The Dark Star
Page 195"He is well?"
"Oh, yes. He prefers his food cut finely, that is all."
"I don't suppose he will live very long."
"He's pretty old," admitted Neeland.
She sighed and looked out of the window at the kitten in the garden.
And, after an interval of silence: "Our plot in the cemetery--is it--pretty?"
"It is beautiful," he said, "under the great trees. It is well cared
for. I had them plant the shrubs and flowers you mentioned in the list
you sent me."
"Thank you." She lifted her eyes again to him. "I wonder if you
realise how--how splendid you have always been to me."
Surprised, he reddened, and said awkwardly that he had done nothing.
man? He was finding nothing to say to Rue Carew, or saying what he
said as crudely and uncouthly as any haymaker in Gayfield.
He looked up, exasperated, and met her eyes squarely. And Rue Carew
blushed.
They both looked elsewhere at once, but in the girl's breast a new
pulse beat; a new instinct stirred, blindly importuning her for
recognition; a new confusion threatened the ordered serenity of her
mind, vaguely menacing it with unaccustomed questions.
Then the instinct of self-command returned; she found composure with
an effort.
"You haven't asked me," she said, "about my work. Would you like to
He said he would; and she told him--chary of self-praise, yet eager
that he should know that her masters had spoken well of her.
"And you know," she said, "every week, now, I contribute a drawing to
the illustrated paper I wrote to you about. I sent one off yesterday.
But," and she laughed shyly, "my nostrils are no longer filled with
pride, because I am not contented with myself any more. I wish to
do--oh, so much better work!"
"Of course. Contentment in creative work means that we have nothing
more to create."
She nodded and smiled: "The youngest born is the most tenderly cherished--until a new one
comes. It is that way with me; I am all love and devotion and
still younger comes, and I become like a heartless cat and drive away
all progeny except the newly born."
She sighed and smiled and looked up at him: "It can't be helped, I suppose--that is, if one's going to have more
progeny."
"It's our penalty for producing. Only the newest counts. And those to
come are to be miracles. But they never are."
She nodded seriously.
"When there is a better light I should like to show you some of my
studies," she ventured. "No, not now. I am too vain to risk anything
except the kindest of morning lights. Because I do hope for your
approval----"