“It’s such a lovely word,” said Emily.
“‘Dreams that seem too bright to die’—
Seem but never are, Emily—
‘The luring voice of the echo, fame’—
So you’ve heard it, too? It is a lure and for most of us only an echo. And that’s the last of the lot.”
Mr. Carpenter swept the little sheets aside, folded his arms on the desk, and looked over his glasses at Emily.
Emily looked back at him mutely, nervelessly. All the life seemed to have been drained out of her body and concentrated in her eyes.
“Ten good lines out of four hundred, Emily—comparatively good, that is—and all the rest balderdash—balderdash, Emily.”
“I—suppose so,” said Emily faintly.