How could five
years work such change? World-worn he was and a-weary, casuistic,
cautious, successful in a sort as the logical result of the exercise of
sound commercial principles and more than fair abilities, but caring less
and less for success since its possession had only the inherent values of
gain and was hallowed by no sweet and holy expectation of bestowal. He
could have wept for the metamorphosis! Whatever he might yet become, he
could never be again this self. This bright, full-pulsed identity was
dead--dead for all time! Icarus-like, he had fallen midway in a flight
that under other conditions might have been long and strong and
sustained, and he bemoaned his broken wings.
So much depression of spirit was in his attitude, even listless despair,
as he stood in the vacant apartment, looking down at the silver bowl on
the table, filled with white roses and galax leaves, freshly gathered; so
much of the thought in his mind was expressed in his face, distinct and
definite in the firelight, despite the clouds at the dim window, that
Lillian Royston, descending the stair unperceived, read in its lineaments
an illuminated text of the past.
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