Surely the lamb, emblem at once pastoral
and sacred, ought to enter into any monument to Wordsworth; but that
gray headstone, with its catalogue of dates, those stern iron
railings--were these fit memorials of one whose soul so loved nature's
loveliness?
After Mr. Hammond had seen the little old, old church, and the medallion
portrait inside, had seen all that Maulevrier could show him, in fact,
the two young men went back to the place of graves, and sat on the low
parapet above the beck, smoking their cigarettes, and talking with that
perfect unreserve which can only obtain between men who are old and
tried friends. They talked, as it was only natural they should talk, of
that household at Fellside, where all things were new to John Hammond.
'You like my sister Lesbia?' said Maulevrier.
'Like her! well, yes. The difficulty with most men must be not to
worship her.'
'Ah, she's not my style. And she's beastly proud.'
'A little _hauteur_ gives piquancy to her beauty; I admire a grand
woman.'
'So do I in a picture. Titian's Queen of Cyprus, or any party of that
kind; but for flesh and blood I like humility--a woman who knows she is
human, and not infallible, and only just a little better than you or me.
Pages:
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128