“We take no thought of such things here,” said the Doctor.  “In my youth, when I studied in the North, experiments of that nature exercised a powerful sway over my mind.  I dabbled in alchemy; I tried and indeed considered that I succeeded in raising spirits and visions; but two things are necessary for such a study:  youth, and the mists of the Northern country.  Here the generous sun kills such phantasies.  There are no phantoms here.  Moreover, I am convinced that in all such experiments success depends on the state of mind of the inquirer, which not only persuades, but indeed compels itself by a strange magnetic quality to see the vision it desires.  In my youth I considered that I had evoked visions of Satan and Helen of Troy, and what not—­such things are fit for the young.  We greybeards have more serious things to occupy us, and when a man has one foot in the grave, he has no time to waste.”

“To my mind,” said the painter, “this world has sufficient beauty and mystery to satisfy the most ardent inquirer.”

“But,” said the Englishman, “is not this world a phantom and a dream as insubstantial as the visions of the ardent mind?”

“Men and women are the only study fit for a man,” interrupted Guido, “and as for the philosopher’s stone I have found it.  I found it some months ago in a garden at Sorrento.  It is a pearl radiant with all the hues of the rainbow.”

“With regard to that matter,” said the Doctor, “we will have some talk later.  The wench’s brother has returned from the war.  We must find her a husband.”

“You misunderstand me,” said Guido.  “You do not think I am going to throw my precious pearl to the swine?  I have sworn to wed Margherita, and wed her I shall, and that swiftly.”

“Such an act of folly would only lead,” said the Doctor, “to your unhappiness and to hers.  It is the selfish act of a fool.  You must not think of it.”

“Ah!” said Guido, “you are young at seventy, Doctor, but you were old at twenty-five, and you cannot know what these things mean.”

“I was young in my day,” said the Doctor, “and I found many such pearls; believe me, they are all very well in their native shell.  To move them is to destroy their beauty.”

“You do not understand,” said Guido.  “I have loved countless times; but she is different.  You never felt the revelation of the real, true thing that is different from all the rest and transforms a man’s life.”

“No,” said the Doctor, “I confess that to me it was always the same thing.”  And for the second time that day the Doctor shivered, he knew not why.

Soon after the meal was over the guests departed, and although the Doctor detained Guido and endeavoured to persuade him to listen to the voice of reason and commonsense, his efforts were in vain.  Guido had determined to wed Margherita.

“Besides which, if I left her now, I should bring shame and ruin on her,” he said.