The things that mattered were beauty and brilliance and success; and these she had in good measure, brimming over. Her mood made her cross suddenly to the many-sided mirror, and switch on a blaze of light that would brook no feigning. In its searching gleams she looked at herself with clear, fearless eyes. Yes; it was all there still, untouched and unimpaired by those thirty-two years: the colouring, the skin, the rounded, supple figure—all the things for which men loved her and the world gave her fame. She gave herself a little mocking salute, and then turned away to hurry into her pretty, cosy bed. But what the blaze of light had not seen the mothering darkness hid tenderly. Two bright tear-drops, filling tired eyes that had tried so often to fool themselves into blind and callous content. CHAPTER XII “Dick Bruce will write an astounding, weird novel, and bound into fame,” Lorraine had remarked to her companion, and away somewhere down in Kent, an hour or so earlier, Dick had remarked to Hal as they spun along: “I’ve got the maddest idea for a novel you ever heard of. I’m going to make the hit of next season.” “I hope it’s not about babies,” said Hal, thinking of his doggerel. “Yes, it is—babies and vegetables.” “Oh, nonsense. You can’t make a novel out of babies and vegetables.” “You see if I can’t. The vegetables are all to be endowed with life, and of course the scene of my tale will be the vegetable kingdom.” “And where do the babies come in?” “The babies will represent mankind.” “I never heard such rot. Why should mankind be represented by babies? Much better let them be represented by green peas or gooseberries.” “Not at all. Mankind can only properly be represented by babies; mankind being in its infancy.” “But it isn’t. It’s much older than vegetables.” “It is not. Man was made last, and instead of developing into a reasonable, rational object, like a potato or a cabbage, he has strayed away into all manner of wild side-issues, and is still nothing but a very much perplexed infant.” “And do you propose to try and help him to emulate the reasonable, rational condition of the potato and cabbage?” “I propose to show him his inferiority to these delectable creations.” “Then if he has any sense he will just duck you in the Serpentine and make you apologise. Personally I consider myself anything but a baby, and far superior to any of the cabbage tribe.” “Ah!...” he cried gleefully. “You are actually proving my theory. I can’t explain now, but just wait till that book is written.” “Are you taking rooms at Colney Hatch while you do it?” “I have thought about it. You show more understanding in that remark than in any of the others.” “It doesn’t require much effort of understanding to think that out. Is the onion or the mangel-wurzel to be your hero?” “You are unsympathetic. I shall not tell you any more.”