mind must have gone back to the perfect
utterance of the Georgics, where the pen was
fitted to the matter as the plough is to the
furrow; and he must have said to himself
with the thankfulness of a good man, "I was
the first to bring the Muse into my country."

We left the classroom quietly, conscious
that we had been brushed by the wing of a
great feeling, though perhaps I alone knew
Cleric intimately enough to guess what that
feeling was. In the evening, as I sat staring
at my book, the fervor of his voice stirred
through the quantities on the page before me.
I was wondering whether that particular rocky
strip of New England coast about which he
had so often told me was Cleric's _patria._ Be-
fore I had got far with my reading I was dis-
turbed by a knock. I hurried to the door and
when I opened it saw a woman standing in the
dark hall.

"I expect you hardly know me, Jim."

The voice seemed familiar, but I did not
recognize her until she stepped into the light
of my doorway and I beheld -- Lena Lingard!
She was so quietly conventionalized by city
clothes that I might have passed her on the
street without seeing her. Her black suit fitted

[[300]]

p299 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p300w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p301

v?