Valerie and Rita were absent that day but their roses filled the private ward-room with a hint of the coming summer.
Querida lay looking at Neville, the half smile resting on his pallid face like a slight shadow that faintly waxed and waned with every breath he drew.
"Well," he said quietly, "you are the man I wished to see." "Querida," he said, deeply affected, "this thing isn't going to be permanent--" "No; not permanent.

It won't last, Neville.

Nothing does last....

unless you can tell me whether my pictures are going to endure.

Are they?
I know that you will be as honest with me as I was--dishonest with you.