Ellen Anderson Gholson  Glasgow The Wheel Of Life Volume 56 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 1 Pg 1 
 In Which The Romantic Hero Is Conspicuous By His Absence 
   
   
 As The Light Fell On Her Face Gerty Bridewell Awoke, Stifled A Yawn With 
 Her Pillow, And Remembered That She Had Been Very Unhappy When She Went 
 To Bed. That Was Only Six Hours Ago, And Yet She Felt Now That Her 
 Unhappiness And The Object Of It, Which Was Her Husband, Were Of Less 
 Disturbing Importance To Her Than The Fact That She Must Get Up And 
 Stand For Three Minutes Under The Shower Bath In Her Dressing-Room. With 
 A Sigh She Pressed The Pillow More Firmly Under Her Cheek, And Lay 
 Looking A Little Wistfully At Her Maid, Who, Having Drawn Back The 
 Curtains At The Window, Stood Now Regarding Her With The Discreet And 
 Confidential Smile Which Drew From Her A Protesting Frown Of Irritation. 
   
 "Well, I Can't Get Up Until I've Had My Coffee," She Said In A Voice 
 Which Produced An Effect Of Mournful Brightness Rather Than Of Anger, "I 
 Haven't The Strength To Put So Much As My Foot Out Of Bed." 
   
 Her Eyes Followed The Woman Across The Room And Through The Door, And 
 Then, Turning Instinctively To The Broad Mirror Above Her Dressing 
 Table, Hung Critically Upon The Brilliant Red And White Reflection In 
 The Glass. It Was Her Comforting Assurance That Every Woman Looked Her 
 Best In Bed; And As She Lay Now, Following The Lines Of Her Charming 
 Figure Beneath The Satin Coverlet, She Found Herself Wondering, Not 
 Without Resentment, Why The Possession Of A Beauty So Conspicuous Should 
 Afford Her Only A Slight And Temporary Satisfaction. Last Week A Woman 
 Whom She Knew Had Had Her Nose Broken In An Automobile Accident, And As 
 She Remembered This It Seemed To Her That The Mere Fact Of Her 
 Undisfigured Features Was Sufficient To Be The Cause Of Joyful 
 Gratitude. But This, She Knew, Was Not So, For Her Face Was Perfectly 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 1 Pg 2 
 Unharmed; And Yet She Felt That She Could Hardly Have Been More 
 Miserable, Even With A Broken Nose. 
   
 Here She Paused For An Instant In Order To Establish Herself Securely In 
 Her Argument, For, Though She Could By No Stretch Of The Imagination 
 Regard Her Mind As Of A Meditative Cast, There Are Hours When Even To 
 The Most Flippant Experience Wears The Borrowed Mantle Of Philosophy. 
 Abstract Theories Of Conduct Diverted Her But Little; What She Wanted 
 Was Some Practical Explanation Of The Mental Weariness She Felt. What 
 She Wanted, She Repeated, As If To Drive In The Matter With A Final 
 Blow, Was To Be As Happy In The Actual Condition As She Had Told Herself 
 That She Might Be When As Yet The Actual Was Only The Ideal. Why, For 
 Instance, When She Had Been Wretched With But One Man On The Box, Should 
 The Addition Of A Second Livery Fail To Produce In Her The Contentment 
 Of Which She Had Often Dreamed While She Disconsolately Regarded A 
 Single Pair Of Shoulders? That Happiness Did Not Masquerade In Livery 
 She Had Learned Since She Had Triumphantly Married The Richest Man She 
 Knew, And The Admission Of This Brought Her Almost With A Jump To The 
 Bitter Conclusion Of Her Unanswerable Logic--For The Satisfaction Which 
 Was Not To Be Found In A Footman Was Absent As Well From The Imposing 
 Figure Of Perry Bridewell Himself. Yet She Told Herself That She Would 
 Have Married Him Had He Possessed Merely The Historical Penny, And The 
 Restless Infatuation Of Those First Months Was Still Sufficiently Alive 
 To Lend The Colour Of Its Pleasing Torment To Her Existence. 
   
 Lying There, In Her French Embroidered Night Dress, With Her Brilliant 
 Red Hair Pushed Back From Her Forehead, She Began Idly To Follow The 
 Histories Of The People Whom She Knew, And It Seemed To Her That Each Of 
 Them Was In Some Particular Circumstance More Fortunate Than She. But 
 She Would Have Changed Place With None, Not Even With Her Best Friend, 
 Laura Wilde, Who Was Perfectly Content Because She Lived Buried Away In 
 Gramercy Park And Wrote Vague Beautiful Verse That Nobody Ever Read. 
 Laura Filled As Little Part In What She Called "The World" As Gramercy 
 Park Occupied In Modern Progress, Yet It Was Not Without A Faint Impulse 
 Of Envy That Gerty Recalled Now The Grave Old House Mantled In Brown 
 Creepers And The Cheerful Firelit Room In Which Laura Lived. The Peace 
 Which She Had Missed In The Thought Of Her Husband Came Back To Her With 
 The First Recollection Of Her Friend, And Her Hard Bright Eyes Softened 
 A Little While She Dwelt On The Vivid Face Of The Woman To Whom She 
 Clung Because Of Her Very Unlikeness To Herself. Gradually Out Of The 
 Mist Of Her Unhappiness The Figure Of Laura Rose In The Mirror Before 
 Her, And She Saw Clearly Her Large White Forehead Under The Dark 
 Wing-Like Waves Of Hair, The Singular Intentness Of Her Eyes, And The 
 Rapt Expectancy Of Look In Which Her Features Were Lost As In A General 
 Vagueness Of Light. 
   
 Though It Was Twenty Years Since She Had First Seen Laura Wilde As A 
 Child Of Ten, The Meeting Came To Her Suddenly With All The Bright 
 Clearness Of An Incident Of Yesterday. She Remembered Herself As A Weak, 
 Bedraggled Little Girl, In Wet Slippers, Who Was Led By A Careless Nurse 
 To A Strange German School; And She Felt Again The Agony Of Curiosity 
 With Which, After The First Blank Wonder Was Over, She Had Stared At The 
 Children Who Hung Whispering Together In The Centre Of The Room. As She 
 Looked A Panic Terror Seized Her Like A Wild Beast, And She Threw Up Her 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 1 Pg 3 
 Hands And Turned To Rush Away To The Reassuring Presence Of Grown Up 
 Creatures, When From The Midst Of The Whispering Group A Little Dark 
 Girl, In An Ugly Brown Frock, Ran Up To Her And Folded Her In Her Arms. 
   
 "I Shall Love You Best Of All Because You Are So Beautiful," Said The 
 Little Dark Girl, "And I Will Do All Your Sums And Even Eat Your Sausage 
 For You." Then She Had Kissed Her And Brought Her To The Stove And Knelt 
 Down On The Floor To Take Off Her Wet Slippers. To This Day Gerty Had 
 Always Thought Of Her Friend As The Little Girl Who Had Shut Her Eyes 
 And Gulped Down Those Terrible Sausages For Her Behind Her Teacher's 
 Back. 
   
 The Maid Brought The Coffee, And While She Sat Up To Drink It The Door 
 Of Her Husband's Dressing-Room Opened And He Came In And Stood, Large, 
 Florid And Impressive, Beside Her Bed. 
   
 "I'm Afraid I Shan't Get Back To Luncheon," He Remarked, As He Settled 
 His Ample, Carefully Groomed Body In His Clothes With A Comfortable 
 Shake, "There's A Chap From The Country Pierce Has Sent To Me With A 
 Letter And I'll Be Obliged To Feed Him At The Club, But--To Tell The 
 Truth--There's So Little One Can Get Really Fit At This Season." 
   
 To A Man For Whom The Pleasures Of The Table Represented The Larger 
 Share Of His Daily Enjoyment, This Was A Question Not Without A Serious 
 Importance Of Its Own; And While He Paused To Settle It He Stood, 
 Squaring His Chest, With An Expression Of Decided Annoyance On His 
 Handsome, Good-Humored Face. Then, Having Made A Satisfactory Choice Of 
 Dishes, His Features Recovered Their Usual Look Of Genial Contentment, 
 And He Felt Carelessly In His Pocket For The Letter Which He Presently 
 Produced And Laid On Gerty's Pillow. His Life Had Corresponded So Evenly 
 With His Bodily Impulses That The Perfection Of The Adjustment Had 
 Produced In Him The Amiable Exterior Of An Animal That Is Never Crossed. 
 It Was A Case In Which Supreme Selfishness Exerted The Effect Of 
 Personality. 
   
 Leaving The Letter Where He Had Placed It, Gerty Sat Sipping Her Coffee 
 While She Looked Up At Him With The Candid Cynicism Which Lent A Piquant 
 Charm To The Almost Doll-Like Regularity Of Her Features. 
   
 "You Did Not Get Three Hours Sleep And Yet You're So Fresh You Smell Of 
 Soap," She Observed As An Indignant Protest, "While I've Had Six And I'm 
 Still Too Tired To Move." 
   
 "Oh, I'm All Right--I Never Let Myself Get Seedy," Returned Perry, With 
 His Loud Though Pleasant Laugh. "That's The Mistake All You Women 
 Make." 
   
 Half Closing Her Eyes Gerty Leaned Back And Surveyed Him With A Curious 
 Detachment--Almost As If He Were An Important Piece Of Architecture 
 Which She Had Been Recommended To Admire And To Which She Was Patiently 
 Trying In Vain To Adjust Her Baffled Vision. The Smaller She Screwed Her 
 Gaze The More Remotely Magnificent Loomed His Proportions. 
   
 "How You Manage It Is More Than I Can Understand," She Said. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 1 Pg 4 
   
 Perry Stared For A Moment In An Amiable Vacancy At The Coffee Pot. Then 
 She Watched The Animation Move Feebly In His Face, While He Pulled At 
 His Short Fair Moustache With A Characteristic Masculine Gesture. 
 Physically, She Admitted, He Had Never Appeared To A Better Advantage In 
 Her Eyes. 
   
 "By The Way, I Had A Game Of Billiards With Kemper And We Talked Pretty 
 Late," He Said, As If Evolving The Explanation For Which She Had Not 
 Asked. "He Got Back From Europe Yesterday You Know." 
   
 "He Did?" Her Indifferent Gaiety Played Like Harmless Lightning Around 
 His Massive Bulk. "Then We May Presume, I Suppose, On Madame Alta For 
 The Opera Season?" 
   
 He Met The Question With An Admiring Chuckle. "Do You Really Mean You 
 Think He's Been Abroad With Her All This Time?" 
   
 "Well, What Else Did He Get His Divorce For?" She Demanded, With The 
 Utter Disillusion Of Knowledge Which She Had Found To Be Her Most 
 Effective Pose. 
   
 Perry's Chuckle Swelled Suddenly Into A Roar. "Good Lord, How Women 
 Talk!" He Burst Out. "Why, Arnold Has Been Divorced Ten Years And He 
 Never Laid Eyes On Jennie Alta Till She Sang Over Here Three Years Ago. 
 There Was Nothing In It Except That He Liked To Be Seen With A 
 Celebrity--Most Men Do. But, My Dear Girl," He Concluded In A Kind Of 
 Awful Reverence, "What A Tongue You've Got. It's A Jolly Good Thing For 
 Me That I'm Your Husband Or You Wouldn't Leave Me A Blessed Patch Of 
 Reputation To My Back." 
   
 His Humor Held Him Convulsed For Several Minutes, During Which Interval 
 Gerty Continued To Regard Him With Her Piquant Cynicism. 
   
 "Well, If It Wasn't Madame Alta It Was Somebody Who Is Voiceless," She 
 Retorted Coolly. "I Merely Meant That There Must Have Been A Reason." 
   
 "Oh, Your 'Reasons'!" Ejaculated Perry. Then He Stooped And Gave The 
 Letter Lying On Gerty's Pillow A Filip From His Large Pink Forefinger. 
 "You Haven't Told Me What You Think Of This?" He Said. 
   
 Picking Up The Letter Gerty Unfolded It And Read It Slowly Through From 
 Start To Finish, The Little Ripple Of Sceptical Amusement Crossing And 
 Recrossing Her Parted Lips, 
   
      Ravens Nest, 
      Fauquier County, Virginia, 
      December 26, 19--. 
   
      _My Dear Perry_: Nobody, Of Course, Ever Accused You Of Being 
      Literary, Nor, Thank Heaven, Have I Fallen Under That 
      Aspersion--But Since The Shortest Road To Success Seems To Be By 
      Circumvention, It Has Occurred To Me That You Might Give A Social 
      Shove Or Two To The Chap Who Will Hand You This Letter Sometime 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 1 Pg 5 
      After The New Year. 
   
      His Name Is St. George Trent, He Was Born A Little Way Up The 
      Turnpike From Me, Has An Enchanting Mother, And Shows Symptoms Of 
      Being Already Inoculated With The Literary Plague. I Never Read 
      Books, So I Have No Sense Of Comparative Values In Literature, And 
      Consequently Can't Tell Whether He Is An Inglorious Shakespeare Or 
      A Subject For The Daily Press. His Mother Assures Me That He Has 
      Already Written A Play Worthy To Stand Beside Hamlet--But, Though 
      She Is A Charming Lady, I'm Hardly Convinced By Her Opinion. The 
      Fact Remains, However, That He Is Going To New York To Become A 
      Playwright, And That He Has Two Idols In The Market Place Which, I 
      Fancy, You May Be Predestined To See Demolished. He Is Simply Off 
      His Head To Meet Roger Adams, The Editor Of _The_--Something Or 
      Other I Never Heard Of--And--Remember Your Budding Days And Be 
      Charitable--A Lady Who Writes Poems And Signs Herself Laura Wilde. 
      I Prepared Him For The Inevitable Catastrophe By Assuring Him That 
      The Harmless Mr. Adams Eats With His Knife, And That The Lady, As 
      She Writes Books, Isn't Worth Much At Love-Making--The Purpose For 
      Which Woman Was Created By God And Cultivated By Man. Alas, Though, 
      The Young Are A People Of Great Faith! 
   
      Commend Me To Mrs. Bridewell, Whom I Haven't Seen Since I Had The 
      Honour Of Assisting At The Wedding. 
   
      Yours Ever, 
             Beverly Pierce. 
   
 As She Finished Her Reading, Gerty Broke Into A Laugh And Carelessly 
 Threw The Letter Aside On The Blue Satin Quilt. 
   
 "I'm Glad To Hear That Somebody Has Read Laura's Poems," She Observed. 
   
 "But What In Thunder Am I To Do With The Chap?" Enquired Perry. "God 
 Knows I Don't Go In For Literature, And That's All He's Good For I Dare 
 Say." 
   
 "Oh, Well, He Can Eat, I Guess," Commented Gerty, With Consoling Irony. 
   
 "I've Asked Roger Adams To Luncheon," Pursued Perry, Too Concerned To 
 Resent Her Lack Of Sympathy, "But There Are Nine Chances To One That He 
 Will Stay Away." 
   
 "Experience Has Taught Me," Rejoined Gerty Sweetly, "That Your Friend 
 Adams Can Be Absolutely Counted On To Stay Away. Do You Know," She 
 Resumed After A Moment's Thought, "That, Though He's Probably The 
 Brainiest Man Of Our Acquaintance, I Sometimes Seriously Wonder What You 
 See In Him." 
   
 A Flush Of Anger Darkened Perry's Clear Skin, And This Sudden Change 
 Gave Him An Almost Brutal Look. "I'd Like To Know If I'm A Blamed Fool?" 
 He Demanded. 
   
 Her Merriment Struck Pleasantly On His Ears. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 1 Pg 6 
   
 "Do You Want To Destroy The Illusion In Which I Married You?" She Asked. 
 "It Was, After All, Simply The Belief That Size Is Virtue." 
   
 The Flush Passed, And He Took In A Full Breath Which Expanded His Broad 
 Chest. "Well, I'm Big Enough," He Answered, "But It Isn't Adam's Fault 
 That He Hasn't Got My Muscle." 
   
 With A Leisurely Glance In The Mirror, He Settled His Necktie In Place, 
 Twisted The Short Ends Of His Moustache, And Then Stooped To Kiss His 
 Wife Before Going Out. 
   
 "Don't You Let Yourself Get Seedy And Lose Your Looks," He Said As He 
 Left The Room. 
   
 When He Had Gone She Made A Sudden Ineffectual Effort To Rise From Bed; 
 Then As If Oppressed By A Fatigue That Was Moral Rather Than Physical, 
 She Fell Back Again And Turned Her Face Wearily From The Mirror. So The 
 Morning Slipped Away, The Luncheon Hour Came And Went, And It Was Not 
 Until The Afternoon That She Gathered Energy To Dress Herself And Begin 
 Anew The Inevitable And Agonising Pursuit Of Pleasure. The Temptation Of 
 The Morning Had Been To Let Go--To Relax In Despair From The 
 Fruitlessness Of Her Endeavor--And The Result Of This Brief Withdrawal 
 Was Apparent In The Order Which She Gave The Footman Before The Open 
 Door Of Her Carriage. 
   
 "To Miss Wilde's First"--The Words Ended Abruptly And She Turned 
 Eagerly, With Outstretched Hand, To A Man Who Had Hurried Toward Her 
 From The Corner Of Fifth Avenue. 
   
 "So You Haven't Forgotten Me In Six Months, Arnold," She Said, With A 
 Sweetness In Which There Was An Almost Imperceptible Tone Of Bitterness. 
   
 He Took Her Hand In Both Of His, Pressing It For An Instant In A Quick 
 Muscular Grasp Which Had In It Something Of The Nervous Vigor That Lent 
 A Peculiar Vibrant Quality To His Voice. 
   
 "And I Couldn't Have Done It In Six Years," He Replied, As A Singularly 
 Charming Smile Illumined His Forcible Rather Than Regular Features, And 
 Brought Out The Genial Irony In His Expressive Light Gray Eyes. "If I'd 
 Gone To Europe To Forget You It Would Have Been Time Thrown Away, But I 
 Had Something Better On My Hands Than That--I've Been Buying French 
 Racing Automobiles--" 
   
 As He Finished He Gave An Impatient Jerk To The Carriage Door, A 
 Movement Which, Like All His Gestures, Sprang From The Nervous Energy 
 That Found Its Outlet In The Magnetism Of His Personality. People 
 Sometimes Said That He Resembled Perry Bridewell, Who Was, In Fact, His 
 Distant Cousin, But The Likeness Consisted Solely In A Certain Evident 
 Possession Of Virile Power--A Quality Which Women Are Accustomed To 
 Describe As Masculine. He Was Not Tall, And Yet He Gave An Impression Of 
 Bigness; Away From Him One Invariably Thought Of Him As Of Unusual 
 Proportions, But, Standing By His Side, He Was Found To Be Hardly Above 
 The Ordinary Height. The Development Of His Closely Knit Figure, The 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 1 Pg 7 
 Splendid Breadth Of His Chest And Shoulders, The Slight Projection Of 
 His Heavy Brows And The Almost Brutal Strength Of His Jaw And Chin, All 
 Combined To Emphasise That Appearance Of Ardent Vitality Which Has 
 Appealed So Strongly To The Imagination Of Women. Seen In Repose There 
 Was A Faint Suggestion Of Cruelty In The Lines Of His Mouth Under His 
 Short Brown Moustache, But This Instead Of Detracting From The Charm He 
 Exercised Only Threw Into Greater Relief The Genial Brightness Of His 
 Smile. 
   
