And now he began to feel more painfully his ignorance of society, of practical life, and the outward present.

He blamed himself angrily for having, as he now thought, wasted his time on ancient histories and foreign travels, while he neglected the living wonderful present, which weltered daily round him, every face embodying a living soul.

For now he began to feel that those faces did hide living souls; formerly he had half believed--he had tried, but from laziness, to make himself wholly believe--that they were all empty masks, phantasies, without interest or significance for him.

But, somehow, in the light of his new love for Argemone, the whole human race seemed glorified, brought nearer, endeared to him.

So it must be.