The younger man smiled. With him Euterpe and Eros, obviously, must not house together.
"Jolly well broken in," was all he answered.
"Work is our eternal redemption," Repellier said, with his hand on the younger man's shoulder. Then he sighed wearily. "But to a good many of us Americans a life of hurry, I guess, has become the only life of ease."
CHAPTER III
AN INTERLUDE OF ENLIGHTENMENT
The lute forgetful of its note;
The wing remembering not to fly
In some sweet flight's mad ecstasy;
The heart that failed to carve the form
Since once the musing soul grew warm
With love for her who sat for him
Of too alluring moonbeam limb.
John Hartley, "The Lost Voice."
"The defeated heart," sighed the woman in black, "has the habit of burying its own dead!"—"The Silver Poppy."