 Now Gerty, Glancing Up At Him, Remembered A Little Curiously, The 
 Whispered Reason For His Long Absence. There Was Always A Woman In The 
 Wind When It Blew Rumours Of Kemper, Though He Was Generally Considered 
 To Regard The Sex With The Blithe Indifference Of A Man To Whom Feminine 
 Favour Has Come Easily. How Easily Gerty Had Sometimes Wondered, Though 
 She Had Hardly Ventured So Much As A Dim Surmise. Ten Years, She Would 
 Have Said, Was A Considerable Period From Which To Date A Passion, And 
 She Remembered Now That Ten Years Ago Kemper Had Secured A Divorce From 
 His Wife In Some Western Court. There Had Been No Particular Scandal, No 
 Damning Charges On Either Side; And A Club Wit Had Remarked At The Time 
 That The Only Possible Ground For A Separation Was The Fact That Mrs. 
 Kemper Had Grown Jealous Of Her Husband's After-Dinner Cigar. Since Then 
 Other And Varied Rumours Had Reached Gerty's Ears, Until Finally There 
 Had Blown A Veritable Gale Concerning A Certain Madame Alta, Who Sang 
 Melting Soprano Parts In Italian Opera. Then This, Too, Had Passed, 
 And, With The Short Memory Of City Livers, Gerty Had Forgotten Alike The 
 Gossip And The Heroines Of The Gossip, Until She Noted Now The Lines Of 
 Deeper Harassment In Kemper's Face. These Coming So Suddenly After Six 
 Months Of Europe Caused Her To Wonder If The Affair With The Prima Donna 
 Had Been Really An Entanglement Of The Heart. 
   
 "Well, I May Not Be As Fast As An Automobile," She Presently Admitted. 
   
 "But You're Twice As Dangerous," He Retorted Gaily. 
   
 For An Instant The Pleasant Humour In His Eyes Held Her Speechless. 
   
 "Ah, Well, You Aren't A Coward," She Answered Coolly Enough At Last. 
 Then Her Tone Changed, And As She Settled Herself Under Her Fur Rugs She 
 Made A Cordial Inviting Gesture. "Come In With Me And I'll Take You To 
 Laura Wilde's," She Said; "She's A Genius, And You Ought To Know Her 
 Before The World Finds Her Out." 
   
 With A Protesting Laugh Kemper Held Up His Gloved Finger. 
   
 "God Forbid!" He Exclaimed With A Shrug Which Struck Her As A Slightly 
 Foreign Affectation. "The Lady May Be A Female Milton, But Perry Tells 
 Me That She Isn't Pretty." 
   
 He Touched Her Hand Again, Met Her Indignant Defence Of Laura With A Nod 
 Of Smiling Irony, And Then, As Her Carriage Started, He Turned Rapidly 
 Down Sixty-Ninth Street In The Direction Of The Park. 
   
 In Gerty The Chance Meeting Had Awakened A Slumbering Interest Which She 
 Had Half Forgotten, And As She Drove Down Fifth Avenue Toward Laura's 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 1 Pg 8 
 Distant Home She Found Herself Wondering Idly If He Would Let Many Days 
 Go By Before He Came Again. The Thought Was Still In Her Mind When The 
 Carriage Turned Into Gramercy Park And Stopped Before The Old Brown 
 House Hidden In Creepers In Which Laura Lived. So Changed By This Time, 
 However, Was Gerty's Mood That, After Leaving Her Carriage, She Stood 
 Hesitating From Indecision Upon The Sidewalk. The Few Bared Trees In The 
 Snow, The Solemn, Almost Ghostly, Quiet Of The Quaint Old Houses And The 
 Deserted Streets, In Which A Flock Of Sparrows Quarrelled Under The 
 Faint Sunshine, Produced In Her An Odd And Almost Mysterious Sense Of 
 Unreality--As If The Place, Herself, The Waiting Carriage, And Laura 
 Buried Away In The Dull Brown House, Were All Creations Of Some Gossamer 
 And Dream-Like Quality Of Mind. She Felt Suddenly That The Sorrows Which 
 Had Oppressed Her In The Morning Belonged No More To Any Existence In 
 Which She Herself Had A Part. Then, Looking Up, She Saw Her Husband 
 Crossing The Street Between The Two Men With Whom He Had Lunched, And 
 Even The Impressive Solidity Of Perry Bridewell Appeared To Her 
 Strangely Altered And Out Of Place. 
   
 He Came Up, A Little Breathless From His Rapid Walk, And It Was A Minute 
 Before He Could Summon Voice To Introduce The Cheerful, Fresh-Coloured 
 Youth On His Right Hand. 
   
 "I've Already Told Mrs. Bridewell About You, Mr. Trent," He Said At 
 Last, "But I'm Willing To Confess That I Haven't Told Her Half The 
 Truth." 
   
 Gerty Met Trent's Embarrassed Glance With The Protecting Smile With 
 Which She Favoured The Young Who Combined His Sex With His Attractions. 
 Then, When He Was Quite At Ease Again, She Turned To Speak To Roger 
 Adams, For Whom, In Spite, As She Laughingly Said, Of The Distinction 
 Between A Bookworm And A Butterfly, She Was Accustomed To Admit A More 
 Than Ordinary Liking. 
   
 He Was A Gaunt, Scholarly Looking Man Of Forty Years, With Broad, 
 Singularly Bony Shoulders, An Expression Of Kindly Humour, And A Plain, 
 Strong Face Upon Which Suffering Had Left Its Indelible Suggestion Of 
 Defeated Physical Purpose. Nothing About Him Was Impressive, Nothing 
 Even Arresting To A Casual Glance, And Not Even The Shooting Light From 
 The Keen Gray Eyes, Grown A Little Wistful From The Emotional Repression 
 Of The Man's Life, Could Account For The Cordial Appeal That Spoke 
 Through So Unimposing A Figure. As Much Of His Personal History As Gerty 
 Knew Seemed To Her Peculiarly Devoid Of The Interest Or The Excitement 
 Of Adventure; And The Only Facts Of His Life Which She Would Have Found 
 Deserving The Trouble Of Repeating Were That He Had Married An 
 Impossible Woman Somewhere In Colorado, And That For Ten Years He Had 
 Lived In New York Where He Edited _The International Review_. 
   
 "Perry Tells Me That Mr. Trent Has Really Read Laura's Poems," She Said 
 Now To Adams With An Almost Unconscious Abandonment Of Her Cynical 
 Manner. "Have You Examined Him And Is It Really True?" 
   
 "I Didn't Test Him Because I Hoped The Report Was False," Was Adams' 
 Answer. "He's Welcome To The Literary Hash, But I Want To Keep The 
 _Caviar_ For Myself." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 1 Pg 9 
   
 "Read Them!" Exclaimed Trent Eagerly, While His Blue Eyes Ran Entirely 
 To Sparkles. "Why, I've Learned Them Every One By Heart." 
   
 "Then She'll Let You In," Responded Gerty Reassuringly, "There's No 
 Doubt Whatever Of Your Welcome." 
   
 "But There Is Of Mine," Said Perry Gravely, "So I Guess I'd Better 
 Quit." 
   
 He Made A Movement To Turn Away, But Gerty Placing Her Gloved Hand On 
 His Arm, Detained Him By A Reproachful Look. 
   
 "That Reminds Me Of The Mischief You Have Done To-Day," She Said. "I Met 
 Arnold Kemper As I Left The House, And When I Asked Him To Come With Me 
 What Do You Suppose Was The Excuse He Gave?" 
   
 "The Dentist Or A Twinge Of Rheumatism?" Suggested Adams Gravely. 
   
 "Neither." Her Voice Rose Indignantly, And She Enforced Her Reprimand By 
 A Light Stroke On Perry's Sleeve. "He Actually Said That Perry Had Told 
 Him Laura Wasn't Pretty." 
   
 "Well, I Take Back My Words And Eat 'Em, Too," Cried Perry. 
   
 He Broke Away In Affected Terror Before Trent's Angry Eyes, While Gerty 
 Gave A Joyful Little Exclamation And Waved Her Hand Toward One Of The 
 Lower Windows In The House Before Which They Stood. The Head Of A Woman, 
 Framed In Brown Creepers, Appeared There For An Instant, And Then, 
 Almost Before Trent Had Caught A Glimpse Of The Small Dark Eager Figure, 
 Melted Again Into The Warm Firelight Of The Interior. A Moment Later The 
 Outer Door Opened Quickly, And Laura Stood There With Impulsive 
 Outstretched Hands And The Cordial Smile Which Was Her Priceless 
 Inheritance From A Southern Mother. 
   
 "I Knew That You Were There Even Before I Looked Out Of The Window," She 
 Exclaimed To Gerty, In What Adams Had Once Called Her "Creole Voice." 
 Then She Paused, Laughing Happily, As She Looked, With Her Animated 
 Glance, From Gerty To Trent And From Trent To Adams. To The Younger Man, 
 Full Of His Enthusiasm And His Ignorance, The Physical Details Of Her 
 Appearance Seemed Suddenly Of No Larger Significance Than The Pale 
 Bronze Gown She Wore Or The Old Coffee-Coloured Lace Knotted Upon Her 
 Bosom In Some Personal Caprice Of Dress. What She Gave To Him As She 
 Stood There, Looking From Adams To Himself With Her Ardent Friendly 
 Glance, Was An Impression Of Radiant Energy, Of Abundant Life. 
   
 She Turned Back After The First Greeting, Leading The Way Into The 
 Pleasant Firelit Room, Where A White Haired Old Gentleman With An 
 Interesting Blanched Face Rose To Receive Them. 
   
 "I Have Just Proved To Mr. Wilberforce That I Could 'Feel' You Coming," 
 Said Laura With A Smile As She Unfastened Gerty's Furs. 
   
 "And I Have Argued That She Could Quite As Well Surmise It," Returned 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 1 Pg 10 
 Mr. Wilberforce, As He Fell Back Into His Chair Before The Wood Fire. 
   
 "Well, You May Know In Either Way That My Coming May Be Counted On," 
 Said Gerty, "For I Have Sacrificed For You The Society Of The Most 
 Interesting Man I Know." 
   
 "What! Is It Possible That Perry Has Been Forsaken?" Enquired Adams In 
 His Voice Of Quiet Humor. In The Midst Of Her Flippant Laughter, Gerty 
 Turned On Him The Open Cynicism Of Her Smile. 
   
 "Now Is It Possible That Perry Has That Effect On You?" She Asked With 
 Curiosity. "For I Find Him Decidedly Depressing." 
   
 "Then If It Isn't Perry I Demand The Name," Persisted Adams Gayly, 
 "Though I'm Perfectly Ready To Wager That It's Arnold Kemper." 
   
 "Kemper," Repeated Laura Curiously, As If The Name Arrested Her Almost 
 Against Her Will. "Wasn't There A Little Novel Once By An Arnold 
 Kemper--A Slight But Striking Thing With Very Little Grammar And A Great 
 Deal Of Audacity?" 
   
 "Oh, That Was Done In His Early Days," Replied Adams, "As A Kind Of 
 Outlet To The Energy He Now Expends In Racing Motors. I Asked Funsten, 
 Who Does Our Literary Notices, If There Was Any Chance For Him Again In 
 Fiction, And He Answered That The Only Favourable Thing He Could Say Of 
 Him Was To Say Nothing." 
   
 "But He's Gone In For Automobiles Now," Said Gerty, "They're So Much 
 Bigger, After All, He Thinks, Than Books." 
   
 "I Haven't Seen Him For Fifteen Years," Remarked Adams, "But I Recognise 
 His Speech." 
   
 "One Always Recognises His Speeches," Admitted Gerty, "There's A Stamp 
 On Them, I Suppose, For Somehow He Himself Is Great Even If His Career 
 Isn't--And, After All," She Concluded Seriously, "It Is--What Shall I 
 Call It--The Personal Quantity That He Insists On." 
   
 "The Personal Quantity," Repeated Laura Laughing, And, As If The 
 Description Of Kemper Had Failed To Interest Her, She Turned The 
 Conversation Upon The Subject Of Trent's Play. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 2 Pg 11 
 Treats Of An Eccentric Family 
   
   
 When The Last Caller Had Gone Laura Slid Back The Folding Doors Which 
 Opened Into The Library And Spoke To A Little Old Gentleman, With A Very 
 Bald Head, Who Sat In A Big Armchair Holding A Flute In His Wrinkled And 
 Trembling Hand. He Had A Simple, Moonlike Face, To Which His Baldness 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 2 Pg 12 
 Lent A Deceptive Appearance Of Intellect, And His Expression Was Of Such 
 Bland And Smiling Goodness That It Was Impossible To Resent The Tedious 
 Garrulity Of His Conversation. In The Midst Of His Shrivelled 
 Countenance His Eyes Looked Like Little Round Blue Buttons Which Had 
 Been Set There In Order To Keep His Features From Entirely Slipping 
 Away. He Was The Oldest Member Of The Wilde Family, And He Had Lived In 
 The House In Gramercy Park Since It Was Built By His Father Some Sixty 
 Years Or More Ago. 
   
 "Tired Waiting, Uncle Percival?" Asked Laura, Raising Her Voice A Little 
 That It Might Penetrate His Deafened Hearing. 
   
 As He Turned Upon Her His Smile Of Perfect Patience The Old Gentleman 
 Nodded His Head Quickly Several Times In Succession. "I Waited To Play 
 Until After The People Went," He Responded In A Voice That Sounded Like 
 A Cracked Silver Bell. "Your Aunt Angela Has A Headache, So She Couldn't 
 Stand The Noise. I Went Out To Get Her Some Flowers And Offered To Sit 
 With Her, But This Is One Of Her Bad Days, Poor Girl." He Fell Silent 
 For A Minute And Then Added, Wistfully, "I'm Wondering If You Would Like 
 To Hear 'Ye Banks And Braes O' Bonnie Doon'? It Used To Be Your Mother's 
 Favourite Air." 
   
 Though He Was An Inoffensively Amiable And Eagerly Obliging Old Man, By 
 Some Ironic Contradiction Of His Intentions His Life Had Become A Series 
 Of Blunders Through Which He Endeavoured To Add His Share To The General 
 Happiness. His Soul Was Overflowing With Humanity, And He Spent 
 Sleepless Nights Evolving Innocent Pleasures For Those About Him, But 
 His Excess Of Goodness Invariably Resulted In Producing Petty Annoyances 
 If Not Serious Inconveniences. So His Virtues Had Come To Be Regarded 
 With Timidity, And There Was An Ever Present Anxiety In The Air As To 
 What Uncle Percival Was "Doing" In His Mind. The Fear Of Inopportune 
 Benefits Was In Its Way As Oppressive As The Dread Of Unmerited 
 Misfortune. 
   
 Laura Shook Her Head Impatiently As She Threw Herself Into A Chair On 
 The Other Side Of The Tall Bronze Lamp Upon The Writing Table. On The 
 Stem Of An Eccentric Family Tree She Was Felt To Be The Perfect Flower 
 Of Artistic Impulses, And Her Enclosed Life In The Sombre Old House Had 
 Not Succeeded In Cultivating In Her The Slightest Resemblance To An 
 Artificial Variety. She Was Obviously, Inevitably, Impulsively The 
 Original Product, And Uncle Percival Never Realised This More Hopelessly 
 Than In That Unresponsive Headshake Of Dismissal. Laura Could Be Kind, 
 He Knew, But She Was Kind, As She Was A Poet, When The Mood Prompted. 
   
 "Presently--Not Now," She Said, "I Want To Talk To You Awhile. Do You 
 Know, Aunt Rosa Was Here Again To-Day And She Still Tries To Persuade Us 
 To Sell The House And Move Uptown. It Is So Far For Her To Come From 
 Seventieth Street, She Says, But As For Me I'd Positively Hate The 
 Change And Aunt Angela Can't Even Stand The Mention Of It." She Leaned 
 Forward And Stroked His Arm With One Of Her Earnest Gestures. "What 
 Would You Do Uptown, Dear Uncle Percival?" She Inquired Gently. 
   
 The Old Man Laid The Flute On His Knees, Where His Shrunken Little Hands 
 Still Caressed It. "Do? Why I'd Die If You Dragged Me Away From My 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 2 Pg 13 
 Roots," He Answered. 
   
 Laura Smiled, Still Smoothing Him Down As If He Were An Amiable Dog. 
 "Well, The Park Is Very Pleasant, You Know," She Returned, "And It Is 
 Full Of Walks, Too. You Wouldn't Lack Space For Exercise." 
   
 "The Park? Pooh!" Piped Uncle Percival, Raising His Voice; "I Wouldn't 
 Give These Streets For The Whole Of Central Park Together. Why, I've 
 Seen These Pavements Laid And Relaid For Seventy Years And I Remember 
 All The Men Who Walked Over Them. Did I Ever Tell You Of The Time I 
 Strolled Through Irving Place With Thackeray? As For Central Park, It 
 Hasn't An Ounce--Not An Ounce Of Atmosphere." 
   
 "Oh, Well, That Settles It," Laughed Laura. "We'll Keep To Our Own 
 Roots. We Are All Of One Mind, You And Aunt Angela And I." 
   
 "I'm Sure Angela Would Never Hear Of It," Pursued Uncle Percival, "And 
 In Her Affliction How Could One Expect It?" 
   
 For A Moment Laura Looked At Him In A Compassionate Pause Before She 
 Made Her Spring. "There's Nothing In The World The Matter With Aunt 
 Angela," She Said; "She's Perfectly Well." 
   
 Blank Wonder Crept Into The Old Gentleman's Little Blue Eyes And He 
 Shook His Head Several Times In Solemn If Voiceless Protest. Forty Years 
 Ago Angela Wilde, As A Girl Of Twenty, Had In The Accustomed Family 
 Phrase "Brought Lasting Disgrace Upon Them," And She Had Dwelt, As It 
 Were, In The Shadow Of The Pillory Ever Since. Unmarried She Had Yielded 
 Herself To A Lover, And Afterward When The Full Scandal Had Burst Upon 
 Her Head, Though She Had Not Then Reached The Fulfilment Of A Singularly 
 Charming Beauty, She Had Condemned Herself To The Life Of A Solitary 
 Prisoner Within Four Walls. She Had Never Since The Day Of Her Awakening 
 Mentioned The Name Of Her Faithless Or Unfortunate Lover, But Her Silent 
 Magnanimity Had Become The Expression Of A Reproach Too Deep For Words, 
 And Her Bitter Scorn Of Men Had So Grown Upon Her In Her Cloistral 
 Existence That There Were Hours Together When She Could Not Endure Even 
 The Inoffensive Percival. Cold, White, And Spectral As One Of The Long 
 Slim Candles On An Altar, Still Beautiful With An Indignant And Wounded 
 Loveliness, She Had Become In The End At Once The Shame And The Romance 
 Of Her Family. 
   
 "There Is No Reason Under The Sun Why Aunt Angela Shouldn't Come Down To 
 Dinner With Us To-Night," Persisted Laura. "Don't You See That By 
 Encouraging Her As You Did In Her Foolish Attitude, You Have Given Her 
 Past Power Over Her For Life And Death. It Is Wrong--It Is Ignoble To 
 Bow Down And Worship Anything--Man, Woman, Child, Or Event, As She Bows 
 Down And Worships Her Trouble." 
   
 The Flute Shook On Uncle Percival's Knees. "Ah, Laura, Would You Have 
 Her Face The World Again?" He Asked. 
   
 "The World? Nonsense! The World Doesn't Know There's Such A Person In 
 It. She Was Forgotten Forty Years Ago, Only She Has Grown So Selfish In 
 Her Grief That She Can Never Believe It." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 2 Pg 14 
   
 The Old Man Sighed And Shook His Head. "The Women Of This Generation 
 Have Had The Dew Brushed Off Them," He Lamented, "But Your Mother 
 Understood. She Felt For Angela." 
   
 "And Yet It Was An Old Story When My Mother Came Here." 
   
 "Some Things Never Grow Old, My Dear, And Shame Is One Of Them." 
   
