bewitching and fair, And Cupid lurks ever in salt Summer air. 

 Roger: 

 I question your gifts as a prophet, and yet, I confess in my travels I never have met A woman whose face so impressed me at sight, As one seen to-day; a mere girl, sweet and bright, Who entered the train quite alone and sat down Surrounded by parcels she'd purchased in town. A trim country lass, but endowed with the beauty Which makes a man think of his conscience and duty. Some women, you know, move us that way—God bless them, While others rouse only a thirst to possess them The face of the girl made me wish to be good, I went out and smoked to escape from the mood. When conscience through half a man's life has been sleeping What folly to wake it to worry and weeping! 

 Maurice: 

 The pessimist role is a modern day fad, But, Roger, you make a poor cynic, my lad. Your heart at the core is as sound as a nut, Though the wheels of your mind have dropped into the rut Of wrong thinking. You need a strong hand on the lever Of good common sense, and an earnest endeavor To pull yourself out of the slough of despond Back into the highway of peace just beyond. And now, here we are at Peace Castle in truth, And there stands its Chatelaine, sweet Sister Ruth, To welcome you, Roger; you'll find a new type In this old-fashioned girl, who in years scarcely ripe, And as childish in heart as she is in her looks, And without worldly learning or knowledge of books, Yet in housewifely wisdom is wise as a sage. She is quite out of step with the girls of her age, For she has no ambition beyond the home sphere. Ruth, here's Roger Montrose, my comrade of dear College days. 

College days.

 The gray eyes of the girl of nineteen Looked into the face oft in fancy she'd seen When her brother had talked of his comrade at Yale. His stature was lower, his cheek was more pale Than her thought had portrayed him; a look in his eye Made her sorry, she knew not for what nor knew why, But she longed to befriend him, as one needing aid While he, gazing down on the face of the maid, Spoke some light words of greeting, the while his mind ran On her "points" good and bad; for the average man When he looks at a woman proceeds first to scan her As if she were horse flesh, and in the same manner Notes all that is pleasing, or otherwise. So Roger gazed at Ruth Somerville. 

 "Mouth like a bow And eyes full of motherhood; color too warm, And too round in the cheek and too full in the form 

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