"I know," Pete said, "I know. I've changed, too. We all have. Old Frank
is a god. And Honey's grown so that - . Even Ralph's a different man.
Changed - God, I should say I had. It's not only given me a new hold on
things I thought I'd lost-morality, ethics, religion even - but it's
developed something I have no word for - the fourth dimension of
religion, faith."
"It's their weakness, I think, and their dependence." Now it was less
that Billy tried to translate Pete's thought and more that he endeavored
to follow his own. "It puts it up to a man so. And their beauty and
purity and innocence and simplicity - ." Billy seemed to be ransacking
his vocabulary for abstract nouns.
"And that sense you have," Pete broke in eagerly, "of molding a virgin
mind. It gives you a feeling of responsibility that's fairly terrifying
at times. But there's something else mixed up with it - the instinct of
the artist. It's as though you were trying to paint a picture on human
flesh. You know that you're going to produce beauty." Pete's face shone
with the look of creative genius. "The production of beauty excuses any
method, to my way of thinking." He spoke half to himself. "God knows,"
he added after a pause, "whatever I've done and been, I could never do
or be again. Sometimes a man knows when he's reached the zenith of his
spiritual development. I've reached mine. I think they're beginning to
trust us," he added after another long interval, in which silently they
contemplated the moving composition. Pete's tone had come back to its
everyday accent.
"No question about it," Billy rejoined. "If I do say it as shouldn't, I
think my scheme was the right one - never to separate any one of them
from the others, never to seem to try to get them alone, and in
everything to be as gentle and kind and considerate as we could."
"That look is still in their eyes," Pete said. He turned away from Billy
and his face contracted. "It goes through me like a knife - - . When
that's gone - - ."
"It will go inevitably, Pete," Billy reassured him cheerfully. Suddenly
his own voice lowered. "One queer thing I've noticed. I wonder if you're
affected that way. I always feel as if they still had wings. What I mean
is this. If I stand beside one of them with my eyes turned away I always
get an impression that they're still there, towering above my head -
ghosts of wings. Ever notice it?"