is all, and it is enough.

"When I said that you were Art I didn't mean that you were skilfully
painted and dressed, but that there was a quality in you which
recalled all the charming women who had ever lived to draw men out
of the mud--something, probably, of which you are entirely
unconscious, and certainly beyond your control. You have it in a
remarkable degree. It doesn't belong to husbands but to those who
create 'Homer's children.'

"That's a dark saying of Plato's, and it means that the
_Alcestis_ is greater than any momentary offspring of the
flesh."

Linda admitted seriously, "Of course, I don't understand, yet it
seems quite familiar--"

"Don't, for Heaven's sake, repeat the old cant about reincarnation;"
he interrupted, "and sitting together, smeared with antimony, on a
roof of Babylon."

She hadn't intended to, she assured him. "Tell me about yourself,"
he directed. It was as natural to talk with him as it was, with
others, to keep still. Her frank speech flowed on and on, supported
by the realization of his attention.

"There really isn't much, besides hotels, all different; but you'd
be surprised how alike they were, too. I mean the things to eat, and
the people. I never realized how tired I was of them until mother
married Mr. Moses Feldt. The children were simply dreadful, the