There was still work to be done, there were still ideals to be striven for.
Feeling once more himself—no, not quite his old self, for the fire through which he had just passed had burned into his soul—he went home to make peace with Gertrude.
She was waiting for him. Standing in front of a salmon-can cheval glass, she was anxiously massaging the wrinkles under her eyes. She had heard that there was a new duckess in the barnyard.
"Well, dear!" she exclaimed with unwonted cordiality; and then launched into a nervous babble of demonstrativeness.
Eustace let her chatter on. He was in too serious a mood to listen to her. Deep and solemn thoughts filled his mind.
"Vanity of vanities!" he reflected. "The paths of glory lead but to the gravy."
"The good-to-eat die young. The paths of glory lead but to the gravy."