Still she did not seem to understand. He felt that she was tired and shaken.
"Why, I'm unknown, Cordelia, and you're famous. Think what it will mean for me—The Unwise Virgins, by Cordelia Vaughan and John Hartley!"
She turned toward him quickly. He caught the startled look in her eyes, and wondered at it. She tried to call up a smile; he could see her lips twitch uselessly, like a desperate pilot tugging at a broken signal-wire.
"Oh-h-h," she said softly, at last, "I hadn't thought of that!"
As he passed under her window he looked back at her through the gathering darkness. She stood in the half-lighted window-square vacantly, wide-eyed, wondering. He waved his hand back at her, lightly, but she did not seem to see him. And he wondered what element in the picture which that half-lighted window framed made him think of Perseis as she watched the trireme of Ulysses swing up the sands of Ææa. He knew but one thing, and that he knew assuredly. He loved her with all the strength of his heart.
CHAPTER XIX
WAS EVER POETESS THUS MADE?
My astral messenger then turned her eyes
In sad tranquillity unto that night
Wherein the temple of the summit lies,
And spake unto my ear:
"'Tis more the fight
Than all the idle guerdons to be won;
It is the worship though the gods be mute;
So keep thou still thy face unto the sun,
Since art is not the goal, but the pursuit."
John Hartley, "The Goddess Speaks."