She was the type not of woman but of youth, and Hippomenes personated age.

He was the slower runner, but he won the race; and yet how beautiful, even where it run to riot, must enthusiasm be in such a cause as ours!" "If Atalanta had been Scotch," said Andrew "she would not have lost that race for a pound of apples." The stranger regarded him longingly, like a father only prevented by state reasons from embracing his son.
He murmured something that Andrew hardly caught.
It sounded like: "Atalanta would have been better dead." "Your nationality is in your favour," he said, "and you have served your apprenticeship to our calling.

You have been tending towards us ever since you came to London.

You are an apple ripe for plucking, and if you are not plucked now you will fall.

I would fain take you by the hand, and yet--" "And yet ?" "And yet I hesitate.