 Laura Dismissed The Assertion With A Shrug Of Scornful Protest, And 
 Turned The Conversation At Once Into Another Channel. "Am I Anything 
 Like My Mother, Uncle Percival?" She Asked Abruptly. 
   
 For A Moment The Old Man Pondered The Question In Silence, His Little 
 Red Hands Fingering The Mouth Of His Flute. 
   
 "You Have The Creole Hair And The Creole Voice," He Replied; "But For 
 The Rest You Are Your Father's Child, Every Inch Of You." 
   
 "My Mother Was Beautiful, I Suppose?" 
   
 "Your Father Thought So, But As For Me She Was Too Little And 
 Passionate. I Can See Her Now When She Would Fly Into One Of Her Spasms 
 Because Somebody Had Crossed Her Or Been Impolite Without Knowing It." 
   
 "They Got On Badly Then--I Mean Afterward." 
   
 "What Could You Expect, My Dear? It Was Just After The War, And, Though 
 She Loved Your Father, She Never In Her Heart Of Hearts Forgave Him His 
 Blue Uniform. There Was No Reason In Her--She Was All One Fluttering 
 Impulse, And To Live Peaceably In This World One Must Have At Least A 
 Grain Of Leaven In The Lump Of One's Emotion." He Chuckled As He Ended 
 And Fixed His Mild Gaze Upon The Lamp. Being Very Old, He Had Come To 
 Realise That Of The Two Masks Possible To The World's Stage, The Comic, 
 Even If The Less Spectacular, Is Also The Less Commonplace. 
   
 "So She Died Of An Overdose Of Medicine," Said Laura; "I Have Never Been 
 Told And Yet I Have Always Known That She Died By Her Own Hand. 
 Something In My Blood Has Taught Me." 
   
 Uncle Percival Shook His Head. "No--No, She Only Made A Change," He 
 Corrected. "She Was A Little White Moth Who Drifted To Another 
 Sphere--Because She Had Wanted So Much, My Child, That This Earth Would 
 Have Been Bankrupt Had It Attempted To Satisfy Her." 
   
 "She Wanted What?" Demanded Laura, Her Eyes Glowing. 
   
 The Old Man Turned Upon Her A Glance In Which She Saw The Wistful 
 Curiosity Which Belongs To Age. "At The Moment You Remind Me Of Her," He 
 Returned, "And Yet You Seem So Strong Where She Was Only Weak." 
   
 "What Did She Want? What Did She Want?" Persisted Laura. 
   
 "Well, First Of All She Wanted Your Father--Every Minute Of Him, Every 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 2 Pg 15 
 Thought, Every Heart-Beat. He Couldn't Give It To Her, My Dear. No Man 
 Could. I Tell You I Have Lived To A Great Age, And I Have Known Great 
 People, And I Have Never Seen The Man Yet Who Could Give A Woman All The 
 Love She Wanted. Women Seem To Be Born With A Kind Of Divination--A 
 Second Sight Where Love Is Concerned--They Aren't Content With The Mere 
 Husk, And Yet That Is All That The Most Of Them Ever Get--" 
   
 "But My Father?" Protested Laura; "He Broke His Heart For Her." 
   
 A Smile At The Fine Ironic Humour Of Existence Crossed The Old Man's 
 Sunken Lips. "He Gave To Her Dead What She Had Never Had From Him 
 Living," He Returned. "When She Was Gone Everything--Even The Man's Life 
 For Which He Had Sacrificed Her--Turned Worthless. He Always Had The 
 Seeds Of Consumption, I Suppose, And His Gnawing Remorse Caused Them To 
 Develop." 
   
 A Short Silence Followed His Words, While Laura Stared At Him With Eyes 
 Which Seemed To Weigh Gravely The Meaning Of His Words. Then, Rising 
 Hurriedly, She Made A Gesture As If Throwing The Subject From Her And 
 Walked Rapidly To The Door. 
   
 "Aunt Rosa And Aunt Sophy Are Coming To Dine," She Said, "So I Must 
 Glance At The Table. I Can't Remember Now Whether I Ordered The Oysters 
 Or Not." 
   
 The Old Man Glanced After Her With Timid Disappointment. "So You Haven't 
 Time To Hear Me Play?" He Asked Wistfully. 
   
 "Not Now--There's Aunt Angela's Dinner To Be Seen To. If Mr. Bleeker 
 Comes With Aunt Sophy You Can Play To Him. He Likes It." 
   
 "But He Always Goes To Sleep, Laura. He Doesn't Listen--And Besides He 
 Snores So That I Can't Enjoy My Own Music." 
   
 "That's Because He'd Rather Snore Than Do Anything Else. I Wouldn't Let 
 That Worry Me An Instant. He Goes To Sleep At The Opera." 
   
 She Went Out, And After Giving A Few Careful Instructions To A Servant 
 In The Dining-Room, Ascended The Staircase To The Large Square Room In 
 The Left Wing Where Angela Remained A Wilful Prisoner. As She Opened The 
 Door She Entered Into A Mist Of Dim Candle Light, By Which Her Aunt Was 
 Pacing Restlessly Up And Down The Length Of The Apartment. 
   
 To Pass From The Breathless Energy Of Modern New York Into This Quiet 
 Conventual Atmosphere Was Like Crossing By A Single Step The Division 
 Between Two Opposing Civilisations. Even The Gas Light, Which Angela 
 Could Not Endure, Was Banished From Her Eyes, And She Lived Always In A 
 Faint, Softened Twilight Not Unlike That Of Some Meditative Old-World 
 Cloisters. The Small Iron Bed, The Colourless Religious Prints, The Pale 
 Drab Walls And The Floor Covered Only By A Chill White Matting, All 
 Emphasised The Singular Impression Of An Expiation That Had Become As 
 Pitiless As An Obsession Of Insanity. On A Small Table By A Couch, Which 
 Was Drawn Up Before A Window Overlooking The Park, There Was A Row Of 
 Little Devotional Books, All Bound Neatly In Black Leather, But Beyond 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 2 Pg 16 
 This The Room Was Empty Of Any Consolation For Mind Or Body. Only The 
 Woman Herself, With Her Accusing Face And Her Carelessly Arranged 
 Snow-White Hair, Held And Quickened The Imagination In Spite Of Her 
 Suggestion Of Bitter Brooding And Unbalanced Reason. Her Eyes Looking 
 Wildly Out Of Her Pallid Face Were Still The Beautiful, Fawn-Like Eyes 
 Of The Girl Of Twenty, And One Felt In Watching Her That The Old Tragic 
 Shock Had Paralysed In Them The Terrible Expression Of That One Moment 
 Until They Wore Forever The Indignant And Wounded Look With Which She 
 Had Met The Blow That Destroyed Her Youth. 
   
 "Dear," Said Laura, Entering Softly As She Might Have Entered A Death 
 Chamber. "You Will See Aunt Rosa And Aunt Sophy, Will You Not?" 
   
 Angela Did Not Stop In Her Nervous Walk, But When She Reached The End Of 
 The Long Room She Made A Quick, Feverish Gesture, Raising Her Hands To 
 Push Back Her Beautiful Loosened Hair. "I Will Do Anything You Wish, 
 Laura, Except See Their Husbands." 
   
 "I've Ceased To Urge That, Aunt Angela, But Your Own Sisters--" 
   
 "Oh, I Will See Them," Returned Angela, As If The Words--As If Any 
 Speech, In Fact--Were Wrung From The Cold Reserve Which Had Frozen Her 
 From Head To Foot. 
   
 Laura Went Up To Her And, With The Impassioned Manner Which She Had 
 Inherited From Her Southern Mother, Enclosed Her In A Warm And Earnest 
 Embrace. "My Dear, My Dear," She Said, "Uncle Percival Tells Me That 
 This Is One Of Your Bad Days. He Says, Poor Man, That He Went Out And 
 Got You Flowers." 
   
 Angela Yielded Slowly, Still Without Melting From Her Icy Remoteness. 
 "They Were Tuberoses," She Responded, In A Voice Which Was In Itself 
 Effectual Comment. 
   
 "Tuberoses!" Exclaimed Laura Aghast, "When You Can't Even Stand The 
 Scent Of Lilies. No Wonder, Poor Dear, That Your Head Aches." 
   
 "Mary Put Them Outside On The Window Sill," Said Angela, In A Kind Of 
 Resigned Despair, "But Their Awful Perfume Seemed To Penetrate The 
 Glass, So She Took Them Down Into The Coal Cellar." 
   
 "And A Very Good Place For Them, Too," Was Laura's Feeling Rejoinder; 
 "But You Mustn't Blame Him," She Charitably Concluded, "For He Couldn't 
 Have Chosen Any Other Flower If He Had Had The Whole Garden Of Eden To 
 Select From. It Isn't Really His Fault After All--It's A Part Of 
 Fatality Like His Flute." 
   
 "He Played For Me Until My Head Almost Split," Remarked Angela Wearily, 
 "And Then He Apologised For Stopping Because His Breath Was Short." 
   
 A Startled Tremor Shook Through Her As A Step Was Heard On The 
 Staircase. "Who Is It, Laura?" 
   
 Laura Went Quickly To The Door And, After Pausing A Moment Outside, 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 2 Pg 17 
 Returned With A Short, Flushed, And Richly Gowned Little Woman Who Was 
 Known To The World As Mrs. Robert Bleeker. 
   
 More Than Twenty Years Ago, As The Youngest Of The Pretty Wilde Sisters, 
 She Had, In The Romantic Fervour Of Her Youth And In Spite Of The 
 Opposition Of Her Parents, Made A Love Match With A Handsome, 
 Impecunious Young Dabbler In "Stocks." "Sophy Is A Creature Of 
 Sentiment," Her Friends Had Urged In Extenuation Of A Marriage Which Was 
 Not Then Considered In A Brilliant Light, But To The Surprise Of 
 Everybody, After The Single Venture By Which She Had Proved The Mettle 
 Of Her Dreams, She Had Sunk Back Into A Prosperous And Comfortable 
 Mediocrity. She Had Made Her Flight--Like The Queen Bee She Had Soared 
 Once Into The Farthest, Bluest Reaches Of Her Heaven, And Henceforth She 
 Was Quite Content To Relapse Into The Utter Commonplaces Of The Hive. 
 Her Yellow Hair Grew Sparse And Flat And Streaked With Gray, Her 
 Pink-Rose Face Became Over Plump And Mottled Across The Nose, And Her 
 Mind Turned Soon As Flat And Unelastic As Her Body; But She Was 
 Perfectly Satisfied With The Portion She Had Had From Life, For, Having 
 Weighed All Things, She Had Come To Regard The Conventions As Of Most 
 Enduring Worth. 
   
 Now She Rustled In With An Emphatic Announcement Of Stiff Brocade, And 
 Enveloped The Spectral Angela In An Embrace Of Comfortable Arms And 
 Bosom. Her Unwieldy Figure Reminded Laura Of A Broad, Low Wall That Has 
 Been Freshly Papered In A Large Flowered Pattern. On Her Hands And Bosom 
 A Number Of Fine Emeralds Flashed, For Events Had Shown In The End That 
 The Impecunious Young Lover Was Not Fated To Dabble In Stocks In Vain. 
   
 "Oh Angela, My Poor Dear, How Are You?" She Enquired. 
   
 Angela Released Herself With A Shrinking Gesture And, Turning Away, Sat 
 Down At The Foot Of The Long Couch. "I Am The Same--Always The Same," 
 She Answered In Her Cold, Reserved Voice. 
   
 "You Took Your Fresh Air To-Day, I Hope?" 
   
 "I Went Down In The Yard As Usual. Laura," She Looked Desperately 
 Around, "Is That Rosa Who Has Just Come In?" As She Paused A Knock Came 
 At The Door, And Laura Opened It To Admit Mrs. Payne--The Eldest, The 
 Richest And The Most Eccentric Of The Sisters. 
   
 From A Long And Varied Association With Men And Manners Mrs. Payne Had 
 Gathered A Certain Halo Of Experience, As Of One Who Had Ripened From 
 Mere Acquaintance Into A Degree Of Positive Intimacy With The World. She 
 Had Seen It Up And Down From All Sides, Had Turned It Critically About 
 For Her Half-Humorous, Half-Sentimental Inspection, And The Frank 
 Cynicism Which Now Flavoured Her Candid Criticism Of Life Only Added The 
 Spice Of Personality To Her Original Distinction Of Adventure. As The 
 Wife Of An Ambassador To France In The Time Of The Gay Eugenie, And 
 Again As One Of The Diplomatic Circle In Cairo And In Constantinople, 
 She Had Stored Her Mind With Precious Anecdotes Much As A Squirrel 
 Stores A Hollow In His Tree With Nuts. Life Had Taught Her That The One 
 Infallible Method For Impressing Your Generation Is To Impress It By A 
 Difference, And, Beginning As A Variation From Type, She Had Ended By 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 2 Pg 18 
 Commanding Attention As A Preserved Specimen Of An Extinct Species. 
 Long, Wiry, Animated, And Habitually Perturbed, She Moved In A Continual 
 Flutter Of Speech--A Creature To Be Reckoned With From The Little, Flat, 
 Round Curls Upon Her Temples, Which Looked As If Each Separate Hair Was 
 Held In Place By A Particular Wire, To The Sweep Of Her Black Velvet 
 Train, Which Surged At An Exaggerated Length Behind Her Feet. Her Face 
 Was Like An Old And Tattered Comic Mask Which, Though It Has Been Flung 
 Aside As No Longer Provocative Of Pleasant Mirth, Still Carries Upon Its 
 Cheeks And Eyebrows The Smears Of The Rouge Pot And The Pencil. 
   
 "My Dear Angela," She Now Asked In Her Excited Tones, "Have You Really 
 Been Walking About Again? I Lay Awake All Night Fearing That You Had 
 Over-Taxed Your Strength Yesterday. Mrs. Francis Barnes--You Never Knew 
 Her Of Course, But She Was A Distant Cousin Of Horace's--Died Quite 
 Suddenly, Without An Instant's Warning, After Having Walked Rapidly 
 Twice Up And Down The Room. Since Then I Have Always Looked Upon 
 Movement As A Very Dangerous Thing." 
   
 "Well, I Could Hardly Die Suddenly Under Any Circumstances," Returned 
 Angela, Indifferently. "You've Been Watching By My Death-Bed For Forty 
 Years." 
   
 "Oh, Dear Sister," Pleaded Mrs. Bleeker, Whose Heart, Was As Soft As Her 
 Bosom. 
   
 "It Does Sound As If You Thought We Really Wanted Your Things," 
 Commented Mrs. Payne, Opening And Shutting Her Painted Fan. "Of 
 Course--If You Were To Die We Should Be Too Heart-Broken To Care What 
 You Left--But, Since We Are On The Subject, I've Always Meant To Ask You 
 To Leave Me The Shawl Of Old Rose-Point Which Belonged To Mother." 
   
 "Rosa, How Can You?" Remonstrated Mrs. Bleeker, "I Am Sure I Hope Angela 
 Will Outlive Me Many Years, But If She Doesn't I Want Everything She Has 
 To Go To Laura." 
   
 "Well, I'm Sure I Don't See How Laura Could Very Well Wear A Rose-Point 
 Shawl," Persisted Mrs. Payne. "I Wouldn't Have Started The Subject For 
 Anything On Earth, Angela, But, Since You've Spoken Of It, I Only 
 Mention What Is In My Mind. And Now Don't Say A Word, Sophy, For We'll 
 Go Back To Other Matters. In Poor Angela's Mental State Any Little 
 Excitement May Bring On A Relapse." 
   
 "A Relapse Of What?" Bluntly Enquired Honest Mrs. Bleeker. 
   
 Mrs. Payne Turned Upon Her A Glance Of Indignant Calm. 
   
 "Why A Relapse Of--Of Her Trouble," She Responded. "You Show A Strange 
 Lack Of Consideration For Her Condition, But For My Part I Am Perfectly 
 Assured That It Needs Only Some Violent Shock, Such As May Result From 
 A Severe Fall Or The Unexpected Sight Of A Man, To Produce A Serious 
 Crisis." 
   
 Mrs. Bleeker Shook Her Head With The Stubborn Common Sense Which Was The 
 Reactionary Result Of Her Romantic Escapade. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 2 Pg 19 
   
 "A Fall Might Hurt Anybody," She Rejoined, "But I'm Sure I Don't See Why 
 The Mere Sight Of A Man Should. I've Looked At One Every Day For Thirty 
 Years And Fattened On It, Too." 
   
 "That," Replied Mrs. Payne, Who Still Delighted To Prick At The Old 
 Scandal With A Delicate Dissecting Knife, "Is Because You Have Only 
 Encountered The Sex In Domestic Shackles. As For Me, I Haven't The Least 
 Doubt In The World That The Sudden Shock Of Beholding A Man After Forty 
 Years Would Be Her Death Blow." 
   
 "But She Has Seen Percival," Insisted Mrs. Bleeker; And Feeling That Her 
 Illustration Did Not Wholly Prove Her Point Added, Weakly, "At Least He 
 Wears Breeches." 
   
 "I Would Not See Him If I Could Help Myself," Broke In Angela, With 
 Sudden Energy. "I Never--Never--Never Wish To See A Man Again In This 
 World Or The Next." 
   
 Mrs. Payne Glanced Sternly At Mrs. Bleeker And Followed It With An 
 Emphatic Head Shake, Which Said As Plainly As Words, "So There's Your 
 Argument." 
   
 "All The Same, I Don't Believe Robert Would Shock Her," Remarked Mrs. 
 Bleeker. 
   
 "Never--Never--Never," Repeated Angela In A Frozen Agony, And, Rising, 
 She Walked Restlessly Up And Down Again Until A Servant Appeared To 
 Inform The Visiting Sisters That Dinner And Miss Wilde Awaited Them 
 Below. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 3 Pg 20 
 Apologises For An Old-Fashioned Atmosphere 
   
   
 As Soon As Dinner Was Over Uncle Percival Retired With Mr. Bleeker Into 
 The Library, From Which Retreat There Issued Immediately The Shrill 
 Piping Of The Flute. Mr. Bleeker, With An Untouched Glass Of Sherry At 
 His Elbow And An Unlighted Cigar In His Hand, Sank Back Into The Placid 
 After-Dinner Reverie Which Is Found In The Rare Cases When Old Age Has 
 Encountered A Faultless Digestion. The Happiest Part Of His Life Was 
 Spent In The Pleasant State Between Waking And Sleeping, While As Yet 
 The Flavour Of His Favourite Dishes Still Lingered In His Mouth--Just As 
 The Most Blissful Moments Known To Uncle Percival Were Those In Which He 
 Piped His Cherished Airs Upon His Antiquated Instrument. The Eldest 
 Member Of The Wilde Family Was Very Old Indeed--Had In Fact Successfully 
 Rounded Some Years Ago The Critical Point Of His Eightieth Birthday, And 
 There Was The Zest Of A Second Childhood In The Animation With Which He 
 Had Revived The Single Accomplishment Of His Early Youth. That Youth Was 
 Now More Vivid To His Requickened Memory Than The Present Was To His 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 3 Pg 21 
 Enfeebled Faculties. The Past Had Become A Veritable Obsession In His 
 Mind, And When He Fingered The Old Flute Strength Came Back To His 
 Half-Palsied Hands And Breath Returned To His Shrunken Little Body. His 
 Own Music Was The One Sound He Heard In All Its Distinctness, And He 
 Hung Upon It With An Enjoyment Which Was Almost Doting In Its Childish 
 Delight. 
   
