"Human love, the most beautiful thing in the world must still be earth-bound, must still be selfish."
"But—"
"Sir Graham, I'll confess to you even this, that on Sunday evening, when, after the service, we sang that hymn, 'Lead, Kindly Light,' I thought would it not be a very beautiful thing if the body mouldering beneath that stone in the churchyard yonder were indeed the body of—of your wonder-child."
"Uniacke!"
"Yes, yes. Don't you remember how he looked up from his sordid misery to the rainbow?"
"How can I ever forget it?"
"Does that teach you nothing?"
There was a silence. Then the painter said:
"Death may be beautiful, but only after life has been beautiful. For it is beautiful to live as Jack would have lived."
"Is living—somewhere," interposed Uniacke quickly.