It is something. But if you
should go under, if you should drop out from amid the universal
forward-hurrying throng, what then? If you have done something that can
be mentioned, in art or letters or science, the newspapers may toss you
a paragraph; or if you have been a notorious criminal or charlatan or
windbag, they may even devote a leader to you; but the multitude--what
time have they to think? A careless eye glances at the couple of
obituary lines that have been paid for by relatives; then onwards again.
Perhaps, here and there, one solitary heart is struck deep, and
remembers; but the ordinary crowd of one's acquaintances--what time have
they? Good-bye, friend!--but we are in such a hurry!" Nevertheless, he
was glad to tell Lionel of these callers, and of their flowers and cards
and messages and what not.
On this Tuesday afternoon Miss Burgoyne also called; but, hearing that
there were some relations come, she would not go up-stairs. Maurice went
down to see her.
"What brought on this fever?" she asked, after the usual inquiries.
"A variety of causes, I should imagine," he answered. "The immediate one
was a severe chill."
"They say he has lost all his money and is deeply in debt," she
observed.
Pages:
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725