Madeline was idly turning the pages of a magazine and now she held it
up.
"Look at these illustrations. Aren't they stunning?"
"I don't know," said Mrs. Lenox. "I'm growing tired of that kind of
thing. It isn't art; it's a fad. The trouble with most of this modern
work is that it is too smart and fashionable. The clothes are more
important than the people."
"Quite a contrast to ancient art, where the people were everything and
the clothes nothing," Madeline retorted. "After all, I rather like the
modern way. The old Greeks were not a bit more real people. They were
nothing but types."
"And very decapitated and de-legged types," said Mrs. Lenox with a
laugh. "And dirty, too--like the Sleeping Beauty. Do you know, it gives
me the shivers to think of the Sleeping Beauty, lying there for ages,
with dust and cobwebs accumulating on her. I'm sure I hope the prince
gave her a thorough dusting before he kissed her."
"You are horribly realistic, Vera--a person with no imagination."
"I think I have just shown a truly vivid imagination."
"It is the business of imagination to build up a world of loveliness and
order."
"I don't agree with you. I think it is the business of imagination to
project things as they really are. I don't want to slip out from under
reality and see only beauty. Beware, Madeline, or you will degenerate
into a mere optimist."
"Isn't it funny that if your opponent can call you an optimist, he feels
that he has delivered a knock-down blow to all your arguments?" Mrs.
Lenox suddenly pulled herself together and turned toward Lena, who sat
silently drinking her tea and taking no part in the conversation.
"Did you tell me that your mother is an invalid, Miss Quincy?"
"Not exactly; but she can't go about much. It seems to play her out to
walk."
"It must be very hard on her to stay in the house all the time. I wonder
if I might take her to drive with me once in a while?" A scarlet flush
passed over Lena's face at the very idea of her mother's querulous
vulgarity being displayed to this woman, and Mrs. Lenox could not help
seeing her embarrassment.
A little wave of pity swept over the older woman. It must be a cruel
fate to be ashamed of one's surroundings. Mrs. Lenox herself was one of
those serious-minded persons who regard their opportunities as
responsibilities. She waged constant warfare with the dominion of
externals, and believed with all her heart that the life was more than
raiment; but a momentary doubt assailed her as to whether, after all, it
might not be easier to conquer things when one owned them, rather than
when one had to do without them. It has generally been Dives who is
represented as enslaved by the goods of this world. Perhaps Lazarus, if
his heart is absorbed in sordid longing for what others have and he has
not, stands just as poor a chance of the kingdom of Heaven.