In those days"-- his voice sank; he had plainly forgotten that he was not alone--"when men had no universal conceptions, they would have done well to look at the trees.

Instead of fostering a number of little souls on the pabulum of varying theories of future life, they should have been concerned to improve their present shapes, and thus to dignify man's single soul." "Elms were always considered dangerous trees, I believe," said Hilary.
Mr.Stone turned, and, seeing his son-in-law beside him, asked: "You spoke to me, I think ?" "Yes, sir." Mr.Stone said wistfully: "Shall we walk ?" They rose from the bench and walked on....
The explanation of the little model's absence was thus stated by herself to Hilary: "I had an appointment." "More work ?" "A friend of Mr.French." "Yes--who ?" "Mr.Lennard.

He's a sculptor; he's got a studio in Chelsea.

He wants me to pose to him." "Ah!" She stole a glance at Hilary, and hung her head.
Hilary turned to the window.

"You know what posing to a sculptor means, of course ?" The little model's voice sounded behind him, matter-of-fact as ever: "He said I was just the figure he was looking for." Hilary continued to stare through the window.