"And then there's Edith. You can't see Edith, Ursula, as I do. She was like a flower. She was so utterly simple and childish and true. She was just the opposite to all this. She saw through things. That's why she's become a nun, of course; just walked straight forward into it. And our world _never_ walks straight forward." "Our world?" The tone of her voice held him. She had shaded her face with her hand now and did not look at him. "Our world, Paul?" she queried again. "What do you mean?" She did not at once reply. Then, suddenly, she turned and looked at him. "What are you going to do now?" she asked. "I don't know. There seems nothing to do." "I thought the blind beggar saw beauty so wonderfully. Didn't it fill his life?" He shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. The room hung very still. "Then you don't know what you're going to do?" she asked again at last. "No." "Come with Muriel and me to Africa." "_What?_" "I thought that would startle you. We only fixed it definitely this morning. Muriel's brother is an assistant commissioner or something of that sort in Basutoland, and he's given her an open invitation to visit him. Yesterday, too, she was asked to go out and address some series of meetings in the Cape and Natal. I should like to see the country and paint. So we settled this morning to go together--about June. Come too." "Could I?" "Of course." "But what about Muriel?" "She'd love it. And one more in a South African house doesn't matter." Paul turned it swiftly over. With his books and his successful play he knew he could raise enough money. He drew a deep breath. "Oh," he said, "I'd love it." "Good," she said, "that's settled. We're travelling East Coast. And now, why not go down and stay with mother for a little?" CHAPTER XII ZANZIBAR Lo, winged with world's wonders, With miracles shod, With the fires of his thunders For raiment and rod, God trembles in heaven, and the angels are white with the terror of God. * * * * * Thought made him and breaks him, Truth slays and forgives; But to you, as time takes him, This new thing it gives, Even love, the beloved Republic, that feeds upon freedom and lives. ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE: _Hertha_. High sat white Helen, lonely and serene. He had not remembered that she was so fair, And that her neck curved down in such a way; And he felt tired. He flung the sword away, And kissed her feet, and knelt before her there, The perfect Knight before the perfect Queen. RUPERT BROOKE: _Menelaus and Helen_. (1)