I don't mind in the least. Bohemia began with that cup, and all the illusions of Bohemia perish with it."
"Mend it," suggested Howard, holding up the fragments. "Life is nothing but a putting together of the broken pieces. I can imagine a process of learning through loss that would make one's failures satisfactory. By the way, when success comes, it doesn't usually take the shape that you expect. The Art Museum has offered to buy my picture, on condition that its name shall be changed!"
"Accept!" cried Anne. "Change the name every year. Think how many noble truths you could illustrate."
The conversation drifted on through the old, great themes. Half earnestly, half in jest, they repeated worn remarks, weighed down by that dull sense of foreboding that haunts all partings. The sky above grew darker; the stars shone out more clearly.
"Isn't there anything that lasts?" asked Helen despairingly.
"Yes," murmured Mrs. Kent.
