friend, and Dick’s friend, and proud am I that he is my friend.”

“And that other line,” Leo said. “From the same sonnet,” he explained to Graham. “Listen to the sound of it: ‘To hear what song the star of morning sings’ — oh, listen,” the boy went on, his voice hushed low with beauty-love for the words: “‘With perished beauty in his hands as clay, Shall he restore futurity its dream — ’“

He broke off as Paula’s sisters entered, and rose shyly to greet them.

Dinner that night was as any dinner at which the madro�o sages were present. Dick was as robustly controversial as usual, locking horns with Aaron Hancock on Bergson, attacking the latter’s metaphysics in sharp realistic fashion.