God was conquering. Unceasing through the ages, God’s voice had crept round man, seeking entry. Through the long darkness of that dim beginning, when man knew no law but self, unceasing God had striven: until at last one here and there, emerging from the brute, had heard—had listened to the voice of love and pity, and in that hour, unknowing, had built to God a temple in the wilderness. God. The Eternal Creator. Out of matter, lifeless void, he had moulded His worlds, had ordered His endless firmament. It was finished. The greater task remained: the Universe of mind, of soul. Out of man it should be created. God in man and man in God: made in like image: fellow labourers together with one another: together they should build it. Out of the senseless strife and discord, above the chaos and the tumult should be heard the new command: “Let there be Love.”!

“You’re not offended?” he asked. “At my thinking you beautiful?” he added, in case she hadn’t understood. “I think it is someone I know,” she said. “Won’t you help me?”

“As a matter of fact they don’t,” she explained. “But it’s what people talk about whenever they discuss you.” “Is he brainy?” he whispered after a minute. She gave a slight start, for in their letters to one another they had been discussing this very point.