slowly; "I don't know what it was; but when I looked into his face, I saw it and recognized it; but it didn't stay with me;—it is gone again."
"It is not gone from just below the surface, is it?"
"No, it is there just the same as ever; but it flashed up into sight or an instant and then slipped back again. Oh I wish that I could have held it. Never mind I'm sure that it will come again; and do look at my flowers. Aren't they wonderful? And I never did smell such sweet ones. Oh, I wish that I could love everybody in the world the way that I love these violets."
"Why don't you?" asked the Dream.
Marjorie heaved a little sigh. "I don't know," she said; "Perhaps I love the violets because they give themselves so freely. They are never too busy nor too selfish to give fragrance; they are never too busy nor too selfish to give their wonderful color; they are never too busy nor too selfish to give the dainty freshness of their touch;—and yet no matter how much they give, they have just as much left. It is almost as if they were tiny rents in the curtain between us and All—that-is-Lovely, for the loveliness to slip through."
"And don't you give them anything in return?"
"No," said Marjorie, "I only love them."
