After a lifetime of self-sacrificing devotion, the Colonel had
seen all his efforts fail, but he had taken the blow standing, like the
soldier that he was. In vain, many a time, Allison had wished that some
of his father's fine courage might have been transmitted to him.
And Rose--dear Rose! How persistently she held the new way open before
him; how steadily she insisted that the creative impulse was higher than
interpretative skill! How often she had reminded him of Carlyle's
stirring call: "Produce, produce! Though it be but the merest fraction
of a fragment, produce it, in God's name!" He had noticed that the
materials for composition were always close at hand, though she never
urged him to work.
He had come gradually to depend upon Rose--a great deal more than he
realised. Quite often he perceived the truth of the saying that "a blue-
ribbon friendship is better than an honourable mention love." It was
evident that Isabel had never loved him, though she had been pleased and
flattered by his love for her.
Even at the time that Aunt Francesca and Rose had congratulated him, and
he had kissed them both in friendly fashion, he had taken passing note
of the difference between Isabel and Rose.
Pages:
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318