"A little of both," said Miss Gerald.
"You are very frank."
"Some of them puzzled me a little—and—and I think you belie your writings."
"For instance?"
"You sing of action, and Spring, and achievement—and love. But you live in dreams, and books, and solitude."
"I believe what I write, nevertheless."
Miss Gerald was silent, and in a minute the poet spoke again.
"You think my writings lack the ring of conviction?" he asked.
She laughed.
"They would be stronger if they bore the ring of experience," she said. "Experientia docet, you know, and the poets are supposed to teach us ordinary beings."