And then at last the little feast would begin, with a long grace of eyes
meeting and hands clasping: true eyes that said, 'How good it is to
behold you, to be awake together in this dream of life!' true hands that
said, 'I will hold you fast for ever--not death even shall pluck you
from my hand, shall loose this bond of you and me'; true eyes, true
hands, that had immortal meanings far beyond the speech of mortal words.

And it had all come out of that dull history of socialism, and had cost
little more than a crown! What lovely things can be made out of money!
Strange to think that a little silver coin of no possible use or beauty
in itself can be exchanged for so much tangible, beautiful pleasure. A
piece of money is like a piece of opium, for in it lie locked up the
most wonderful dreams--if you have only the brains and hearts to dream
them.

When at last the little feast grew near its end, Love and Beauty would
smoke their cigarettes together; and it was a favourite trick of theirs
to lower the lamp a moment, so that they might see the stars rush down
upon them through the skylight which hung above their table. It gave
them a sense of great sentinels, far away out in the lonely universe,
standing guard over them, seemed to say that their love was safe in the
tender keeping of great forces. They were poor, but then they had the
stars and the flowers and the great poets for their servants and
friends; and, best of all, they had each other. Do you call that being
poor?

And then, in the corner, stood that magical box with the ivory keys,
whose strings waited ready night and day--strange media through which
the myriad voices, the inner-sweet thoughts, of the great world-soul
found speech, messengers of the stars to the heart, and of the heart to