s, "It's Haroldbellwrightism, pure and simple, to imagine that
anything you can ever do, that anybody can ever do, will help bring
about the kind of order _you're_ talking about, order for everybody. The
only kind of order there ever will be, is what you get when you grab a
little of what you want out of the chaos, for your own self, while
there's still time, and hold on to it. That's the only way to get
anywhere for yourself. And as for doing something for other people, the
only satisfaction you can give anybody is in beauty."

Mr. Welles swam out of the breakers into clear water. Suddenly he caught
the knack of the upward swing, and had the immense satisfaction of
bringing the mattock down squarely, buried to the head in the earth.

"There!" he said proudly to Mrs. Crittenden, "how's that for fine?"

He looked up at her, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He wondered for
an instant if she really looked troubled, or if he only imagined it.
There was no doubt about how Vincent looked, as though he thought Mr.
Welles, exulting over a blow with a mattock, an old imbecile in his
dotage.

Mr. Welles never cared very much whether he seemed to Vincent like an
old imbecile or not, and certainly less than nothing about it today,
intoxicated as he was with the air, the sun, and his new mastery over
the soil. He set his hands lovingly to the tool and again and again
swung it high over his head, while Vincent and Mrs. Crittenden strolled
away, still talking. . . . "Doesn't it depend on what you mean by
'beauty'?" Mrs. Crittenden was saying.

CHAPTER VII

THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS

_An Evening in the Life of Mrs. Neale Crittenden_

April 20.

Nowadays she so seldom spoke or acted without knowing perfectly well
what she was about, that Marise startled herself almost as much as her
callers by turning over that leaf in the photograph album quickly and
saying with abruptness, "No, never mind about that one. It's nothing
interesting."

Of course this brought out from Paul and little Mark, hanging over her
shoulder and knee, the to-be-expected shouts of, "Oh, let's see it! What
is it?"

Marise perceived that they scented something fine and exciting such as
Mother was always trying to keep from them, like one man choking another
over the edge of a cliff, or a woman lying on her back with the blood
all running from her throat. Whenever pictures like that were in any of
the magazines that came into the house, Marise t