Swiftly, in a second, he reviewed the shining sentences that revealed her to him: The 'autumn flowers'--she lived, then, in the Present, without that waste of energy which is regret! In 'a little shell' lay the pattern of all life,--she saw the universe in herself and lived, thus, in the Whole! To be 'out' meant forgetting self; and life's climax is at every minute of the day--she understood, that is, the growth of the soul, due to acceptance of what every minute brings, however practical, dull, uninteresting. By recreating the commonest things, she found a star in each. And her world was made up of neighbours--for 'every letter that one writes begins with _dear_!' The Pattern matured marvellously before his eyes; and its delicate embroideries, far out of sight, seemed the arabesques that yearnings, hitherto unfulfilled, had traced long long ago with the brush of tender thinking. Together, though at opposite ends of the world, these two had woven the great Net of sympathy, thought, and longing in which at last they both were prisoners ... and with them all the earth. The figure of Jane Anne loomed before him like an ogress suddenly. 'Cousinenry, _will_ you answer or will you _not_? Daddy's already asked you twenty times at least!' Then, below her breath, as she bent over him, 'The Little Countess will think you awf'ly rude if you go to sleep and snore like this.' He looked up. He felt a trifle dazed. For a moment he had forgotten where he was. How dark the room had grown! Only--he was sure he had not snored. 'I beg your pardon,' he stammered, 'but I was only thinking--how wonderful you--how wonderful it all is, isn't it? I was listening. I heard perfectly.' 'You were dozing,' whispered Monkey. 'Daddy wants the Countess to tell you how she knew the story long ago, or something. _Ecoute un peu, man vieux_!' 'I should love to hear it,' he said, louder, sitting up so abruptly in his chair that Jimbo tilted at a dangerous angle, though still without waking. 'Please, please go on.'