"I have not hurt it, I trust."
"Not at all, but it must be quite late."
"It is four o'clock."
"Good gracious, where can the child have got to?"
"You have lost some one?"
"My pupil."
The poet bowed.
"A sorrow that befalls all leaders of disciples," he observed.
Miss Gerald stared, and the poet continued, "The young will only learn when they have fledged their wings and found them weak."
"And then?"