“He thought and said the things which all good and loving men have thought and said, and in much the same way. Because like them, he had discovered the truth of those things through living it. That was what made him priceless to us. He was a Sympathy—a refining and strengthening animus—which endured and went with us to meet life. The world of letters, science, and philosophy will hardly note these memoirs, perhaps; but if the day ever comes when greatness is measured by goodness—as he measured it—and hope, faith, and charity form the lens of the scientist’s microscope, then his name, like Abou ben Adhem’s, will lead all the rest!”
“You can see by that last phrase that Jack considers Professor Lee to have been far in advance of his time as a thinker.”
Rosamond did not speak at once. When she did, she said:
“Yes, one can see plainly what he thinks, and also what he feels—which is more important. I think he is a very nice man, your Mr. Falcon; and this afternoon I will bake him a marvellous cake. He deserves it.”
Mention of food brought Mrs. Lee back to the immediate present and its problems.
“Oh, my dear, how good of you! I shall send for Bella Greenup to cook other things. But there is something even more important than food.” She paused and patted her lips with her forefinger, evidently cogitating deeply.
“What?”
“Roseborough—dear, sensitive Roseborough. How shall I present my Jack to Roseborough so that everyone will feel his homecoming—and the book, and all of it—to be a communal event and not merely a selfish, personal pleasure of mine? That will require some planning. Yes, it will need some quite subtle planning.”
She folded her hands on the pile of notebooks. Her absent gaze turned to the window where the splashes of purple and pink morning-glories vignetted a bit of sun-smitten river. She was thinking hard.
