No one seemed to be
doing anything because he must. These were pleasant eddies, dainty with
lilies and curiously starred water-grasses, but the great warm stream of
English literature was not flowing here.
As he neared his hotel, he thought of his morning visit to Goldsmith's
tomb, and ten-fold he repented the little half-sneer with which he had
bought the flowers. In a boyish impulse, he rang the Temple bell, and
found his way again to the lonely corner. His flowers were lying there
in the moonlight, and again he read: "Here lies Oliver Goldsmith."
"Forgive me, Goldy," he murmured. "Well may men bring you flowers,--for
you wrote, not as those yonder; you wrote for the human heart."
CHAPTER XXXV
BACK TO REALITY
It was good to get back to reality, with Angel's blue eyes, Mike's
laugh, and Esther's common sense.
"Let me look deep into them, Angel--deep--deep. It is so good to get
back to something true."
"Are they true?" said Angel, opening them very wide.
"Something that will never forsake one, something we can never forsake!
Something in all the wide world's change that will never change.
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