 So The Fluting Went On Merrily, While Mrs. Payne And Mrs. Bleeker, After 
 Fidgeting A Moment In The Drawing-Room, Decided That They Would Return 
 For A Word Or Two With Angela. "It Is Really The Only Place In The House 
 Where One Can Escape Percival's Music," Declared Mrs. Payne, Who Frankly 
 Confessed That She Had Reached The Time Of Life When To Bore Her Was The 
 Chief Offence Society Could Commit, "So, Besides The Comfort I Afford 
 Dear Angela, It Is Much The Pleasantest Place For Me To Pass The 
 Evening. I've Always Been A Merciful Woman My Child," She Pursued 
 Shaking Her Little Flat, False Gray Curls Above Her Painted Wrinkles, 
 "For Never In My Life Have I Cast A Stone At Anyone Who Amused Me; But 
 As For Percival And His Flute! Well, I Won't Say A Disagreeable Word On 
 The Subject, But I Honestly Think That A Passion At His Age Is 
 Absolutely Indecent." 
   
 She Was So Grotesquely Gorgeous With Her Winking Diamonds And Her Old 
 Point Lace, Which Yawned Over Her Lean Neck, That The Distinction She 
 Had Always Aimed At Seemed Achieved At Last By An Ironic Exaggeration. 
   
 "At Least It Is A Perfectly Harmless Passion," Suggested Her Husband, A 
 Beautiful Old Man Of Seventy Gracious Years. 
   
 "Harmless!" Gasped Mrs. Payne. "Why, It Has Wrecked The Nerves Of The 
 Entire Family, Has Given Me Saint Vitus' Dance, Has Kept Laura Awake For 
 Nights, Has Reduced Angela To Hysterics, And You Actually Have The Face 
 To Tell Me It Is Harmless! Judged By Its Effects, I Consider It Quite 
 As Reprehensible As A Taste For Cards Or A Fancy For A Chorus Girl. 
 Those Are Vices At Least That Belong To Our Century And To Civilisation, 
 But A Flute Is Nothing Less Than A Relic Of Barbarism." 
   
 "Well, It's Worse On Me Than On Anyone Else," Said Laura, With The 
 Dominant Spirit Which Caused Mr. Payne To Shiver Whenever She Tilted 
 Against His Wife. "My Room Is Just Above, And I Get The Benefit Of Every 
 Note." 
   
 The Tune Issuing From The Library Had Changed Suddenly Into "The Land O' 
 The Leal," And By The Lamp Light Uncle Percival Could Be Seen, Warm And 
 Red And Breathless But Still Blissfully Fluting To The Sleeping Mr. 
 Bleeker, Whose Face, Fallen Back Against The Velvet Cushions, Wore A 
 Broad, Beatific Smile. 
   
 "He Gets His Happiness From It At Least," Persisted Laura. "I Suppose 
 It's A Part Of His Life Just As Poetry Is A Part Of Mine, And To Be 
 Happy At Eighty-Two One Is Obliged To Be Happy In An Antedated Fashion." 
   
 Then, As The Two Aunts Swept From The Room To Join Angela, Laura Seated 
 Herself At Mr. Payne's Side And Caught The Hand Which He Outstretched. 
 Of All The Family He Had Been Her Favourite Since Childhood, And She 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 3 Pg 22 
 Sometimes Told Herself That He Was The Only One Who Knew Her As She 
 Really Was--Who Had Ever Penetrated Behind Her Vivid Outside Armour Of 
 Personality. He Was A Man Of Great Unsatisfied Tenderness, Who Indulged 
 A Secret Charity As Another Man Might Have Indulged A Vicious Taste. All 
 His Inclinations Strained After Goodness, And Had He Possessed The 
 Courage To Follow The Natural Bent Of His Nature Toward Perfection He 
 Might Have Found His Happiness In The Peaceful Paths Of Exalted Virtue. 
 But The Constant Dropping Of Cynicism Will Extinguish An Angel, And, 
 Instead Of Becoming A Shining Light To His Generation, He Had Dwindled 
 Into A Glow-Worm Beneath The Billows Of His Wife's Velvet Gown. 
   
 Now, As Laura Held His Hand, She Bent Upon Him One Of Her Long, 
 Meditative Looks. "Uncle Horace, Of All This Queer Family Is Aunt Rosa 
 The Queerest Or Am I?" 
   
 Mr. Payne Shook His Silvered Head. "I Don't Think You're A Match For 
 Rosa Yet, My Dear," He Answered With His Gentle Humour. "Wait Till 
 You've Turned Seventy--Then We'll See." 
   
 "But I'm Not Like Other Women. I Don't Think Their Ways. I Don't Even 
 Want The Things They Want." 
   
 The Old Man's Smile Shone Out As He Patted Her Hand. "That Means, I 
 Suppose, That You Don't Want To Be Married. Who Is It This Time? Ah, My 
 Child, You Are Born To Be Adored Or To Be Hated." 
   
 Without Replying To His Question, Laura Lifted Her Full, Dark Eyes To 
 His Face. As He Met The Intellectual Power Of Her Glance, He Told 
 Himself That He Understood The Mysterious Active Principle Of Her 
 Personality--How The Many Were Repelled While The Few Returned To 
 Worship. One Felt Her, Was Repulsed Or Possessed By Her, Even In Her 
 Muteness. 
   
 "I Don't See How Any One Who Has Ever Dreamed Dreams," She Said At Last, 
 "Could Fall In Love And Marry--It Is So Different--So Different." 
   
 "So You Have Refused Mr. Wilberforce? Well, Well, He Has Reached The Age 
 When A Poor Lover May Make An Excellent Friend--And Besides, To Become 
 Rosa's Mouthpiece For A Moment, He Is Very Rich." 
   
 "And Old Enough To Be My Father--But It Isn't That. Age Has Nothing To 
 Do With It, Nor Has Congeniality--It Is Nothing In Real Life That Comes 
 Between, For I Am Fond Of Him And I Don't Mind His White Hairs In The 
 Least, But I Can't Give Up My Visions--My Ideal Hopes." 
   
 "Ah, Laura, Laura," Sighed The Old Man, "The Trouble Is That You Don't 
 Live On The Earth At All, But In A Little Hanging Garden Of The 
 Imagination." 
   
 "And Yet I Want Life," She Said. 
   
 "We All Want It, My Child, Until We've Had It. At Your Age I Wanted It, 
 Too, For I Had My Dreams, Though I Was Not A Poet. But There Are 
 Precious Few Of Us Who Are Willing In Youth To Accept The World On Its 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 3 Pg 23 
 Own Terms--We Want To Add Our Little Poem To The Universal Prose Of 
 Things." 
   
 "But It Is Life Itself That I Want," Repeated Laura. 
   
 "And So I Wanted Rosa, My Dear, Every Bit As Much." 
   
 "Rosa!" There Was A Glow Of Surprise In The Look She Turned Upon Him. 
   
 "You Find It Hard To Believe, But It Is True Nevertheless. I Had My 
 Golden Dream Like Everyone Else, And When Rosa Loved Me I Told Myself It 
 Had All Come True. Well, Perhaps, In A Measure It Has, Only, After All, 
 Rosa Turned Out To Be More Suited To Real Life Than To Poetic 
 Moonshine." 
   
 "I Can't Imagine Even You Idealizing Aunt Rosa," Said Laura, "But That I 
 Suppose Is The Way Life Equalises Things." 
   
 "That Way Or Another, And The Worst It Can Do For Us Is To Return Us Our 
 Own Dreams In Grotesque And Mutilated Forms. That Will Most Likely Be 
 Your Portion, Too, My Child, For Life Has Hurt Every Poet Since The 
 World Began, And It Will Hurt You More Than Most Because You Are So Big 
 A Creature." 
   
 Laura Stirred Suddenly And, After Gazing A Moment At The Fire, Turned 
 Upon Him A Face Which Had Grown Brilliant With Animation. "I Want To 
 Taste Everything," She Said. "I Want To Turn Every Page One After One." 
   
 "And Yet You Live The Life Of A Hermit Thrush--You Have In Reality As 
 Little Part In That Bustling Turmoil Of New York Out There As Has Poor 
 Angela Herself." 
   
 "But My Adventures Will Come To Me--I Feel That They Will Come." 
   
 "Then You're Happy, My Dear, For You Have The Best Of Your Adventures As 
 You Call Them In Your Waiting Time." 
   
 She Leaned Toward Him, Resting Her Cheek On His Gentle Old Hand, And 
 They Sat In Silence Until Mrs. Payne Swept Down Upon Them In Her Sable 
 Wraps And Demanded The Attendance Of Her Husband. 
   
 The Hall Door Closed Upon The Sisters Before Laura Had Quite Come Back 
 From Her Abstraction, Which She Did At Last With A Sigh Of Relief At 
 Finding Herself Alone. Then, Leaving Uncle Percival Nodding In The 
 Library, She Went Upstairs To The Cosy Little Study Which Opened From 
 Her Bedroom On The Floor Above. The Wood Fire On The Brass Andirons Was 
 Unlighted, And Striking A Match She Held It To The Little Pile Of 
 Splinters Underneath The Logs, Watching, With A Sensation Of Pleasure, 
 The Small Yellow Flames Lick The Crumpled Paper And Curl Upward. Rising 
 After A Moment, She Stood Breathing In The Soft Twilight-Coloured 
 Atmosphere She Loved. The Place Was Her Own And She Kept It Carefully 
 Guarded From A Too Garish Daylight, While The Beloved Familiar 
 Objects--The Shining Rows Of Books, The Dull Greenish Hangings, The 
 Costly Cushioned Easy-Chairs, The Few Rare Photographs, The Spacious 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 3 Pg 24 
 Writing Table And The Single Venetian Vase Of Flowers--Were Always 
 Steeped In A Softly Shadowed Half-Tone Of Light. 
   
 As She Looked About Her The Comfort Of The Room Entered Into Her Like 
 Warmth, And, Opening Her Arms In A Happy Gesture, She Threw Herself 
 Among The Pillows Of The Couch And Lay Watching The Rapid Yellow Flames. 
 Even In The Midst Of Her Musing She Laughed Suddenly To Find That She 
 Was Thinking Of The Phrase With Which Funsten Had Dismissed The Name Of 
 Arnold Kemper: "The Only Favourable Thing One Can Say Of Him Is To Say 
 Nothing." Was It Really So Bad As That She Wondered, With A Dim Memory 
 That Somewhere, Back In An Obscure Corner Of Her Bookshelves, Lay His 
 First Thin, Promising Volume Published Now Almost Fifteen Years Ago. 
 Rising Presently, She Began A Hasty Search Among A Collection Of Little 
 Novels Which Had Been Banished Ignominiously From The Light Of Day, And, 
 Coming At Last Upon The Story, She Brought It To The Lamp And Commenced 
 A Reading Prompted Solely By The Moment's Impetuous Curiosity. Utterly 
 Devoid As It Was Of Literary Finish Or Discerning Craftsmanship, The 
 Book Gripped From The Start By Sheer Audacity--By Its Dominant, 
 Insistent, Almost Brutal And Entirely Misdirected Power. It Was Less The 
 Story That Struck One Than The Personal Equation Between The Lines, And 
 The Impression She Brought Away From Her Breathless Skimming Was That 
 She Had Encountered The Shock Of A Tremendous Masculine Force. 
   
 Her Head Fell Back Upon The Cushions, And She Lost Herself In The Vague 
 Wonder The Book Aroused. Life Was There--The Life Of The Flesh, Of Vivid 
 Sensation, Of Experience That Ran Hot And Swift. The Active Principle, 
 So Strong In The Predestined Artist, Stirred Suddenly In Her Breast, And 
 She Felt The Instant Of Blind Terror Which Comes With The Realisation Of 
 The Fleeting Possibilities Of Earth. Outside--Beyond Her--Existence In 
 Its Multitudinous Forms, Its Diversity Of Colour, Swept On Like Some 
 Vast Caravan From Which She Had Been Detached And Set Apart. Lying There 
 She Heard The Call Of It, That Tremendous Music Which Shook Through Her 
 And Loosened A Caged Voice Within Herself. Her Own Poetry Became For Her 
 But A Little Part Of The Tumultuous, Passionate Instinct For Life Within 
 Her--For Life Not As It Was In Its Reality But As She Saw It 
 Transfigured And Enkindled By The Imagination That Lives In Dreams. 
   
 Suddenly From The Darkened Silence Of The House Below A Thin Sound Rose 
 Trembling, And Then, Gaining Strength, Penetrated Into The Closed 
 Chambers. Uncle Percival Was At His Flute Again; He Had Arisen In The 
 Night To Resume His Impassioned Piping; And, Rising Hurriedly, Laura Lit 
 Her Candle And Went Out Into The Hall, Where A Streak Of Light Beneath 
 Angela's Door Ran Like A White Thread Across The Blackness. Listening A 
 Moment, She Heard Inside The Nervous Pacing To And Fro Of Tired Yet 
 Restless Feet, And After A Short Hesitation She Turned The Knob And 
 Entered. 
   
 "Oh, Aunt Angela, Did The Flute Wake You?" She Asked. 
   
 For Answer The Long White Figure Stopped Its Frantic Movement And Turned 
 Upon Her A Blanched And Stricken Face Out Of Which Two Beautiful Haunted 
 Eyes Stared Like Living Terrors--Terrors Of Memory, Of Silence, Of The 
 Unseen Which Had Taken Visible Forms. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 3 Pg 25 
 "Stop It! Stop It! Stop It!" Cried Angela Breathlessly, Raising Her 
 Quivering Hands To Her Ears. "I Have Heard It Before! I Have Heard 
 It--Long Before!" 
   
 She Paused, Gasping, And Without A Word Laura Turned And Ran Down The 
 Dark Staircase, While With Each Step The Air That Uncle Percival Played 
 Sounded Louder In Her Ears. 
   
 The Door Of The Library Was Open, And As She Entered She Called Out In A 
 Voice That Held A Sob Of Anger, "Uncle Percival, How Could You?" 
   
 His Attentive, Deafened Ears Were For His Music Alone, And, Letting The 
 Flute Fall From His Hands, He Turned To Look At Her With The Pathetic, 
 Innocent Enquiry Of A Good But Uncomprehending Child. At The Sight Of 
 His Smiling, Wrinkled Face, His Gentle Blue Eyes And The Wistful Droop 
 Of Disappointment At The Corners Of His Mouth, Her Indignation Changed 
 Suddenly To Pity. It Seemed To Her That She Saw All His Eighty Years 
 Looking At Her From That Furrowed Face Out Of Those Little Wandering 
 Round Blue Eyes--Saw The Human Part Of Him As She Had Never Seen It 
 Before--With Its Patience Of Unfulfilment, Its Scant Small Pleasures, 
 Its Innocent Senile Passion At The End; Saw, Too, The Divine Part, 
 Hidden In Him As In All Humanity--That Communion Of Longing Which Bound 
 His Passionate Fluting, Angela's Passionate Remorse And Her Own 
 Passionate Purity Into The Universal Congregation Of Unsatisfied Souls. 
   
 The Sharp Words Died Upon Her Lips And, Kneeling At His Side, She Took 
 His Shrivelled Little Hands Into Her Warm, Comforting Clasp. "Dear Uncle 
 Percival, I Understand, And I Love You," She Said. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 4 Pg 26 
 Ushers In The Modern Spirit 
   
   
 "So You Have Seen Her," Adams Had Remarked The Same Afternoon, As He 
 Walked With Trent In The Direction Of Broadway. "Do You Walk Up, By The 
 Way? I Always Manage To Get In A Bit Of Exercise At This Hour." 
   
 As Trent Fell In With His Companion's Rapid Step, He Seemed To Be Moving 
 In A Fine Golden Glow Of Enthusiasm. A Light Icy Drizzle Had Turned The 
 Snow Upon The Pavement Into Sloppy Puddles Of Water, But To The Young 
 Man, Fresh From His Inexperience, The Hour And The Scene Alike Were Of 
 Exhilarating Promise. 
   
 "I Feel As If I Had Been Breathing Different Air!" He Exclaimed, Without 
 Replying Directly To The Question. "And Yet How Simple She Is--How 
 Utterly Unlike The Resplendent Mrs. Bridewell--" 
   
 He Stopped Breathlessly, Overcome By His Excitement, And Adams Took Up 
 The Unfinished Sentence Almost Tenderly. "So Far, Of Course, She Is 
 Merely A Beautiful Promise, A Flower In The Bud," He Said. "Her 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 4 Pg 27 
 Genius--If She Has Genius--Has Not Found Itself, And The Notes She 
 Strikes Are All Mere Groping Attempts At A Perfect Self-Expression. Yet, 
 Undoubtedly, She Has Done A Few Fine Things," He Admitted With 
 Professional Caution. 
   
 "But If, As You Say, Her Emotional Self Does Not Go Into Her Poems, What 
 Becomes Of It?" Enquired Trent, With A Curiosity Too Impersonal To Be 
 Vulgar. "For She, Finely Tempered As She Is, Suggests Nothing So Much As 
 A Beautiful Golden Flame." 
   
 Adams Started, And Flashed Upon The Other A Glance As Incisive As A 
 Search-Light. 
   
 "Then You, Too, Recognise Her Beauty?" He Asked In A Tone Which Had A 
 Kindly Jealousy. 
   
 "Am I A Fool?" Protested Trent, Laughing. 
   
 'You Heard Kemper?" 
   
 "I Heard Him Proclaim Himself An Ass. Well, Let Him, Let Him. Would You 
 Hand Out One Of Your Precious First Editions To The Crowd?" 
   
 "You're Right, You're Right," Assented Adams, And Followed His Remark 
 With A Sudden Change Of Subject. "I Am Interested, Mr. Trent, In What 
 You Yourself Have Come To Do." 
   
 "I--Oh, I Have Done Nothing," Declared Trent. 
   
 "In Your Aims, Then, Let Us Say, I Understand That You Intend To Try The 
 Drama?" 
   
 "Well, I Confess To Having Done A Play That I Think Isn't Bad," Replied 
 Trent, Blushing Over All His Fresh, Smooth-Shaven Face. "Benson Has 
 Promised Me A Hearing." 
   
 "Ah, I Know Him--He's Always Eager For New Blood. Perhaps You Wouldn't 
 Mind My Speaking A Word Or Two To Him? 
   
 "Mind!" Exclaimed The Younger Man, His Voice Shaking. "Why, I Can't Tell 
 You How Happy It Would Make Me." 
   
 They Had Reached Eighteenth Street, And Trent Paused A Moment On The 
 Corner Before Turning Off To The Big Red-Brick Apartment House Where He 
 Was Temporarily Placed. "I'd Like To Walk Up To Thirty-Fifth With You," 
 He Added, "But My Mother Is Expecting Me And It Makes Her Nervous When I 
 Stay Out After Dark. She's Just From The Country, You Know, And She Gets 
 Confused By The Noise." He Hesitated An Instant And Then Finished With 
 Embarrassment. "I Wish So Much That She Could Know You.' 
   
 "It Is A Pleasure I Hope For Very Shortly," Responded Adams. "How Does 
 She Like New York, By The Way?" 
   
 Under The Electric Light Trent's Eyes Seemed To Run Entirely To 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 4 Pg 28 
 Sparkles. "Ah, Well, It's Rather Lonely For Her. She Misses The Callers 
 At Home Who Used To Come To Spend The Day." 
   
 "We Must Try To Change That," Said The Other As He Moved Off, While 
 Trent Noted That Despite His Genial Sympathy Of Manner There Had Been No 
 Mention Of Mrs. Adams. Where Was She? And What Was She? Questioned The 
 Younger Man In Perplexity, As He Crossed To His Apartment House At The 
 Corner Of Fourth Avenue. 
   
