intolerable to me, Merthyr: but I do see the worth of the men. Sandra
has taught me. She can think of you, talk of you, kiss the vision of
you, and still be a faithful woman in our bondage of flesh; and to us you
know what a bondage it is: How can that be? I should have asked, if I
had not seen it. Dearest, she loves her husband, and she loves you. She
has two husbands, and she turns to the husband of her spirit when that,
or any, dagger strikes her bosom. Carlo has an unripe mind. They have
been married but a little more than four months; and he reveres her and
loves her." . . . . Laura's voice dragged. "Multiply the months by
thousands, we shall not make those two lives one. It is the curse of
man's education in Italy? He can see that she has wits and courage. He
will not consent to make use of them. You know her: she is not one to
talk of these things. She, who has both heart and judgement--she is
merely a little boat tied to a big ship. Such is their marriage. She
cannot influence him. She is not allowed to advise him. And she is the
one who should lead the way. And--if she did, we should now be within
sight of the City."

Laura took his hand. She found it moist, though his face was calm and
his chest heaved regularly. An impish form of the pity women feel for us
at times moved her to say, "Your skin is as bronzed as it was last year.
Sandra spoke of it. She compared it to a young vine-leaf. I wonder
whether girls have really an admonition of what is good for them while
they are going their ways like destined machines?"

"Almost all men are of flesh and blood," said Merthyr softly.

"I spoke of girls."

"I speak of men."