ny. It caught the facade
of the cathedral sideways, like the tips of a flower, and sideways lit
up the stem of Giotto's tower, like a lily stem, or a long, lovely pale
pink and white and green pistil of the lily of the cathedral. Florence,
the flowery town. Firenze--Fiorenze--the flowery town: the red lilies.
The Fiorentini, the flower-souled. Flowers with good roots in the mud
and muck, as should be: and fearless blossoms in air, like the cathedral
and the tower and the David.

"I love it," said Lilly. "I love this place, I love the cathedral and
the tower. I love its pinkness and its paleness. The Gothic souls find
fault with it, and say it is gimcrack and tawdry and cheap. But I love
it, it is delicate and rosy, and the dark stripes are as they should be,
like the tiger marks on a pink lily. It's a lily, not a rose; a pinky
white lily with dark tigery marks. And heavy, too, in its own substance:
earth-substance, risen from earth into the air: and never forgetting
the dark, black-fierce earth--I reckon here men for a moment were
themselves, as a plant in flower is for the moment completely itself.
Then it goes off. As Florence has gone off. No flowers now. But it HAS
flowered. And I don't see why a race should be like an aloe tree, flower
once and die. Why should it? Why not flower again? Why not?"

"If it's going to, it will," said Aaron. "Our deciding about it won't
alter it."

"The decision is part of the business."

Here they were interrupted by Argyle, who put his head through one of
the windows. He had flecks of lather on his reddened face.

"Do you think you're wise now," he said, "to sit in that sun?"

"In November?" laughed Lilly.

"Always fear the sun when there's an 'r' in the month," said Argyle.
"Always fear it 'r' or no 'r,' _I_ say. I'm frightened of it. I've been
in the South, I know what it is. I tell you I'm frightened of it. But if
you think you can stand it--well--"

"It won't last much longer, anyhow," said Lilly.

"Too long for me, my boy. I'm a shady bird, in all senses of the word,
in all senses of the word.--Now are you comfortable? What? Have another
cushion? A rug for your knees? You're quite sure now? Well, wait just
one moment till the waiter brings up a syphon, and you shall have a
whiskey and soda. Precious--oh, yes, very precious these days--like
drinking gold. Thirty-five lire a bottle, my boy!" Argyle pulled a long
face, and made a noise with his lips. "But I had this bottle