 At Twenty-Third Street Adams Had Turned Almost Unconsciously Into Fifth 
 Avenue, For So Detached Was The Intellectual Remoteness In Which He 
 Lived That He Might Have Been, For All His Immediate Perceptions Of His 
 Surroundings, Strolling At Dusk Along A Deserted Western Road. He Was So 
 Used To Dwelling On The Cool Heights Of A Dearly Bought, A Hardly Wrung, 
 Philosophy That He Had Become At Last Almost Oblivious Of The Mere 
 External Details Of Life. To Live At All Had Been For Him A Matter Of 
 Fine Moral Courage, And His Slight, Delicate Emaciated, Yet Dauntless, 
 Figure Was In Itself The Expression Of A Resolute Will To Endure As Well 
 As To Resist. When A Man Has Faced Death At Close Range For Fifteen 
 Years He Is, In A Measure, Bound To Become Either Indifferent Satyr Or 
 Partial Saint, And Even In The Extremity Of His First Revolt His 
 Personal Ideal Had Stood, Like The Angel With The Flaming Sword, Between 
 Adams And The Quagmire Of Bodily Materialism. He Was Not, Perhaps, As 
 Yet Even So Much As A Deficient Stoic, But He Had Wrung From Suffering A 
 Certain High Loyalty To Human Fellowship And A Half Humorous, If Wholly 
 Gallant, Determination To Keep Fast At Any Cost Until The Very End. Why 
 He Had Made The Fight He Did Not Ask Himself, Nor Could He Have 
 Answered. His Ambition, His Marriage, Even The Ordinary Sensuous 
 Enjoyments Of Life, Had Crumbled As The Mythical Dead Sea Apples Upon 
 His Lips, Yet The Failure Of His Own Mere Individual Pursuit Of 
 Happiness Had In No-Wise Soured The Sweet And Finely Flavored Optimism 
 Of His Nature. 
   
 The Fragrance From The Violets Worn By A Passing Woman Struck Him 
 Presently, And He Looked Outside Of Himself Almost With A Start. Around 
 Him Many Women Were Walking Briskly Under Raised Umbrellas, And Some 
 Showed Pretty Faces Freshened Like Flowers By The Icy Rain. He Himself 
 Had Forgotten The Rain, Had Forgotten Even The Cold Which Pierced His 
 Chest, And, Suddenly Remembering The Directions Of His Physician, He 
 Fastened His Overcoat More Closely And Hastened Across The Street, 
 Passing Rapidly In And Out Among The Moving Vehicles Until He Gained, 
 Over The Sloppy Crossing, The Safety Of The Opposite Sidewalk. Here He 
 Turned In The Direction Of Madison Avenue And Finally, Drawing Out His 
 Latchkey, Entered One Of The Dingy, Flat-Faced, Utterly Conventional 
 Brown Houses Which Make Up So Large A Part Of The Characterless 
 Complexion Of New York Life. 
   
 The Interior Was Brilliantly Lighted, And He Was Shrinking Noiselessly 
 Into His Study At The Back When He Heard His Name Called From The 
 Drawing-Room Threshold And Saw His Wife Standing There While She Put On 
 A Long White Evening Cloak Over A Filmy Effect Of Cream-Coloured Lace. 
 She Was A Small, Pretty Woman, With A Cloud Of Fluffy, Artificially 
 Blonde Hair And Large, Innocent, Absolutely Blank Blue Eyes. A Year Ago 
 She Had Resembled, If One Might Imagine The Existence Of Such A Being, A 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 4 Pg 29 
 Perfectly Worldly Wise And Cynically Minded Baby, But Twelve Months Of 
 Late Suppers And Many Plays Had Already Blighted Her Rose-Leaf Skin And 
 Sown Three Fine, Nervous Little Wrinkles Between Her Delicately Arched 
 Eyebrows. She Was Very Vivacious, But, As Gerty Bridewell Had Observed, 
 It Was A Vivacity That Was Hardly Justified, Since Possessing Neither 
 The Means Nor The Manner Exacted By The More Exclusive Circles, She Had 
 Been Compelled To Compromise With A Social Body Which Made Up In Members 
 What It Lacked As An Organism. Her Dash And Her Prettiness Sufficed To 
 Place Her Comfortably Here, But Beyond A Speaking Acquaintance With 
 Gerty, Who Confessed That She Was Too Charitable To Be Exclusive She Had 
 Not As Yet Approached That Small Shining Sphere Whose Inmates Boast The 
 Larger Freedom No Less Than The Finer Discrimination. The Larger 
 Freedom, It Seemed At Times, Was All Of It That She Was Ever To Attain, 
 For, Venturing A Little Too Boldly Once Or Twice With A Light Head, She 
 Had At Last Found Herself Skating Gingerly Over A Veritable Sleet Of 
 Scandal. She Got Herself Rumoured About So Persistently That From Being 
 Merely Improbable, She Had Become, In Gerty's Words Again, "One Of The 
 Very Last Of The Impossibilities." And Of Late Adams' Friends Had Begun 
 To Ask Themselves Quite Seriously, "Why In The Deuce He Didn't Keep A 
 Hand Upon His Wife." How Much He Knew Or How Much There Was, In Reality, 
 To Know Had Become In A Limited Circle Almost The Question Of The Hour, 
 Until Perry Bridewell Had Demanded In Final Exasperation "Whether Adams 
 Was Ridiculously Ignorant Or Outrageously Indifferent?" 
   
 But If The Curious Had Been Permitted To Observe The Object Of Their 
 Uncertainty As He Stood Under The Full Glare Before His Festive Wife 
 They Would Have Found Neither Ignorance Nor Indifference In His Manner. 
 He Regarded Her With A Frank, Fatherly Tolerance, In Which There Was 
 Hardly A Suggestion Of A More Passionate Concern. 
   
 "Wrap Up Well," He Said, As His Glance Shot Over Her, "There's A Biting 
 Wind Outside." 
   
 Connie Screwed Up Her Delicate Eyebrows And The Fine Little Wrinkles 
 Leaped Instantly Into View. There Was A Nervous Irritation In Her Look, 
 Which Recoiled From Her Husband As From A Blank And Shining Wall. 
   
 "I'm Dining At Sherry's With The Donaldsons," She Explained. "I Knew You 
 Wouldn't Come, So I Didn't Even Trouble You To Decline." 
   
 "You're Right, My Dear," He Rejoined Gayly. 
   
 "Mr. Brady Has Called For Me," She Went On With The Faintest Possible 
 Hesitation In Her Voice, "And As We're All Going To The Theatre 
 Afterward I Shall Probably Be Late. Don't Bother About Sitting Up For 
 Me--I Have A Key." 
   
 "Well, Take Care Of Yourself," Responded Adams Pleasantly, Adding To A 
 Young Man Who Appeared In The Drawing-Room Doorway, "How Are You, Mr. 
 Brady? Please Don't Let Mrs. Adams Be So Foolish As To Stand Outside In 
 The Wind. I Can't Make Her Take Care Of Her Cold." 
   
 "Oh, I'll Promise To Look Out For It," Replied Brady, Standing Slightly 
 Behind Connie, And Arranging By A Careless Movement The White Fur On Her 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 4 Pg 30 
 Cloak. His Handsome Wooden Features Possessed Hardly More Character Than 
 Was Expressed By His Immaculately Starched Shirt Front, But He Was Not 
 Without A Certain Wholly Superficial Attraction, Half As Of A Sleek, 
 Well-Groomed Animal And Half As Of A Masculine Conceit, Naked And 
 Unashamed. 
   
 Connie Tinkled Out Her Nervous, High-Pitched, Vacant Little Laugh, Which 
 She Used To Fill In Gaps In Conversation Much As A Distinguished 
 Virtuoso Might Interlude His Own Important Efforts With Selections Of 
 Light Vocal Strains. 
   
 "Roger Is Always Worrying About My Health," She Said, "But The Truth Is 
 That It's So Good I'll Never Begin To Value It Until It's Gone." Her 
 Excited, Fluttering Manner Blew About Her Almost With A Commotion Of The 
 Atmosphere, And Reminded Adams At Times Of A Tempestuous March Breeze 
 Shaking A Fragile Wind Flower. It Was Unnatural, Overdone, Unbecoming, 
 But It Seemed At Last To Have Got Quite Beyond Her Control, And The 
 Pretty Girlish Composure He Remembered As One Of Her Freshest Charms, 
 Was Lost In Her General Violence Of Animation. Of Late He Knew That She 
 Had Fought Off Her Natural Exhaustion By The Frequent Use Of Stimulants, 
 And It Seemed To Him That He Saw Their Immediate Effects In Her Flushed 
 Cheeks And Too Brightly Shining Eyes. 
   
 "Don't Stay Out Late," He Urged Again; "You've Been Rushing Like Mad 
 These Last Weeks And You Need Rest." 
   
 "But I Never Rest," Rejoined Connie, Still Laughing, "And I Honestly 
 Hope That I Shan't Come To A Stop Until I Die." 
   
 She Fastened Her Cloak Under The Fall Of Lace, And, When Brady Had 
 Slipped Into His Overcoat, Adams Turned Back To Open The Hall Door, 
 Which Let In A Biting Draught. 
   
 "Ta-Ta! Don't Sit Up!" Cried Connie Breathlessly, As, More Than Ever 
 Like A Filmy Wind Flower In A High Wind, She Was Blown Down The Steps, 
 Across The Slushy Sidewalk, And Into The Hired Carriage. 
   
 When They Had Gone Adams Went Into The Dining-Room And Dined Alone 
 Without Dressing, As He Had Done Almost Every Evening For The Last Few 
 Months. The Irish Maid Waited Upon Him With A Solicitude In Which He 
 Read His Pose Of A Deserted Husband, And He Tried With A Forcible, 
 Though Silent, Bravado To Dispel Her Very Evident Assumption. Connie Had 
 Certainly Not Deserted Him Against His Will, And When Her Absence Had 
 Begun To Show As So Incontestable A Relief It Seemed The Basest 
 Ingratitude To Force Upon Her Reckless Shoulders The Odium Of An 
 Entirely Satisfying Arrangement. After A Day Of Mental And Physical 
 Exertion The Further Effort Of A Conversation With Her Was Something 
 That He Felt To Be Utterly Beyond Him, And The Distant Colorado Days 
 When She Had Played The Part Of A Soft, Inviting Kitten And He Had 
 Responded Happily To The Appeal For Constant Petting, Now Lay Very Far 
 Behind Them Both--Buried Somewhere In That Cloudless Country They Had 
 Left. Neither Of Them Wanted The Petting Back Again, And As He Rose From 
 His Simple Dinner And Entered His Study At The End Of The Hall He Heaved 
 A Sigh Of Conscious Thankfulness That It Was Empty. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 4 Pg 31 
   
 While He Lighted His Pipe His Eyes Turned Instinctively To His Precious 
 First Editions Of Which Trent Had Spoken, And Then Straight As An Arrow 
 To A Photograph Of Laura Which Stood With Several Others Upon His 
 Writing Table. The Eyes Of Most Men Would Have Lingered, Perhaps, On One 
 Of Connie, Which Was Taken, Indeed, At Her Best Period And In A 
 Remarkably Effective Pose, But Adams' Glance Brushed It With An 
 Indifference Only Unkind In Its Mute Sincerity, While He Sought The 
 Troubled Gaze Of Laura, Who Wore In The Picture A Shy And Startled Look, 
 Like That Of A Wild Thing Suddenly Trapped In Its Reserve. He Had Never, 
 Even In His Own Mind, Analysed His Feeling For The Woman Whom He Was 
 Content To Call His Friend--He Hesitated To Condemn Himself Almost 
 Because He Feared To Question--But Whenever He Entered Alone His Empty 
 Room He Knew That He Turned Instinctively To Draw Strength And Courage 
 From Her Pictured Face. It Was A Face That Had Followed After The Ideal 
 Beauty, And In Her Spiritual Isolation, As Of One Devoted To An Inner 
 Vision, He Had Always Found The Peculiar Pathetic Quality Of Her Charm. 
 Into Her Verse, Chastened And Restrained By The Sense For Perfection 
 Which Dwelt In Her Art, She Had Put, He Knew, This Same Cloistral Vision 
 Of An Unrealised World--A Vision Which Had Expanded And Blossomed In 
 The Luxuriant If Slightly Formal Garden Of Her Intellect. The World She 
 Looked Upon Was A World, As Adams Had Once Said, "Seen Through The Haze 
 Of A Golden Temperament"--The Dream Of An Imaginative Mysticism, Of A 
 Conventual Purity, A Dream Which Is To The Reality As The Soul Of A Man 
 Is To The Body. And It Was This Inspired Divination, This Luminous 
 Idealism, Which Had Caused Adams To Exclaim When He Put Down Her First 
 Small Gray Volume: "Is It Possible That We Can Still See Visions?" 
   
 A Little Later, When He Came To Know Her, He Found That The Vision She 
 Looked Upon Had Coloured Not Only Her Own Soul, But Even The Outward 
 Daily Happenings Of Her Life. For Him She Was From The First Compacted 
 Of Divine Mysteries, Of Exquisite Surprises, And He Loved To Fancy That 
 He Could See Her Genius Burning Like A Clear Flame Within Her And 
 Shining At Vivid Moments With A Still Soft Radiance In Her Face. He 
 Always Thought Of Her Soul As Of Something Luminous, And There Were 
 Instants When It Seemed To Touch Her Eyes And Her Mouth With An Edge Of 
 Light. Beyond This Her Complexities Remained For Him As On The Day When 
 He First Saw Her--If She Was Obscure It Was The Obscurity Of A Star Seen 
 Through A Fog--And The Desire To Understand Lost Itself Presently In The 
 Bewilderment Of His Misapprehension. At Last, However, He Had Put Her, 
 As It Were, Tentatively Aside, Had Relinquished His Attempt To Reduce 
 Her To A Formula With The Despairing Admission That She Was, Take Her As 
 You Would, A Subtlety That Compelled One To A Mental Effort. The Effort 
 Which He Had Up To This Time Associated With The Society Of Women Had 
 Been Of Anything But A Mental Character. There Was The Effort Of 
 Putting One's Best Physical Foot In Advance, The Effort Of Keeping One's 
 Person Conspicuously In Evidence And One's Intellect As Unobtrusively In 
 Abeyance--The Material Effort Of Appearing Always In One's Best 
 Trousers, The Moral Effort Of Presenting Always One's Worst 
 Intelligence. It Had Seemed To Him Until He Met Laura--And His Opinion 
 Was The Effect Of A Limited Experience Upon A Large Philosophic 
 Ignorance--That The Female Sex Played The Part In Nature Which Is 
 Performed By The Chorus In A Greek Tragedy--That It Shrilly Voiced The 
 Horrors Of The Actual In The Face Of A Divine Indifference--And 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 4 Pg 32 
 Strenuously Insisted Upon The Importance Of The Eternal Detail. From 
 Connie He Had Gathered That The Feminine Mind Tended Naturally Toward A 
 Material Philosophy--Toward A Deification Of The Body, A Faith In The 
 Fugitive Allurement Of The Senses, And Because Of His Earlier Initiation 
 He Had Taken Laura's Intellectual Radiance As The Shining Of A Virtually 
 Disembodied Spirit. His Own Senses Had Led Him, He Recognised Now, To 
 Disastrous Issues; His Love For Connie Had Been The Prompting Of Mere 
 Physical Impulse, And He Had Emerged From It With A Feeling Of Escaping 
 Into Freedom. Too Much Nature He Had Learned During Those Months Of 
 Mental Apathy Is In Its Way Quite As Destructive As Too Little--There 
 Must Be A Soul In Desire To Keep It Alive, He Understood At Last, Or The 
 Perishing Body Of It Will Decay For Lack Of A Vital Flame In The Very 
 Hour Of Its Fulfilment. A Colder Man Might Have Come To Such Knowledge 
 Along Impersonal Paths, A Coarser One Would Never Have Gone Beyond It, 
 But In Adams The Old Fighting Spirit--A Survival Of The Uncompromising 
 Puritan Conscience--Had Brought Him Up Again, Soul And Body, To Struggle 
 Afresh For A Cleaner And A Sharper Air. Life Had Meant More To Him In 
 The Beginning Than A Mere Series Of Sensations--More Even Than Any 
 Bodily Conditions, Any Material Attainment; And It Was The Final Triumph 
 Of His Austere Vision That It Should Mean Most Of All When It Seemed To 
 A Casual Glance To Contain Least Of Actual Value. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 5 Pg 33 
 In Which A Young Man Dreams Dreams 
   
   
 Since Coming To New York Mrs. Trent Had Taken A Small Apartment In A Big 
 Apartment House, Where She Lived With Her Son A Perfectly Provincial As 
 Well As A Strictly Secluded Life. She Was A Large, Florid, Motherly Old 
 Lady Who Still Wore Mourning For A Husband Who Had Been Killed While Fox 
 Hunting Twenty-Five Years Ago. Her Face Resembled A Friendly And 
 Auspicious Full Moon, And Above It Her Shining Hair Rolled Like A 
 Parting Of Silvery Clouds. Day Or Night She Was Always Engaged In 
 Knitting A Purple Shawl, Which Appeared Never To Have Been Finished 
 Since Her Son's Infancy, For His Earliest Recollection Was Of The Plump, 
 Soft Balls Of Brilliant Yarn And The Long Ivory Knitting Needles Which 
 Clicked Briskly While She Worked With A Pleasant, Familiar Sound. To 
 This Day The Clicking Of Those Needles Brought To His Mouth The Taste Of 
 Large Slices Of Bread And Jam, And To His Ears The Soothing Murmur Of 
 Bible Stories Told In The Twilight. 
   
 She Was Always, Too, Serene Gossip That She Was, Full Of A Monotonous, 
 Rippling Stream Of Words, And If Her Days In New York Were Trying To Her 
 Body And Burdened With Homesickness For Her Heart, No One--Not Even St. 
 George Himself--Had Ever Surprised So Much As A Passing Shadow Upon Her 
 Face. The Young Man's Untiring Pursuit Of Managers And Of Players Had 
 Left Her Continually Alone, But She Busied Herself Cheerfully About Her 
 Housekeeping, And Found Diversion In Yielding To An Inordinate Curiosity 
 Concerning Her Neighbours. Once Or Twice She Had Questioned Him About 
 His Absence, And This Was Especially So The Morning After His Meeting 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 5 Pg 34 
 With Laura Wilde. 
   
 "You Didn't Tell Me Where You Were Yesterday, St. George," She Observed 
 At Breakfast; "Did You Meet Any One Who Is Likely To Be Of Use? I 
 Remember Beverly Pierce Told Me That Everything Had To Come Through 
 Introductions In The North." 
   
 He Looked At Her Steadily A Moment Before Replying, Taking In All The 
 Lovely Details Of Her Appearance Behind The Coffee Tray--The Morning 
 Sunlight On Her White Hair And On The Massive, Hand-Beaten, Old Silver 
 Service, The Solitary Rose He Had Purchased In The Street Standing 
 Between Them In A Slender Bohemian Vase, Brought From The Rare Old China 
 In The Press Just At Her Back, The Dainty Hemstitching On Her Collar And 
 Cuffs Of Fine Thread Cambric, And Lastly The Vivid Spot Of Color Made By 
 The Knitting She Had Laid Aside. 
   
 "I Met Laura Wilde," He Answered Presently, "But As You Never Read 
 Poetry You Can't Understand Just What It Means." 
   
 As She Held The Cream Jug Poised Above His Coffee Cup Mrs. Trent Smiled 
 Back At Him With A Placid Wonder. 
   
 "Who Is She, My Son? A Lady--I Mean A _Real_ One?" 
   
 "Oh, Yes, Sterling." 
   
 "But She Writes Verse You Say! Is It Improper?" 
   
 His Eyes Shone With Amusement. "Improper! Why, What An Idea!" 
   
