There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. It isn’t what I have been but what I am. The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. So the talk went on. It was eleven o'clock. But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself. In the next place, she really had some pretensions to beauty. But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. I will make her my Grail, and some day, perhaps, if God wills, she shall become my wife!’” He looked very hard before him as he said this, and his voice was full of deep feeling.
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