They did not systematically exercise just to wrest from some rival the prize in the games, either.

Their care of the body had a far higher and nobler end: to bring it into harmony as a dwelling-place for a noble soul." "How divine!" said Mrs.Cricklander.
John Derringham went on: "You remember Plato upon the subject--his reluctance to admit that a physical defect must sometimes be overlooked.

But nowadays everything is distorted by ridiculous humanitarian nonsense.

With our wonderful inventions, our increasing knowledge of sanitation and science, and the possibilities and limitations of the human body, what glorious people we should become if we could choke this double-headed hydra of rotten sentiment and exalt common sense!" But now Mrs.Cricklander saw that a storm was gathering upon Mr.
Hanbury-Green's brow and, admirable hostess that she was, she decided to smooth the troubled waters, so she went across the room to the piano, and began to play a seductive valse, while John Derringham followed her and leaned upon the lid, and tried to feel as devoted as he looked.
"Why cannot we go to-morrow and see your old master ?" she asked, as her white fingers, with their one or two superb rings, glided over the keys.
"I feel an unaccountable desire to become acquainted with him.

I should love to see what the person was like who molded you when you were a boy." "Mr.Carlyon is a wonderful-looking old man," John Derringham returned.
"Someone--who knows him very well--described him long ago as 'Cheiron.' You will see how apt it is when you meet." Mrs.Cricklander crashed some chords.