 "I'm Sure I Don't Know How It Is," Responded His Mother, Carefully 
 Measuring With Her Eye The Correct Allowance Of Cream, "But Somehow 
 Women Always Seem To Get Immodest When They Take To Verse. It's As If 
 They Went Into It For The Express Purpose Of Airing Their 
 Improprieties." 
   
 "I Say!" He Exclaimed, With Gentle Mockery, "Have You Been Reading 
 'Sappho' At Your Age?" 
   
 She Continued To Regard Him Blandly, Without So Much As A Flicker Of 
 Humour In Her Serene Blue Eyes. "Your Grandfather Used To Be Very Fond 
 Of Quoting Something From 'Sappho,'" She Returned Thoughtfully, "Or Was 
 It From Mr. Pope? I Can't Remember Which Or What It Was Except That It 
 Was Hardly The Kind Of Thing You Would Recite To A Lady." 
   
 Trent Laughed Good-Humouredly As He Received His Coffee Cup. 
   
 "Well You Can't Point A Moral With Miss Wilde," He Rejoined, "You'd Be 
 At Liberty To Recite Her To Anybody Who Had The Sense To Understand 
 Her." 
   
 "Is She Very Deep?" 
   
 "She's Profound--She's Wonderful--She's A Genius." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 5 Pg 35 
   
 Mrs. Trent Shook Her Head A Little Doubtfully. "I Don't See That A Woman 
 Has Any Business To Be A Genius," She Remarked. "And I Can't Help Being 
 Prejudiced Against Women Writers, Your Father Always Was. It's As If 
 They Really Pretended To Know As Much As A Man. When They Publish Books 
 I Suppose They Expect Men To Read Them And That In Itself Is A Kind Of 
 Conceit." 
   
 Trent Yielded The Point As He Helped Himself To The Cakes Brought In By 
 An Old Negro Servant. 
   
 "Well, I Shan't Ask Miss Wilde To Call On You," He Laughed, "So You 
 Won't Be Apt To Run Across The Learned Of Your Sex." 
   
 "Oh, I Shouldn't Mind Myself," Responded The Old Lady, With Amiability, 
 "But I Do Hate To Have You Thrown With Women That You Wouldn't Meet At 
 Home." 
   
 "I Certainly Shouldn't Meet Miss Wilde At Home If That Is What You 
 Mean." 
   
 "It's Bad Enough To Live In A Partitioned Cage Like This," Resumed Mrs. 
 Trent, In Her Soft, Expressionless Voice, "And To Dry Your Clothes On 
 Your Neighbour's Roofs, But I Can Bear Anything So Long As We Are Not 
 Forced To Associate With Common People. Of Course I Don't Expect To Find 
 The Manners Of Virginia Up Here," She Added As A Last Concession, "But I 
 May As Well Confess That The People I've Come Across Don't Seem To Me To 
 Be Exactly Civil." 
   
 "Just As We Don't Seem To Them To Be Particularly Worldly-Wise, I Dare 
 Say." 
   
 She Nodded Her Head, Almost Without Hearing Him, While Her Even Tones 
 Rippled On Over Her Quaint Ideas, Which Shone To Her Son's Mind Like 
 Little Silver Pebbles Beneath The Shallow Stream. 
   
 "I'm Almost Reconciled To The Fact That Old Ladies Wear Colours And 
 Flowers In Their Bonnets," She Pursued, "To Say Nothing Of Low-Neck 
 Dresses, But It Does Seem To Me That They Might Show A Little Ordinary 
 Politeness. I Met The Doctor Coming Out Of The Apartment Downstairs, So 
 In Common Decency I Went Immediately To Enquire Who Was Sick, And 
 Carried Along A Glass Of Chicken Jelly. The Woman Who Opened The Door 
 Was Rather Rude," She Finished With A Sigh. "I Don't Believe Such A 
 Thing Had Ever Happened To Her Before In The Whole Course Of Her Life." 
   
 Trent Gave Her A Tender Glance Across The Coffee Service. 
   
 "Probably Not," He Admitted, "But I Wouldn't Waste My Jelly If I Were 
 You." 
   
 "I Sha'n't" She Determined Sadly, "And That's The Thing I Miss Most Of 
 All--Visiting The Sick." 
   
 "You Might Devote Yourself To The Hospitals--There Are Plenty Of Them It 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 5 Pg 36 
 Seems." 
   
 Her Resignation, However, Was Complete, And She Showed No Impulse To 
 Reach Out Actively Again. "It Wouldn't Be The Same, My Dear--I Don't 
 Want Strange Paupers But Real Friends. Do You Know," She Added, With A 
 Despair That Was Almost Abject, "I Was Counting Up This Morning The 
 People I Might Speak To If I Met Them In The Street, And I Got Them In 
 Easily On The Fingers Of One Hand. That Included," She Confessed After A 
 Hesitation, "The Doctor, The Butcher's Boy And The Woman Who Comes To 
 Scrub. It Would Surprise You To Find What A Very Interesting Woman She 
 Is." 
   
 Trent Rose From His Chair And, Coming Round To Where She Sat, Gave Her A 
 Boyish Hug Of Sympathy. "You're A Regular Angel Of A Mother," He Said 
 And Added Playfully, While He Still Held Her, "Even Then I Don't See How 
 You Make It Five." 
   
 She Put Up Her Large White Hand And Smoothed His Hair Across His 
 Forehead. "That's Only Because I Made An Acquaintance In The Elevator 
 Yesterday," She Replied. 
   
 "In The Elevator! How?" 
   
 "The Thing Always Makes Me Nervous, You Know--I Can't Abide It, And I'd 
 Much Rather Any Day Go Up And Down The Seven Flights--But She Met Me As 
 I Started To Walk And Persuaded Me To Come Inside. Then She Held My Hand 
 Until I Got Quite To The Bottom." 
   
 "Indeed," Said Trent Suspiciously; "Who Was She?" 
   
 "Her Name Is Christina Coles, And She Came From Clarke County. I Knew 
 Her Grandfather." 
   
 "Thank Heaven!" Breathed Trent, And His Voice Betrayed His Happy 
 Reassurance. 
   
 "She's Really Very Pretty--All The Coles Were Handsome--Her Great-Aunt 
 Was Once A Famous Beauty. Do You Remember My Speaking Of Her--Miss Betty 
 Coles?" He Shook His Head, And She Proceeded With Her Reminiscence. 
   
 "Well, She Was Said To Have Received Fifty Proposals Before Her 
 Twenty-Fifth Birthday, But She Never Married. On Her Last Visit To Me, 
 When She Was A Very Old Lady, I Asked Her Why--And Her Answer Was: 'Pure 
 Fastidiousness.'" She Had Picked Up Her Purple Shawl, And The Long Ivory 
 Knitting Needles Began To Click. 
   
 "But I'm More Interested In The Young Lady Of The Elevator--What Is She 
 Like?" 
   
 "Not The Beauty That Betty Was, But Still Very Pretty, With The Same 
 Blue Eyes And Brown Hair, Which She Wears Parted Exactly As Her Aunt Did 
 Fifty Years Ago. I Fear, Though," She Finished In A Whisper, "I Really 
 Fear--That She Writes." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 5 Pg 37 
 "Is That So? Did She Tell You?" 
   
 "Not In Words, But She Carried A Parcel Exactly Like Your Manuscripts, 
 And She Spoke--Oh, So Seriously--Of Her Work. She Spoke Of It Quite As 
 If It Were A Baby." 
   
 "By Jove!" He Gasped, And After A Moment, "I Hope At Any Rate That She 
 Will Be A Comfort." 
   
 With Her Knitting Still In Her Hands, She Rose And Went To The Window, 
 Where She Stood Placidly Staring At The Sunlight Upon The Blackened 
 Chimney-Pots. "At Least I Can Talk To Her About Her Aunt," She Returned. 
 Then Her Gaze Grew More Intense, And She Almost Flattened Her Nose 
 Against The Pane. "I Declare I Wonder What That Woman Is Doing Out There 
 On That Fire-Escape," She Observed. 
   
 After He Had Got Into His Overcoat Trent Came Back To Give Her A Parting 
 Kiss. "Find Out By Luncheon Time," He Returned Gaily. 
   
 When Presently He Entered The Elevator He Found It Already Occupied By A 
 Young Lady Whom He Recognised From His Mother's Description As Christina 
 Coles. She Was Very Pretty, But, Even More Than By Her Prettiness, He 
 Was Struck By Her Peculiar Steadfastness Of Look, As Of One Devoted To A 
 Single Absorbing Purpose. He Noticed, Too, That The Little Tan Coat She 
 Wore Was Rather Shabby, And That There Was A Small Round Hole In One Of 
 The Fingers Of Her Glove. When She Spoke, As She Did When Leaving The 
 Key With The Man In Charge Of The Elevator, Her Voice Sounded Remarkably 
 Fresh And Pleasant. They Left The House Together, But While She Walked 
 Rapidly Toward Broadway He Contented Himself With Strolling Leisurely 
 Along Fourth Avenue, Where He Bent A Vacant Gaze On The Objects 
 Assembled In The Windows Of Dealers In "Antiques." 
   
 But His Thoughts Did Not So Much As Brush The Treasures At Which He 
 Stared, And Neither The Hurrying Crowd--Which Had A Restless, Workaday 
 Look At The Morning Hour--Nor The Noisily Clanging Cars Broke Into The 
 Exquisitely Reared Castle Of His Dreams. Since The Evening Before His 
 Imagination Had Been Thrilling To The Tune Of Some Spirited Music, 
 Flowing Presumably From These Airy Towers, And As He Went On Over The 
 Wet Sunlight On The Sidewalk, He Was Still Keeping Step To The Exalted 
 If Unreal Measures. Never In His Life; Not Even In His Wildest Literary 
 Ecstasies, Had He Felt So Assured Of The Beauty, Of The Bountifulness, 
 Of His Coming Years--So Filled With A Swelling Thankfulness For The Mere 
 Physical Fact Of Birth. He Was Twenty-Five, He Believed Passionately In 
 His Own Powers, And He Was, He Told Himself With Emphasis, In Love For 
 The First And Only Time. In The Confused Tangle Of His Fancy He Saw 
 Laura Like Some Great White Flower, Growing Out Of Reach, Yet Not 
 Entirely Beyond Endeavour, And The Ladder That Went Up To Her Was Made 
 By His Own Immediate Successes. Then The Footlights Before His Play Swam 
 In His Picture And He Heard Already The Applause Of Crowded Houses And 
 Felt In His Head The Intoxication Of His Triumph. Act By Act, Scene By 
 Scene, He Rehearsed In Fancy His Great Drama, Seeing The Players Throng 
 Before The Footlights And Seeing, Too, Laura Applauding Softly From A 
 Stage Box At The Side. He Had Had Moments Of Despondency Over His Idea, 
 Had Grovelled In Abject Despair During Trying Periods Of Execution, But 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 5 Pg 38 
 Now All Uncertainty--All Misgivings Evaporated Like An Obscuring Fog 
 Before A Burst Of Light. The Light, Indeed, Had At The Moment The Full 
 Radiance Of A Great Red Glow Such As He Had Seen Used For Effective 
 Purposes Upon The Stage--And Just As Every Object Of Scenery Had Taken, 
 For The Time, A Portion Of The Transfiguring Suffusion--So Now The 
 External Ugly Details Among Which He Moved Were Bathed In The High 
 Coloured Light Of His Imagination. 
   
 But If The End Is Sometimes Long In Coming, It Comes At Last Even To The 
 Visions Of Youth, And When His Tired Limbs Finally Dragged His Soaring 
 Spirit To Earth, He Took A Passing Car And Came Home To Luncheon. The 
 Glamour Had Faded Suddenly From His Dreams, As If A Bat's Wing Had 
 Fluttered Overhead, And In His New Mood, He Felt A Resurgence Of His Old 
 Self-Consciousness. He Was Provoked By The Suspicion That He Had Shown 
 Less As A Coming Dramatist Than As A Present Fool, And He Contrasted His 
 Own Awkwardness With Adams' Whimsical Ease Of Manner. Did A Woman Ever 
 Forget How A Man Appeared When She First Met Him? Would Any Amount Of 
 Fame To-Morrow Obliterate From Laura's Memory His Embarrassment Of 
 Yesterday? He Had Heard That The Surface Impression Was What Counted In 
 The Feminine Mind, And This Made Him Think Enviously, For A Minute, Of 
 Perry Bridewell--Of His Handsome Florid Face And His Pleasant Animal 
 Magnetism. Perry Was Stupid And An Egoist, And Yet He Had Heard That 
 Mrs. Bridewell, For All Her Beauty And Her Wit, Adored Him, While He 
 Openly Neglected Her. Was The Secret Of Success, After All, Simply An 
 Indifference To Everyone's Needs Except One's Own? Or Was It Rather The 
 Courage To Impress The World That One's Own Were The Only Needs That 
 Counted? 
   
 He Was Late For Luncheon But His Mother Had Waited For Him, And He Found 
 When He Entered The Drawing Room That Christina Coles Was With Her. The 
 Girl Still Wore Her Hat, But She Had Removed Her Jacket, And It Lay With 
 A Little Brown Package On The Sofa. As She Spoke To Him He Was Struck 
 Afresh By The Singular Concentration Of Her Expression. 
   
 "Your Mother Tells Me That You've Written A Play," She Began, A Little 
 Shyly; "She Says, Too, That It Is Wonderful." 
   
 "'She Says' Is Well Put," He Retorted Gaily, "But I Hear That You, Also, 
 Are Among The Prophets." 
   
 "I Am Nothing Else," She Answered Earnestly. "It Is Everything To Me--It 
 Is My Life." 
   
 Her Frankness Startled Him Unpleasantly, And But For Her Girlish 
 Prettiness, He Might Have Felt Himself Almost Repelled. As It Was He 
 Merely Glanced Appealingly At His Mother, Who Intervened With A Gesture 
 Of Her Knitting Needle. "She Writes Stories," Explained The Old Lady, 
 Appearing To Transfix Her Subject On The Ivory Point; "It Is Just As I 
 Imagined." 
   
 The Girl Herself Met His Eyes Almost Fiercely, Reminding Him Vaguely Of 
 The Look With Which A Lioness Might Defend Her Threatened Young. 
   
 "I've Done Nothing Yet," She Declared, "But I Mean To--I Mean To If It 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 5 Pg 39 
 Takes Every Single Hour I Have To Live." Then Her Manner Changed 
 Suddenly, And She Impressed Him As Melting From Her Hard Reserve. "Oh, 
 She Tells Me That You've Met Laura Wilde!" She Said. 
   
 The Sacred Name Struck Him, After His Impassioned Dreaming, Like A Sharp 
 Blow Between The Eyes, And He Met The Girl's Animated Gesture With A 
 Look Of Blank Aversion. 
   
 "I've Met Her--Yes," He Answered Coldly. 
   
 But Her Enthusiasm Was At White Heat, And He Saw What He Had Thought 
 Mere Prettiness In Her Warm To Positive Beauty. "And You Adore Her Work 
 As I Do?" She Exclaimed. 
   
 After A Moment's Hesitation His Ardour Flashed Out To Meet Her Own. "Oh, 
 Yes, I Adore Her Work And Her!" He Said. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 6 Pg 40 
   
 Shows That Mr. Worldly-Wise-Man May Belong To Either Sex 
   
   
 Several Afternoons Later Trent Was To Have Further Light Thrown On The 
 Character Of Christina Coles By A Chance Remark Of Roger Adams, Into 
 Whose Office He Had Dropped For A Moment As He Was On His Way To Make 
 His First Call Upon Mrs. Bridewell. 
   
 After A Few Friendly Enquiries About The Young Man's Own Work, And The 
 Report Of A Promising Word From The Great Benson, Adams Took Up A Letter 
 Lying Loose Among The Papers On His Big Littered Desk. 
   
 "Half The Tragedy In New York Is Contained In A Letter Like This," He 
 Observed. "Do You Know, By The Way, That The Mass Of Outside Literary 
 Workers Drawn In At Last By The Whirlpool Constitutes Almost A 
 Population? Take This Girl, Now, She Is So Consumed By Her Ambition, For 
 Heaven Knows What, That She Comes Here And Starves In An Attic Rather 
 Than Keep Away In Comfort. That Reminds Me," He Added, With A Sudden 
 Recollection, "She's From Your Part Of The Country." 
   
 "Indeed!" An Intuition Shot Like A Conviction Into Trent's Mind. "Could 
 Her Name, I Wonder, By Any Chance Be Coles?" 
   
 "You Know Her Then?" 
   
 "I've Met Her, But Do You Mean To Say That Ability Is What She Hasn't 
 Got?" 
   
 "For Some Things I've No Doubt She Has An Amazing Amount, Only She's 
 Mistaken Its Probable Natural Bent. She Strikes Me As A Woman Who Was 
 Born For The Domestic Hearth, Or Failing That She'd Do Admirably, I Dare 
 Say, In A Hospital." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 6 Pg 41 
   
 "It's The Literary Instinct, Then, That's Missing In Her?" 
   
 "Not The Instinct So Much As The Literary Stuff, And In That She's Not 
 Different From A Million Others. She Is Evidently On Fire With The 
 Impulse To Create, But The Power--The Creative Matter--Isn't In Her. Let 
 Her Keep Up, And She'll Probably Go On Doing 'Hack' Work Until Her 
 Death." 
   
 "But She's So Pretty," Urged Trent With A Chivalric Qualm--And He 
 Remembered Her Smooth Brown Hair Parted Over Her Rosy Ears, Her Blue 
 Eyes, Fresh As Flowers, And The Peculiar Steadfastness That Possessed 
 Her Face. 
   
 "The More's The Pity," Said Adams, While The Muscles About His Mouth 
 Twitched Slightly, As They Always Did When He Was Deeply Moved, "It's A 
 Bigger Waste. I Wrote To Her As A Father Might Have Done And Begged Her 
 To Give It Up," He Went On, "And In Return," He Tapped The Open Sheet, 
 "She Sends Me This Fierce, Pathetic Little Letter And Informs Me Grandly 
 That Her Life Is Dedicated. Dedicated, Good Lord!" He Exclaimed 
 Compassionately, "Dedicated To Syndicated Stories In The Sunday Press 
 And An Occasional Verse In The Cheaper Magazines." 
   
 "And There's Absolutely Nothing To Be Done?" Asked Trent. 
   
 Adams Met The Question With A Frown. 
   
 "Oh, If It Would Make It All Come Right In The End, I'd Go On Publishing 
 Her Empty, Trite Little Articles Until Gabriel Blows His Trumpet." 
   
 "It Wouldn't Help, Though, After All." 
   
 "Well, Hardly--The Quick Way Is Sure To Be The Most Merciful," He 
 Laughed Softly With The Quality Of Kindly Humour Which Never Failed Him, 
 "We'll Starve Her Out As Soon As Possible," He Declared. 
   
 As If To Dismiss The Subject, He Refolded The Letter, Slipped It In Its 
 Envelope, And Placed It In One Of His Crammed Pigeon-Holes. "Thank God, 
 Your Own Case Isn't Of The Hopeless Kind!" He Exclaimed Fervently. 
   
 "Somehow Success Looks Like Selfishness," Returned Trent, Showing By His 
 Tone The Momentary Depression Which Settled So Easily Upon His Variable 
 Moods. 
   
 At The Speech Adams Turned Upon Him The Full Sympathy Of His Smile, 
 While He Enclosed In A Warm Grasp The Hand Which The Young Man Held Out. 
   
 "It's What We're Made For," He Responded Cheerily, "Success In One Way 
 Or Another." 
   
