"You are unhappy," I heard a voice murmur ever so softly. It seemed like the sighing of a night wind through the tree tops.
I looked up. Before me stood a young man with deep blue eyes, blond hair, exquisite daintiness of feature and unnaturally pale complexion. He was dressed in soft gray tweeds. In the crook of his left elbow he carried roses. Their fragrance permeated the café and, for once, the odor of stale tobacco was not dominant.
"You are unhappy," he repeated mildly as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to say.
"I am," I answered frankly. "The world is a stupid place to live in."
"You must not say that," he reproached quietly. "It is we who are stupid. The world is beautiful. Won't you accept a rose?" Like a prince in a fairy story he bowed grandly and offered me an American Beauty still moist with the mock dews of the florist.
"But why do you honor me thus?" I asked, taking the flower and inhaling its fragrance.
He looked a bit put out as if I were asking the obvious thing. "You were sad, of course, and a thing of beauty——"
"Is a joy forever," I concluded.
He flushed with pleasure.
"I am so glad you have read my Endymion," he exclaimed delightedly. "Suppose we walk out together and preach the gospel of beauty to those who like yourself forget the eternal in the trivial. I have some powerful sermons here." He caressed his roses as a mother would stroke the head of a child.