And after a while, as I watched her, she came back to herself. Our eyes met: and she looked at me long, with a far-off expression that I could not define. And at last, she gave a little sigh. Daddy, she said, why does the golden rain never fall here? Our rain is always only common rain.
And I said solemnly: Little girls are the reason why. But she didn't understand. She looked at me reproachfully with puzzled eyes—such great, grey, beautiful, sea-green eyes!—and then drew a long breath. And she went back to her bubbles, and together we watched them go as they floated away into the valley, wild with excitement as to whether my bubble or her bubble would go farthest before it burst—till the Rhadamanthine summons came, and the Bubble-Blower went to bed.
Poona, 1919.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] O quantum est subitis casibus ingenium! an exquisite line of Martial which ought to be posted on a board on every putting-green.
CONTENTS
| PAGE | ||
| I. | [On the Banks of Ganges] | [3] |
| II. | [The Heart of a Woman] | [13] |
| III. | [A Story without an End] | [143] |
The Vignette I owe to the artistic genius of my friend, Arthur Hight.