 His Words, And Even More His Look, Remained With Trent Long Afterwards, 
 Blowing, Like A Fresh Strong Wind, Through The Hours Of Despondency 
 Which Followed For Him Upon Any Temporary Exaltation. The Young Man Had 
 A Trick Of Remembering Faces, Not As Wearing Their Accustomed Daily 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 6 Pg 42 
 Look, But As He Had Seen Them Animated And Transfigured By Any Vivid 
 Moment Of Experience, And He Found Later That When He Thought Of Adams 
 It Was To Recall The Instant's Kindly Lighting Of The Eyes, The Flicker 
 Of Courageous Humour About The Mouth And The Dauntless Ring In The 
 Usually Quiet Voice. He Realised Now, As He Walked Through The Humming 
 Streets, That Success Or Failure Is Not An Abstract Quantity But A 
 Relative Value--That A Man May Be A Shining Success In The World's Eyes 
 And A Comparative Failure In His Own. To Trent, Adams Had For Years 
 Represented The Cultured And Scholarly Critic--The Writer Who, In His 
 Limited Individual Field, Had Incontestably "Arrived." Now, For The 
 First Time, He Saw That The Editor Looked Upon Himself As A Man Of Small 
 Achievements, And That, Inasmuch As His Idea Had Been Vastly More Than 
 His Execution, He Felt Himself To Belong To The Unfulfilled Ones Of The 
 Earth. 
   
 When, A Little Later, He Reached Mrs. Bridewell's House In Sixty-Ninth 
 Street The Servant Invited Him, After A Moment's Wait Below, Into Her 
 Sitting-Room Upstairs, And, Following The Man's Lead, He Was Finally 
 Ushered Into A Charming Apartment Upon The Second Floor. A Light Cloud 
 Of Cigarette Smoke Trailed Toward Him As He Entered, And When He Paused, 
 Confused By Broken Little Peals Of Laughter, He Made Out A Group Of 
 Ladies Gathered About A Tiny Oriental Table Upon Which Stood A Tray Of 
 Turkish Coffee. Gerty Rose From The Circle As He Advanced, And Moved A 
 Single Step Forward, While The Pale Green Flounces Of Her Train Rippled 
 Prettily About Her Feet. Her Hair Was Loosely Arranged, And She Gave Him 
 An Odd Impression Of Wearing What In His Provincial Mind He Called A 
 "Wrapper"--His Homely Name For The Exquisite Garment Which Flowed, 
 Straight And Unconfined, From Her Slender Shoulders. His Mother, He 
 Remembered, Not Without A Saving Humour, Had Always Insisted That A Lady 
 Should Appear Before The Opposite Sex Only In The Entire Armour Of Her 
 "Stays" And Close-Fitting Bodice. 
   
 Gerty, As She Mentioned The Names Of Her Callers, Subsided With Her 
 Ebbing Green Waves Into The Chair From Which She Had Risen, And Held Her 
 Cigarette Toward Trent With A Pretty Inviting Gesture. Her Delicate 
 Grace Gave The Pose A Piquant Attraction, And He Found Himself Watching 
 With Delight The Tiny Rings Of Smoke Which Curled Presently From Her 
 Parted Lips. As She Smoked She Held Her Chin Slightly Lifted, And 
 Regarded Him From Beneath Lowered Lids With An Arch And Careless Humour. 
   
 "If You'd Been The Pope Himself," She Remarked, As An Indifferent 
 Apology, "I'd Hardly Have Done More Than Fling The Table-Cover Over My 
 Head. Even You, After You'd Spent A Morning Trying On A Velvet Gown, 
 Would Require A Lounge And A Good Smoke." 
   
 He Admitted That He Thought It Probable, And Then Turned To One Of The 
 Callers Who Had Spoken--A Handsome Woman With Gray Hair, Which Produced 
 An Odd Effect Of Being Artificial. 
   
 "I Wish I'd Done Nothing Worse Than Try On Clothes," She Observed, "But 
 I've Been To Lunch With An Old Lover." 
   
 "Poor Dear," Murmured Gerty, Compassionately, As She Passed Trent A Cup 
 Of Coffee, "Was He So Cruel As To Tell You You'd Retained Your Youth?" 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 6 Pg 43 
   
 "He Did Worse," Sighed The Handsome Woman, "He Assured Me I Hadn't." 
   
 "Well, He Couldn't Have Done More If He'd Married You," Declared Gerty, 
 With Her Gleeful Cynicism. 
   
 "He Was Too Brutally Frank For A Husband," Remarked A Second Caller As 
 She Sipped Her Coffee. "You Showed More Discretion, Susie, Than I Gave 
 You Credit For." 
   
 "Oh, You Needn't Compliment Me," Protested Susie; "In Those Days He 
 Hadn't A Penny." 
   
 "Indeed! And Now?" 
   
 "Now He Has A Great Many, But He Has Attached To Himself A Wife, And I A 
 Husband. Well, I Can't Say Honestly That I Regret Him," She Laughed, 
 "For If He Has Lived Down His Poverty He Hasn't His Passion For Red--He 
 Wore A Red Necktie. Why Is It," She Lamented Generally To The Group, 
 "That The Male Mind Leans Inevitably Toward Violent Colours?" 
   
 "Perhaps They Appeal To The Barbaric Part Of Us," Suggested Trent, 
 Becoming Suddenly At Ease Amid The Battle Of Inanities. 
   
 "Have You A Weakness For Red, Too, Mr. Trent?" Enquired Gerty. 
   
 The Sparkle In His Eyes Leaped Out At Her Challenge. 
   
 "Only In The Matter Of Hair," He Retorted Boldly. 
   
 She Regarded Him Intently For A Moment, While He Felt Again As He Had 
 Felt At Laura Wilde's, Not Only Her Fascination--Her Personal 
 Radiance--But The Conviction That She Carried At Heart A Deep Disgust, A 
 Heavy Disenchantment, Which Her Ostentatious Gayety Could Not Conceal. 
 Even Her Beauty Gave Back To Him A Suggestion Of Insincerity, And He 
 Wondered If The Brightness Of Her Hair And Of Her Mouth Was As 
 Artificial As Her Brilliant Manner. It Was Magnificent, But, After All, 
 It Was Not Nature. 
   
 "Because I Warn You Now," She Pursued, After The Brief Pause, "That If 
 You Bind Your First Play In Red I Shall Refuse To Read It." 
   
 "You Can't Escape On That Ground," Rejoined Trent, "I'll Make It Green." 
   
 "Well, You're More Civilised Than Perry," Declared Gerty, With One Of 
 Her Relapses Into Defiant Ridicule, Which Caused Trent To Wonder If She 
 Were Not Acting Upon An Intuition Which Taught Her That A Slight Shock 
 Is Pleasantly Stimulating To The Fancy, "And I Suppose It's My 
 Association With Him That Convinces Me If We'd Leave Your Sex Alone It 
 Would Finally Revert To The Savage State And To Skin Girdles." 
   
 "Now Don't You Think Perry Would Look Rather Nice In Skins?" Enquired 
 The Handsome Woman. "I Can Quite See Him With His Club Like The Man 
 In--Which One Of Wagner's?" 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 6 Pg 44 
   
 "It Isn't The Club Of The Savage I Object To," Coolly Protested Gerty, 
 "It's The Taste. Perry Has Been Married To Me Five Years," She 
 Continued, Reflectively, "A Long Enough Period You Would Think To Teach 
 Even A Red Indian That My Hair Positively Shrieks At Anything Remotely 
 Resembling Pink. Yet When I Went To The Hot Springs Last Autumn He 
 Actually Had This Room Hung For Me In Terra-Cotta." 
   
 Trent Cast A Blank Stare About The Tapestried Walls. 
   
 "But Where Is It?" He Demanded. 
   
 "It's Gone," Was Gerty's Brief Rejoinder, And She Added, After A Moment 
 Devoted To Her Cigarette, "Now That's Where It Pays To Have The Wisdom 
 Of The Serpent. I Really Flatter Myself," She Admitted Complacently, 
 "That I've A Genius, I Did It So Beautifully. Your Young Innocent Would 
 Have Mangled Matters To The Point Of Butchery And Have Gloried Like A 
 Martyr In Her Domestic Squabbles, But I've Learned A Lesson Or Two From 
 Misfortune, And One Of Them Is That A Man Invariably Prides Himself Upon 
 Possessing The Quality He Hasn't Got. That's A Perfectly Safe Rule," She 
 Annotated Along The Margin Of Her Story. "I Used To Compliment An Artist 
 Upon His Art And An Apollo Upon His Beauty--But It Never Worked. They 
 Always Looked As If I Had Under-Valued Them, So Now I Industriously 
 Praise The Folly Of The Wise And The Wisdom Of The Fool." 
   
 "And The Decorative Talent Of Perry," Laughed One Of The Callers. 
   
 "You Needn't Smile," Commented Gerty, While Trent Watched The Little 
 Greenish Flame Dance In Her Eyes, "It Isn't Funny--It's Philosophy. I 
 Made It Out Of Life." 
   
 "But What About The Terra-Cotta?" Enquired Susie. 
   
 "Oh, As I've Said, I Did Nothing Reckless," Resumed Gerty, Relaxing 
 Among Her Cushions, "I Neither Slapped His Face Nor Went Into 
 Hysterics--These Tactics, I've Found, Never Work Unless One Happens To 
 Be A Prima Donna--So I Complimented Him Upon His Consideration And Sat 
 Down And Waited. That Night He Went To A Club Dinner--After The 
 Beautiful Surprise He'd Given Me He Felt That He Deserved A Little 
 Freedom--And The Door Had No Sooner Closed Upon Him Than I Paid The 
 Butler To Come In And Smoke The Walls. He Didn't Want To Do It At All, 
 So I Really Had To Pay Him Very High--I Gave Him A Suit Of Perry's 
 Evening Clothes. It's The Ambition Of His Life, You Know, To Look Like 
 Perry." 
   
 "How Under Heaven Did He Manage It?" Persisted Susie. "The Smoke, I 
 Mean, Not The Resemblance." 
   
 "There Are A Good Many Lamps About The House And We Brought Them All 
 In, Every One. The Butler Warned Me It Was Dangerous, But I Assured Him 
 I Was Desperate. That Settled It--That And The Evening Clothes--And By 
 The Time Perry Returned The Room Was Like An Extinct Volcano." 
   
 "And He Never Found Out?" Asked Susie, As The Callers Rose To Go. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 6 Pg 45 
   
 "Found Out! My Dear, Do You Really Give Him Credit For Feminine 
 Penetration? Well, If You Will Go--Good-Bye--And--Oh--Don't Look At My 
 Gown To-Morrow Night Or You'll Turn Blue With Envy," Then, As Trent 
 Started To Follow The Retreating Visitors, She Detained Him By A 
 Gesture. "Stay Awhile, Unless You're Bored," She Urged, "But If You're 
 Really Bored I Shan't Say A Word. I Assure You I Sometimes Bore Myself." 
   
 As He Fell Back Into His Chair Trent Was Conscious Of A Feeling Of 
 Intimacy, And Strange As It Was, It Dispelled Instantly His Engrossing 
 Shyness. 
   
 "I'm Not Bored," He Said, "I'm Merely Puzzled." 
   
 "Oh, I Know," Gerty Nodded, "But You'll Get Over It. I Puzzle Everybody 
 At First, But It Doesn't Last Because I'm Really As Clear As Running 
 Water. My Gayety And My Good Spirits Are But The Joys Of Flippancy, You 
 See." 
   
 "I Don't See," Protested Trent, His Eyes Warming. 
   
 She Laughed Softly, As If Rather Pleased Than Otherwise By The Frankness 
 Of His Admiration. "You Haven't Lost As Yet The Divine Faith Of Youth," 
 She Said, Carelessly Flicking The Ashes Of Her Cigarette Upon The Little 
 Table At Her Elbow. Then, Tossing The Burned End Into A Silver Tray, She 
 Pushed It From Her With A Decisive Movement. "I've Had Six," She 
 Observed, "And That's My Limit." 
   
 "What I'm Trying To Understand," Confessed Trent, Leaning Forward In His 
 Earnestness, "Is Why You Should Care So Greatly For Miss Wilde?" 
   
 Gerty Flashed Up Suddenly From Her Cushions. "And Pray Why Shouldn't I?" 
 She Demanded. 
   
 "Because," He Hesitated An Instant And Then Advanced With The Audacity 
 Born Of Ignorance, "You're As Much Alike As A Thrush And A Paroquet." 
   
 She Laughed Again. 
   
 "So You Consider Me A Paroquet?" 
   
 "In Comparison With Laura Wilde." 
   
 "Well, I'd Have Said A Canary," She Remarked Indulgently, "But We'll Let 
 It Pass. I Don't See Though," She Serenely Continued, "Why A Paroquet 
 Shouldn't Have A Feeling For A Thrush?" 
   
 He Shook His Head, Smiling. "It Seems A Bit Odd, That's All." 
   
 "Then, If It's Any Interest To You To Know It," Pursued Gerty, With A 
 Burst Of Confidence, "I'd Walk Across Brooklyn Bridge, Every Step Of The 
 Way, On My Knees For Laura. That's Because I Believe In Her," She Wound 
 Up Emphatically, "And Because, Too, I Don't Happen To Believe Much In 
 Anybody Else." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 6 Pg 46 
   
 "So You Know Her Well?" 
   
 "I Went To School With Her And I Adored Her Then, But I Adore Her Even 
 More To-Day. Somehow She Always Seems To Be Knocking For The Good In 
 One, And It Has To Come Out At Last Because She Stands So Patiently And 
 Waits. She Makes Me Over Every Time She Meets Me, Shapes Me After Some 
 Ideal Image Of Me She Has In Her Brain, And Then I'm Filled With 
 Desperate Shame If I Don't Seem At Least A Little Bit To Correspond With 
 It." 
   
 "I Understand," Said Trent Slowly; "One Feels Her As One Feels A Strong 
 Wind On A High Mountain. There's A Wonderful Bigness About Her." 
   
 "It's Because She's Different," Explained Gerty, "She's Kept So Apart 
 From Life That She Knows It Only In Its Elemental Freshness--She Has A 
 Kind Of Instinct For Truth Just As She Has For Poetry Or For Beauty, And 
 Our Little Quibbles, Our Incessant Inanities Have Never Troubled Her At 
 All." 
   
 The Servant Entered With A Card As She Finished, And After Reading The 
 Name She Made A Quick Movement Of Interest. 
   
 "Ask Him To Come Up," She Said To The Man, Adding Immediately As Trent 
 Rose To Go, "It's Arnold Kemper. Will You Stay And See Him?" 
   
 Trent Shook His Head, While He Held Out His Hand With A Laugh. "I Won't 
 Stay," He Answered; "I Don't Like Him." 
   
 She Looked Up Puzzled, Her Brows Bent In An Enquiring Frown. "Not Like 
 Him! Why, You've Never Met." 
   
 "What Has That To Do With It?" He Persisted Lightly. "One Doesn't Have 
 To Meet A Man To Hate Him." 
   
 "One Does Unless One's A Person Of Stupid Prejudices." 
   
 "Well, Maybe I Am," He Admitted, "But I Have My Side." 
   
 As The Portieres Were Drawn Back, He Turned Hastily Away, To Come Face 
 To Face With Gerty's Caller The Next Instant Upon The Threshold. Keen As 
 His Curiosity Was He Took In, At His Brief Glance, Only That Kemper 
 Presented A Bright And Brave Appearance And Walked With A Peculiarly 
 Energetic Step. 
   
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 7 Pg 47 
 The Irresistible Force 
   
   
 Gerty Was Leaning Forward Among Her Cushions And As Her Visitor 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 7 Pg 48 
 Approached She Held Out Her Hand, Still Faintly Scented With Cigarettes. 
 "Will You Have Coffee," She Asked, "Or Shall I Ring For Tea?" 
   
 He Sat Down In The Chair From Which Trent Had Risen And Replied With A 
 Gesture Of Happy Physical Exhaustion. "Let Me Have Some Coffee," He 
 Answered, "I've Been Out Golfing All The Morning, And If You Don't Prove 
 Mentally Stimulating I Shall Fall Asleep Before You. How Many Holes Do 
 You Think I Played To-Day?" 
   
 Gerty Shrugged Her Shoulders Over The Little Coffee Pot. "I Don't Know 
 And It Doesn't Interest Me," She Retorted. "After Six Months Of Europe 
 Do You Still Make A God Of Physical Exertion?" 
   
 The Genial Irony Of His Smile Flashed Back At Her, And His Eyes, Half 
 Quizzical, Half Searching, But Wholly Kind, Wandered Leisurely Down Her 
 Slender Figure. Even As He Lazily Sipped His Coffee, With His Closely 
 Clipped, Rather Large Brown Head Lying Against The Chair-Back, She Was 
 Made To Feel, Not Unpleasantly, The Compelling Animal Magnetism--The 
 "Personal Quantity," As She Had Called It--That Lay Behind The Masculine 
 Bluntness Of Manner He Affected. "Aren't You Rather Tumbled?" He 
 Enquired, With An Animated Glance, And, Though He Was Fond Of Boasting 
 That He Was The Only Man He Knew Who Never Flattered Women, Gerty Was 
 Conscious Of A Sudden Flush And The Pleased Conviction That She Must Be 
 Looking Her Very Best. It Was A Trick Of His, She Knew, To Flatter, As 
 It Were, By Paradox, To Deal With Delicate Inuendos And To Compliment By 
 Pleasant Contradiction. She Had Not Been A Woman Of The World Without 
 Reaping The Reward Of Knowledge, And Now, As She Leaned Back And Smiled 
 Brilliantly Into His Face, She Knew That, Despite The Apparent 
 Abruptness Of His Beginning, They Would Descend Inevitably To The Play 
 Of Personal Suggestion. His Measure Had Been Taken Long Ago, She Told 
 Herself, And Lay Tucked Away In The Receptacle Which Contained The 
 Varied Neatly Labelled Patterns Of Her Masculine World; But At The Same 
 Time She Was Perfectly Aware That Within Five Minutes He Would Pique 
 Afresh Both Her Interest And Her Liking. "You Can't Warm Yourself By 
 Fireworks," She Had Once Said To Him, And A Moment Later Had Paused To 
 Wonder At The Intrinsic Meaning Of A Daring Phrase Which He Had Spoken. 
   
 Still Sipping His Coffee, He Regarded Her With The Blithe Humour Which 
 Lent So Great A Charm To His Expression. 
   
 "I Don't See Why You Object To Exercise When It Saves My Life," He 
 Observed As He Took Up A Cigarette And Then Bent Forward To Hold It To 
 The Flame Of The Alcohol Lamp. 
   
 "I Don't Object Except When It Bores Me Out Of Mine," Responded Gerty 
 Lightly. 
   
 He Was Still Smiling When He Raised His Head. 
   
 "You Used To Like It Yourself," He Persisted. 
   
 "I Used To Like A Great Many Things Which Bore Me Now." 
   
 "Yes, You Used To Like Me," He Retorted Gaily. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 7 Pg 49 
   
 She Had So Confidently Expected The Remark, Had Left So Frank An Opening 
 For It, That While She Watched Him From Beneath Languid Eyelids A Little 
 Cynical Quiver Disturbed Her Lips. The Game Was As Old As The Garden Of 
 Eden, She Had Played It Well Or Ill From Her Cradle, And At Last She Had 
 Begun To Grow A Trifle Weary. She Had Found The Wisdom Which Is Hidden 
 At The Core Of All Dead Sea Fruit, And The Bitter Taste Of It Was Still 
 In Her Mouth. The World For Her Was A World Of Make-Believe--Of Lies So 
 Futile That Their Pretty Embroidered Shams Barely Covered The Ugly 
 Truths Beneath, And, Though She Had Pinned Her Faith Upon Falsehood And 
 Had Made Her Sacrifice To The Little Gods, There Were Moments Still When 
 The Undelivered Soul Within Her Awoke And Stirred As A Child Stirs In 
 The Womb. Even As She Went Back To The Game Anew, She Was Conscious That 
 It Would Be A Battle Of Meaningless Words, Of Shallow Insincerities--Yet 
 She Went Back, Nevertheless, Before The Disgust The Thought Awoke Had 
 Passed Entirely From Among Her Sensations. 
   
