Hope remained silent for some time, but the rigidity of her attitude, and the tightness with which she pressed her lips together, showed that her mind was deeply occupied.They both sat silent for some few moments, looking down toward the distant lights of the city.At the farther end of the double row of bushes that lined the avenue they could see one of King's sentries passing to and fro across the roadway, a long black shadow on the moonlit road.
``You are very unfair to yourself,'' the girl said at last, ``and Alice does not represent the opinion of the world, only of a very small part of it--her own little world.She does not know how little it is.And you are wrong as to what they will ask you at the end.What will they care whether you built railroads or painted impressionist pictures? They will ask you `What have you made of yourself? Have you been fine, and strong, and sincere?'
That is what they will ask.And we like you because you are all of these things, and because you look at life so cheerfully, and are unafraid.We do not like men because they build railroads, or because they are prime ministers.We like them for what they are themselves.And as to your work!'' Hope added, and then paused in eloquent silence.``I think it is a grand work, and a noble work, full of hardships and self-sacrifices.I do not know of any man who has done more with his life than you have done with yours.'' She stopped and controlled her voice before she spoke again.``You should be very proud,'' she said.
Clay lowered his eyes and sat silent, looking down the roadway.
The thought that the girl felt what she said so deeply, and that the fact that she had said it meant more to him than anything else in the world could mean, left him thrilled and trembling.
He wanted to reach out his hand and seize both of hers, and tell her how much she was to him, but it seemed like taking advantage of the truths of a confessional, or of a child's innocent confidences.