ace had just been signed. The
voices died away. The rain was falling and interfered no doubt with the
proper explosion of the fireworks.

"My cook will have bought the Evening News," said Castalia, "and Ann
will be spelling it out over her tea. I must go home."

"It's no good--not a bit of good," I said. "Once she knows how to read
there's only one thing you can teach her to believe in--and that is
herself."

"Well, that would be a change," sighed Castalia.

So we swept up the papers of our Society, and, though Ann was playing
with her doll very happily, we solemnly made her a present of the lot
and told her we had chosen her to be President of the Society of the
future--upon which she burst into tears, poor little girl.

MONDAY OR TUESDAY

Lazy and indifferent, shaking space easily from his wings, knowing his
way, the heron passes over the church beneath the sky. White and
distant, absorbed in itself, endlessly the sky covers and uncovers,
moves and remains. A lake? Blot the shores of it out! A mountain? Oh,
perfect--the sun gold on its slopes. Down that falls. Ferns then, or
white feathers, for ever and ever----

Desiring truth, awaiting it, laboriously distilling a few words, for
ever desiring--(a cry starts to the left, another to the right. Wheels
strike divergently. Omnibuses conglomerate in conflict)--for ever
desiring--(the clock asseverates with twelve distinct strokes that it is
midday; light sheds gold scales; children swarm)--for ever desiring
truth. Red is the dome; coins hang on the trees; smoke trails from the
chimneys; bark, shout, cry "Iron for sale"--and truth?

Radiating to a point men's feet and women's feet, black or
gold-encrusted--(This foggy weather--Sugar? No, thank you--The
commonwealth of the future)--the firelight darting and making the room
red, save for the black figures and their bright eyes, while outside a
van discharges, Miss Thingummy drinks tea at her desk, and plate-glass
preserves fur coats----

Flaunted, leaf-light, drifting at corners, blown across the wheels,
silver-splashed, home or not home, gathered, scattered, squandered in
separate scales, swept up, down, torn, sunk, assembled--and truth?

Now to recollect by the fireside on the white square of marble. From
ivory depths words rising shed their blackness, blossom and penetrate.
Fallen the book; in the flame, in the smoke, in the momentary sparks--or
now voyaging, the marble square pendant, minarets beneath