I smile at it now; but it was real at two-and-twenty--as real, I take it, as Dale's consuming passion for the lady of the circus.
There was also, I remembered, a certain -- -- But this had nothing to do with Dale.

Neither had the tragedy of my lost Clothilde.

The memories, however, brought a wistful touch of sympathy into my voice.
"You soberly think, my dear old Dale," said I, "that I know nothing of love and passion and the rest of the divine madness ?" "I'm sure you don't," he cried, with an impatient gesture.

"If you did, you wouldn't--" He came to an abrupt and confused halt.
"I wouldn't--what ?" "Nothing.

I forgot what I was going to say.