"When I first found her it seemed to me I must call her Pallas Athene, because of that noble lady in Perseus--but as I looked and looked I knew she was not that; it seems she cannot be anything else but just Love--her eyes are so tender, she has many moods, and they are not often the same--but no matter how she looks you feel all the time just love, love, love--so I have not named her yet.

You remember when Orpheus took his lyre and sang after Cheiron had finished his song--it was of Chaos and the making of the world, and how all things had sprung from Love--who could not live alone in the Abyss.

So I know that is she--just Love." "Aphrodite," said Cheiron.
"It is a pretty name.

If that is what it means, I would call her that." "It will do," said Cheiron.
"Aphrodite--Aphrodite," she repeated it over and over.

"It must mean kind and tender, and soft and sweet, and beautiful and glorious, and making you think of noble things, and making you feel perfectly happy and warmed and comforted and blessed.