edward. It's good to be praised sometimes . . by you.
alice. My heart praises you. Good night.
edward. Good night.
She kisses his forehead. But he puts up his face like a child, so she bends down and for the first time their lips meet. Then she steps back from him, adding happily, with perhaps just a touch of shyness.
alice. Till to-morrow.
edward. [echoing in gratitude the hope and promise in her voice.] Till to-morrow.
She leaves him to sit there by the table for a few moments longer, looking into his future, streaked as it is to be with trouble and joy. As whose is not? From above . . from above the mantelpiece, that is to say . . the face of the late mr. voysey seems to look down upon his son not unkindly, though with that curious buccaneering twist of the eyebrows which distinguished his countenance in life.
Waste
1906-7