How she prospered² he never asked; for, though he met her more than once that year, the interviews were brief ones in street, concert-room, or picture-gallery, and she carefully avoided speaking of herself. But, possessing the gifted eyes which can look below the surface of things, he detected in the girl's face something better than beauty, though each time he saw it, it looked older and more thoughtful, often anxious and sad.

 

"She is getting on," he said to himself with a cordial satisfaction which gave his manner a friendliness³ as grateful to Psyche as his wise reticence⁴.

 

Adam was finished at last, proved a genuine success, and Paul heartily⁵ enjoyed the well-earned reward for years of honest work. One blithe⁶ May morning, he slipped early into the art-gallery, where the statue now stood, to look at his creation with paternal⁷ pride. He was quite alone with the stately figure that shone white against the purple draperies and seemed to offer him a voiceless welcome from its marble lips. He gave it one loving look, and then forgot it, for at the feet of his Adam lay a handful of wild violets, with the dew still on them. A sudden smile broke over his face as he took them up, with the thought, "She has been here and found my work good."

 

For several moments he stood thoughtfully turning the flowers to and fro in his hands; then, as if deciding some question within himself, he said, still smiling,—

 

"It is just a year since she went home; she must have

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