"
"Just a chrysalis now," grunted the professor between [**TR Note: was
betwen in original; typesetter's error.] puffs of smoke. "But there is
more true philosophy and profound knowledge of truth in that little head
than either you or I have got in ours, John."
"You always thought the world of her, Master--you, with your
ineradicable contempt for women!"
"She is not a woman--yet. She is an intelligence and a brain--and a
soul."
"Oh, she has a soul, then!" and John Derringham smiled. "I remember once
you said when I should meet a woman with a soul I should meet my match!
I do not feel very alarmed."
One of the Professor's penthouse brows raised itself about half an inch,
but he did not speak.
"In which school have you taught her?" John Derringham asked--"you who
are so much of a cynic, Master. Does she study the ethics of Aristotle
with you here in this Lyceum, or do you reconstruct Plato's Academy? She
is no sophist, apparently, since you say she can see the truth."
Mr. Carlyon looked into the fire.
"She is almost an Epicurean, John, in all but the disbelief in the
immortality of the soul.
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