[CHAPTER XVII.]
"TO BE, OR NOT TO BE."
Ah, me! what matter? The world goes round.
And bliss and bale are but outside things;
I never can lose what in him I found,
Though love be sorrow with half-grown wings;
And if love flies when we are young,
Why life is still not long—not long.
—Miss Muloch.
"It has been almost a month since I saw you," Conway says, drawing the small hand of Lulu within his arm as they saunter down a shady path where the crape myrtle boughs meet over their heads, showering pink blossoms in prodigal sweetness beneath their feet.
No answer. She is looking ahead at a little bird hopping timidly about the path, and only turns to him when he goes on pathetically:
"I have missed you so much."
"You know where I lived," she answers, dryly.