of a passionate tenderness. She wanted him to have success, and happiness. She wanted to help him to get them.
For Chip, the impossible thing that had happened was too dazzling, as yet, to be more than blinked at. It was as though an old dried stick had burst into blossom and leaf. As though water had been turned into wine. That Judy might be persuaded to care for him in return never entered his head. To love her was wonderful enough. Let a man of her own world, a man of wealth and standing, try to win her. Some day such a man would succeed, and he would have to bear that as he had borne lesser things. If his book received recognition, he might continue to enjoy this delightful friendship. If not, he must quietly drop out of Judy's life. For he believed that a man had no right to accept a charming woman's friendship unless he could lay appropriate and frequent sacrifices upon her altar. Which shows that the world had been rolling along under Chip's very nose without his having observed the manner of its rolling.
One pleasure he permitted himself that day. He went into a little flower shop in Church Street and bought two dozen pink roses. It was one of
