused all law and order because they tended to cramp and conform the individual. Now a second reaction has set in; and I see that the Truth lies half way between the two extremes—as, in fact, it generally does."
Isabel's eyes glistened; Paul interested her extremely. "Then you mean that one must be the master of one's individuality, and not its slave?" she said.
"Or in better words, 'As free, and not using your liberty for a cloke of maliciousness,'" answered Paul; "you see, the highest life is a life of contradictions, and this is merely one of them."
"Tell me about your own people," said Isabel impulsively, "I'm sure they must be nice."
And Paul, to his surprise, found himself telling Miss Carnaby all about his father and his mother and Joanna, and his life at Oxford, and his boating; and his struggle to get on, and his dreams of fame. And Isabel seemed to understand it all as thoroughly as he did himself.
Paul had never talked so well in his life before. He admired Miss Carnaby enough to desire above all things to make a good impression on her; and he was not yet sufficiently in love with her to be awkward and tongue-tied in her presence. When a man admires without loving, he is conversationally at his best. There comes a later stage when he utters banalities, and makes inane jokes, and inwardly curses himself for appearing such an ass in the sight of the prettiest eyes in the world; and he has no idea that the prettiest eyes in the world see through a stone wall as far as most people, and very much prefer this style of conversation to rounded sentences and finished periods.
As Paul sat smoking in his own room that night he said to himself: "I never saw a woman with such blue eyes in my life."
Which was not true; he had seen scores of women with equally blue eyes, but he had never taken the trouble to notice them.