But what the blaze of light had not seen the mothering darkness hid tenderly. Two bright tear-drops, filling tired eyes that had tried so often to fool themselves into blind and callous content.
CHAPTER XII
“Dick Bruce will write an astounding, weird novel, and bound into fame,” Lorraine had remarked to her companion, and away somewhere down in Kent, an hour or so earlier, Dick had remarked to Hal as they spun along:
“I’ve got the maddest idea for a novel you ever heard of. I’m going to make the hit of next season.”
“I hope it’s not about babies,” said Hal, thinking of his doggerel.
“Yes, it is—babies and vegetables.”
“Oh, nonsense. You can’t make a novel out of babies and vegetables.”
“You see if I can’t. The vegetables are all to be endowed with life, and of course the scene of my tale will be the vegetable kingdom.”
“And where do the babies come in?”
“The babies will represent mankind.”