“Why will you, of all people, Sarah, quote that tinkling, superficial trash of a proverb, so palpably French, when the true reason why a man is not a hero to his lackey is only because he is seen with a lackey’s eyes, —­the sight of a low, convention-ridden, narrow, uneducated mind, unable to take a broad enough view to see that a man is a hero because he is a man, because he overleaps the level of his life, and is greater than his race, being one of them?  If he were of the heroic race, what virtue in being heroic? it is the assertion of his trivial life that makes his speciality evident,—­the shadow that throws out the bas-relief.  We chatter endlessly about the immense good of Washington’s example:  I believe its good would be more than doubled, could we be made, nationally, to see him as a human being, living on ‘human nature’s daily food,’ having mortal and natural wants, tastes, and infirmities, but building with and over all, by the help of God and a good will, the noble and lofty edifice of a patriot manhood, a pure life of duty and devotion, sublime for its very strength and simpleness, heroic because manly and human.”

The day had waned, and the sunset lit Josephine’s excited eyes with fire:  she was not beautiful, but now, if ever, beauty visited her with a transient caress.  She looked up and met my eyes fixed on her.

“What is it, Sally?—­what do I look like?”

“Very pretty, just now, Jo; your eyes are bright and your cheek flushed:  the sunshine suits you.  I admire you tonight.”

“I am glad,” said she, naively.  “I often wish to be pretty.”

“A waste wish, Jo!—­and yet I have entertained it myself.”

“It’s not so much matter for you, Sarah; for people love you.  And besides, you have a certain kind of beauty:  your eyes are beautiful,—­rather too sad, perhaps, but fine in shape and tint; and you have a good head, and a delicately outlined face.  Moreover, you are picturesque:  people look at you, and then look again,—­and, any way, love you, don’t they?”

“People are very good to me, Jo.”

“Oh, yes! we all know that people as a mass are kindly, considerate, and unselfish; that they are given to loving and admiring disagreeable and ugly people; in short, that the millennium has come.  Sally, my dear, you are a small hypocrite,—­or else—­But I think we won’t establish a mutual-admiration society to-night, as there are only two of us; besides, I am hungry:  let us have tea.”

The next day, Josephine left me.  As we walked together toward the landing of the steamer, Letty Allis emerged from a green lane to say good-bye, and down its vista I discerned the handsome, lazy person of Henry Malden, but I did not inform Letty of my discovery.