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He drove away from the jail in a cab with Doctor Waram, and when the crowd saw that he was wearing the old symbol a yellow chrysanthemum a hiss went up that was like a geyser of contempt and ridicule. Grimshaw's pallid face flushed. But he lifted his hat and smiled into the host of faces as the cab jerked forward. He went at once to Broadenham.
As far as the public knows, Cecil Grimshaw perished on the "wall" perished and was buried at Broadenham beneath a pyramid of chrysanthemums. Perished, and became an English immortal his sins erased by his unconscious sacrifice. Perished, and was forgiven by Dagmar. Yet hers was the victory he belonged to her at last. She had not buried his body at Broadenham, but she had buried his work there.
Of course I went, with a very clear vision of the future of Dagmar, Lady Cooper, to occupy my thoughts during that lurching drive through the slippery streets. I knew that she was at Broadenham, holding up her head in seclusion. Grimshaw's house was one of a row of red brick buildings not far from the river. Doctor Waram himself opened the door to me.
Get me my pipe, you laughing dryad, and I will play for you." He played for her and all England heard. Dagmar heard and pretended acquiescence. According to her lights, she was magnificent she invited Esther Levenson to Broadenham, the Grimshaw place in Kent, nor did she wince when the actress accepted. When I got back to England, Dagmar was fighting for his soul with all the weapons she had.
They brought the poet wine but he did not drink it sat staring at the smoky ceiling, assailed by a sudden sharp vision of Dagmar and Waram at Broadenham, alone together for the first time, perhaps on the terrace in the starlight, perhaps in Dagmar's bright room which had always been scented, warm, remote He had been reciting, of course, in French. Now he broke abruptly into English.
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