 "I Believe I Did," She Confessed With A Charming Shrug. 
   
 "But You Turned Against Me In The End--Women Always Do," He Lamented 
 Merrily, As He Flicked Away The Ashes Of His Cigarette. Then, With A 
 Perceptible Start Of Recollection, He Paused A Moment And Leaned Forward 
 To Look At Her More Closely. "By The Way, I Had A Shot At Your Friend 
 To-Day," He Said, "The Lady Who Looks Like An Old Picture And Does 
 Verse. Why On Earth Did She Take To Poetry?" He Demanded Impatiently. 
 "I Hate It--It's All Sheer Insanity." 
   
 "Well, Some Few Madmen Have Thought Otherwise," Remarked Gerty, Adding 
 Immediately, "And So You Met Laura. Oh, You Two! It Was The Irresistible 
 Force Meeting The Immovable Body. What Happened?" 
   
 He Regarded Her Quite Gravely While His Cigarette Burned Like A Little 
 Red Eye Between His Fingers. 
   
 "Nothing," He Responded At Last. "I Didn't Meet Her--I Merely Glimpsed 
 Her. She Has A Pair Of Eyes--You Didn't Tell Me." 
   
 Gerty Nodded. 
   
 "And I Forgot To Mention As Well That She Has A Nose And A Mouth And A 
 Chin. What An Oversight." 
   
 "Oh, I Didn't Bother About The Rest," He Said, And She Wondered If He 
 Could Be Half In Earnest Or If He Were Wholly Jesting, "But, By Jove, I 
 Went Overboard In Her Eyes And Never Touched Bottom." 
   
 For A Moment Gerty Stared At Him In Blank Amazement, In The Midst Of 
 Which She Promptly Told Herself That Henceforth She Would Be Prepared 
 For Any Eccentricities Of Which The Male Mind Might Be Capable. A Hot 
 Flush Mantled Her Cheek, And She Spoke In A Voice Which Had A New And 
 Womanly Ring Of Decision. 
   
 "You Would Not Like Her," She Said, "And She Would Hate You." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 7 Pg 50 
 With An Amused Exclamation He Replaced His Coffee Cup Upon The Table. 
 "Then She'd Be A Very Foolish Woman," He Observed. 
   
 "She Believes In All The Things That You Scoff At--She Believes In The 
 Soul, In People, And In Love--" 
   
 He Made A Protest Of Mock Dismay. "My Dear Girl, I've Been Too Hard Hit 
 By Love Not To Believe In It. On The Contrary, I Believe In It So Firmly 
 That I Think The Only Sure Cure For It Is Marriage." 
   
 At Her Swift Movement Of Aversion His Laughing Glance Made A Jest Of The 
 Words, And She Smiled Back At Him With The Fantastic Humour Which Had 
 Become Almost Her Natural Manner. It Was A Habit Of His To Treat 
 Sportively Even The Subjects Which He Reverenced, And In Reality She Had 
 Sometimes Felt Him To Be Less Of A Sober Cynic Than Herself. He Took His 
 Pleasures Where He Found Them, And There Was A Touch Of Pathos In The 
 Generous Eagerness With Which He Was Ready To Provide As Well For The 
 Pleasures Of Others. If He Lacked Imagination She Had Learned By Now 
 That He Did Not Fail In Its Sister Virtue, Sympathy, And His Keen Gray 
 Eyes, Which Expressed So Perfectly A Gay Derision, Were Not Slow, She 
 Knew, To Warm Into A Smiling Tenderness. 
   
 "Laura Is The Most Earnest Creature Alive," She Said After A Moment. 
   
 "Is That So? Then I Presume She Lacks A Sense Of Humour." 
   
 "She Has A Sense Of Honour At Any Rate." 
   
 With A Laugh He Settled His Figure More Comfortably In His Chair, And 
 While She Watched The Movement, A Little Fascinated By Its Easy Freedom, 
 She Felt A Sudden Impulse To Reach Out And Touch His Broad, Strong 
 Shoulders As She Might Have Touched The Shoulders Of A Statue. Were They 
 Really As Hard As Bronze, She Wondered, Or Was That Suggestion Of Latent 
 Power, Of Slumbering Energy, As Deceptive As The Caressing Glance He 
 Bent Upon Her? The Glance Meant Nothing She Was Aware--He Would Have 
 Regarded Her In Much The Same Way Had Perry Been At Her Side, Would Have 
 Shone Quite As Affectionately, Perhaps, Upon Her Mother. Yet, In Spite 
 Of Her Worldly Knowledge, She Felt Herself Yielding To It As To A 
 Delicate Flattery. Her Eyes Were Still On Him, And Presently He Caught 
 Her Gaze And Held It By A Look Which, For All Its Fervour, Had An Edge 
 Of Biting Irony. There Was A Meaning, A Mystery In His Regard, But His 
 Words When At Last They Came Sounded Almost Empty. 
   
 "Oh, That's Well Enough In Its Way," He Said, "But As A Safeguard 
 There's No Virtue Alive That Can Stand Against A Sense Of Humour. An 
 Instinct For The Ridiculous Will Keep Any Man From Going To The Devil." 
   
 She Shot Her Defiant Merriment Into His Face. "Has It Kept You?" 
   
 "I?--Oh, I Wasn't Bound That Way, You Know--But Why Do You Ask?" 
   
 For A Breath She Hesitated, Then, Remembering Her Mystification Of An 
 Instant Ago, She Felt A Swift Desire To Punish Him For Something Which 
 Even To Herself She Could Not Express--For Too Sharp A Prick Of 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 7 Pg 51 
 Unsatisfied Curiosity, Or Was It For Too Intense A Moment Of 
 Uncertainty? 
   
 "Oh, One Hears, You Know," She Replied Indifferently. 
   
 "One Hears! And What Is It That One Hears?" 
   
 His Voice Was Hard, Almost Angry, And She Despised Herself Because The 
 Fierce Sound Of It Made Her Suddenly Afraid. 
   
 "Do You Know What A Man Said To Me The Other Day," She Went On With A 
 Cool Insolence Before Which He Became Suddenly Quiet. "Whom The Gods 
 Destroy They First Infatuate--With An Opera Singer." 
   
 She Delivered The Words Straight From The Shoulder, And As She Finished 
 He Rose From His Chair And Stood Looking Angrily Down Upon Her. 
   
 "Did You Let Me Come Here For _This?_" He Demanded. 
   
 "O Arnold, Arnold!" The Gayety Rang Back To Her Voice, And She Made A 
 Charming Little Face Of Affected Terror. "If You're Going To Be A Bear 
 I'll Run Away." 
   
 She Stretched Out Her Hand, And He Held It For An Instant In His Own, 
 While He Fell Back Impatiently Into His Chair. 
   
 "The Truth Is That I Was Clean Mad About Her," He Said, "About Madame 
 Alta--But It's Over Now, And I Abominate Everything That Has Ever Set 
 Foot On The Stage." 
   
 "Was She Really Beautiful?" She Enquired Curiously. 
   
 He Laughed Sharply. "Beautiful! She Was Flesh--If You Mean That." 
   
 An Angry Sigh Escaped Him, And Gerty Lighted A Fresh Cigarette And Gave 
 It To Him With A Soothing Gesture. The Nervous Movements Which Were 
 Characteristic Of Him Became More Frequent, And She Found Herself 
 Wondering That They Should Increase Rather Than Diminish The Impression 
 Of Virile Force. For A While He Smoked In Silence; Then, With His Eyes 
 Still Turned Away From Her, He Asked In A Changed Voice. 
   
 "Tell Me About Your Friend--She Interests Me." 
   
 "She Interests You! Laura?" 
   
 "There's Something In Her That I Like," He Pursued, Smiling At Her 
 Exclamation. "She Looks Human, Natural, Real. By Jove, She Looks As If 
 She Were Capable Of Big Emotions--As If, Too, You Could Like Her Without 
 Making Love. She's Something New." 
   
 Gerty's Amazement Was So Sincere That She Only Stared At Him, While Her 
 Red Lips Parted Slightly In A Breathless And Perfectly Unaffected 
 Surprise. Something New! Her Wonder Faded Slowly, And She Told Herself 
 That Now At Last She Understood. So He Was Still What He Had Always 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 7 Pg 52 
 Been--An Impatient Seeker After Fresh Sensations. 
   
 "I Thought You Were Too Much Like Perry To Care About Her," She Said. 
   
 His Amused Glance Made The Remark Appear Suddenly Ridiculous. "I'm 
 Different From Perry In One Thing At Least," He Retorted. "You Didn't 
 Marry Me." 
   
 "Well, I Dare Say It's A Good Thing You Never Gave Me The Chance," She 
 Tossed Back Lightly. "I Don't Let Perry Rave, You Know, Even Over Laura. 
 Not That I'm Unduly Jealous, But That I'm Easily Bored." 
   
 "I Can't Imagine You Jealous," He Commented, Keeping As Usual Close To 
 The Intimate Intention. 
   
 "And Of Perry! I Should Hope Not!" Her Gesture Was One Of Amused 
 Indifference. "Jealousy Is The Darling Virtue Of The Savage, And I May 
 Not Be A Saint, But At Least I'm Civilized. Give Me Food And A Warm Fire 
 And Clothes To My Back, And I'm Quite Content To Let The Passions Go." 
   
 "Even Love?" He Asked, Still Smiling. 
   
 She Shrugged Her Shoulders--Gracefully As Few Women Can. "Love Among The 
 Rest--I Don't Care--Why Should I? Make Me Comfortable." 
   
 An Impulse Which Was Hardly More Than A Consuming Interest In 
 Humanity--In The Varied Phenomena Of Life--Caused Him To Draw Quickly 
 Nearer. 
   
 "You Say That Because You've 'Arrived,'" He Declared. "You've 'Arrived' 
 In Love As Your Friend Has In Literature. The Probationary Stage After 
 All Is The Only One Worth While, And You've Gone Too Far Beyond It." 
   
 "I've Gone Too Far Beyond Everything," She Protested, Laughing. "I'm A 
 Graduate Of The World. Now Laura--" 
   
 The Name Recalled His Thoughts And He Repeated It While She Paused. 
 "Laura--It Has A Jolly Sound--And Upon My Word I Haven't Seen A Woman In 
 Years Who Has Had So Much To Say To Me Before I've Met Her. Do You Know, 
 I Already Like Her--I Like Her Smooth Black Hair, Without Any Of Your 
 Fussy Undulations; I Like Her Strong Earnest Look And The Strength In 
 Her Brow And Chin; I Even Like The Way She Dresses--" 
   
 Gerty's Laugh Pealed Out, And He Broke Off With A Movement Of 
 Irritation. "Is It Possible That Laura Is An Enchantress," She Demanded, 
 "And Have I Followed The Wrong Principle All My Life? Has My Honest 
 Intention To Please Men Led Me Astray?" 
   
 "Oh, You May Be Funny At My Expense If You Choose," He Retorted, "But 
 I've Had Enough Of Fluff And Feathers, And I Like The Natural Way She 
 Wears Her Clothes--" Again He Smoked In An Abstracted Silence, And Then 
 Asked Abruptly: "Will You Take Me Some Day To See Her?" 
   
 She Shook Her Head. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 7 Pg 53 
   
 "Take You? No, You've Missed Your Opportunity." 
   
 "But I'll Make Another. Why Not?" 
   
 "Because I Tell You Frankly She Would Hate You." 
   
 "My Dear Girl, She Wouldn't Have A Shadow Of An Excuse. No Woman Has 
 Ever Hated Me In My Life." 
   
 "Then There's No Use Seeking The Experience. You'd Just As Well Accept 
 The Fact At Once That Laura Couldn't Bear You--" 
   
 A Laugh Followed From The Door While The Words Were Still In The Air, 
 And Turning Quickly They Saw Laura Pausing Upon The Threshold. 
   
 "And Pray What Is It About Laura?" She Asked In Her Cordial Contralto 
 Voice. "A Person Who Has Borne Living In The House With A Flute May Be 
 Said To Have Unlimited Powers Of Endurance." 
   
 She Moved Forward And Kemper, While He Sprang To His Feet And Stood 
 Waiting For The Introduction, Became Swiftly Aware That With Her 
 Entrance The Whole Atmosphere Had Taken A Fresher And A Finer Quality. 
 The Sophistication Of The World, The Flippant Irony Of Gerty's Voice 
 Gave Place Immediately Before Her Earnest Dignity And Before The Look Of 
 Large Humanity Which Distinguished Her So Vitally From The Women Whom He 
 Knew. He Felt Her Sincerity Of Purpose At The Same Instant That He Felt 
 Gerty's Shallowness And The Artificial Glamour Of The Hot-House Air In 
 Which He Had Hardly Drawn Breath. There Was An Appeal In Laura's Face 
 Which He Had Never Seen Before--An Expression Which Seemed To Him To 
 Draw Directly From The Elemental Pulse; And He Felt Suddenly That There 
 Were Depths Of Consciousness Which He Had Never Sounded, Vivid 
 Experiences Which He Had Never Even Glimpsed. "She Is Different--But How 
 Is She Different?" He Asked Himself, Perplexed. "Is She Simply A Bigger 
 Personality, Or Is She Really More Of A Woman Than Any Woman I Have Ever 
 Known? What Is It In Her That Speaks To Me And What Is It In Myself That 
 Responds?" And It Seemed To Him Both Strange And Wonderful That He 
 Should Be Drawn By An Impulse Which Was Not The Impulse Of Love--That A 
 Woman Should Attract Him Through Qualities Which Were Independent Of The 
 Allurement Of Sex. A Clean And Perfectly Sane Satisfaction Was The 
 Immediate Result; He Felt That He Had Grown Larger In His Own Eyes--That 
 The Old Adam Who Had Ruled Over Him So Long Had Become Suddenly Dwarfed 
 And Insignificant. "To Like A Woman And Yet Not To Make Love To Her," He 
 Repeated In His Thoughts. "By Jove, It Will Be Something Decent, 
 Something Really Worth While." Then He Remembered That He Had Never 
 Known Intimately A Woman Of Commanding Intellect, And The Novelty 
 Inspired Him With The Spirit Of Fresh Adventure. 
   
 She Had Bowed To Him Over The Large Muff She Carried, And He Spoke 
 Lightly Though His Awakened Interest Showed In His Face And Voice. "I 
 Was The Unfortunate Subject Of Gerty's Decision," He Said. "Is There No 
 Appeal From It?" 
   
 Her Answering Smile Was One Of Indifferent Kindliness; And He Liked, 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 7 Pg 54 
 Even While He Resented Her Sincerity Of Manner. "Appeal! And To Whom?" 
 She Enquired. 
   
 "To You--To Your Mercy," He Laughed. 
   
 She Glanced At Gerty With A Look Which Hardly Simulated A Curiosity She 
 Apparently Did Not Feel. 
   
 "But Why Should You Need My Mercy?" She Demanded, As She Sat Down On A 
 Little Sofa Heaped With Cushions. 
   
 His Gaze, After Resting A Moment On The Smooth Black Hair Beneath Her 
 Velvet Hat, Turned To The Exquisite Shining Waves Which Encircled 
 Gerty's Head. 
   
 "Ask My Cousin," He Advised With Merriment. 
   
 Whatever Gerty's Reason For Not Caring To Bring Them Together May Have 
 Been, She Concealed It Now Beneath A Ready Acceptance Of The Situation. 
   
 "Oh, He Tried To Make Me Promise To Take Him To See You," She Explained, 
 "But I've Told Him You'd Show Him No Quarter Because He Hasn't Read Your 
 Poems." 
   
 Laura Raised Her Eyes To His Face, And He Had Again The Sensation Of 
 Looking Into An Unutterable Personality. 
   
 "I'm Glad You Haven't Read Them," She Rejoined, "For Now You Won't Be 
 Able To Talk To Me About Them." 
   
 "So You Don't Like To Have One Talk About Them?" 
   
 She Met His Question With Direct Simplicity. "About My Verse? I 
 Shouldn't Like To Have You Do It." 
   
 "And Why Not I?" He Demanded, Laughing. 
   
 "Oh, I Don't Know," She Returned, Her Eyes Lighting With The Humour Of 
 Her Frankness, "Can One Explain? But I'm Perfectly Sure That It's Not 
 The Kind Of Thing You'd Like. There's No Action In It." 
   
 "So Gerty Has Told You That I'm A Strenuous Creature?" 
   
 "Perhaps. I Don't Remember." She Turned To Gerty, Looking Down Upon Her 
 With A Tenderness That Suffused Her Face With Colour. "What Was It That 
 You Told Me, Dearest?" 
   
 "What Did I Tell You?" Repeated Gerty, Still Clasping Laura's Hand. "Oh, 
 It Must Have Been That He Agrees With Some Dreadful Person Who Said That 
 Poetry Was The Insanity Of Prose." 
   
 Laura Laughed As She Glanced Back At Him, And He Contrasted Her Deep 
 Contralto Notes With Gerty's Flute-Like Soprano. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 7 Pg 55 
 "Well, He May Not Be Right, But He Is With The Majority," She Said. 
   
 Her Indifference Piqued Him Into The Spirit Of Opposition, And He Felt 
 An Immediate Impulse To Compel Her Reluctant Interest--To Arouse Her 
 Admiration Of The Very Qualities She Now Disdained. 
   
 "Well, I Take My Poetry Where I Find It," He Rejoined, "And That's 
 Mostly In Life And Not In Books." 
   
 From The Quick Turn Of Her Head, The Instant's Lifting Of Her Emotional 
 Reserve, He Saw That The Words Had Arrested Her Imagination--That For 
 The First Time Since Her Entrance She Had Really Taken In The Fact Of 
 His Existence As An Individual. 
   
 "Then You Are Not With The Majority, But You Are Right!" She Exclaimed. 
   
 "Is It Not Possible To Be Both?" He Asked, Pleased Almost More Than He 
 Would Admit By The Quickening Of Her Attention. 
   
 "I Think Not," She Answered Seriously, "Don't You?" 
   
 "I Never Think," He Laughed With His Eyes Upon Hers, "I Live." 
   
 The Animation, Which Was Like The Glow From An Inner Illumination, Shone 
 In Her Face, And He Thought, As Trent Had Thought Before Him, That Her 
 Soul Must Burn Like A Golden Flame Within Her--A Flame That Reached 
 Toward Life, Knowledge And The Veiled Wonders Of Experience. 
   
 "And So Would I If I Were A Man," She Said. 
   
 She Rose, Clasping The Furs At Her Throat, Then Folding Gerty In Her 
 Arms She Kissed Her Cheek. 
   
 "I Stopped For A Moment To Look At You, Nothing More," She Confessed. 
 "It Was A Choice Between Looking At You And At The Rembrandt In The 
 Metropolitan, And I Chose You." As She Held Gerty From Her For An 
 Instant And Then Drew Her Into Her Embrace Again, Kemper Saw That Her 
 Delight In Her Friend's Beauty Was Almost A Rapture, That Her Friendship 
 Possessed Something Of A Religious Fervour. 
   
 "Do Stay With Me," Pleaded Gerty; "I Want You--I Need You." 
   
 "But You Dine Out." 
   
 "Oh, I Forgot. Wait, I'll Break It. I'll Be Ill." 
   
 Laura Smiled Her Refusal And, Stooping, Picked Up Her Large, Fluffy 
 Muff. 
   
 "I'll Come To-Morrow," She Returned, "And It Won't Cost Us A Lie. Good 
 Bye, My Bonnie, What Do You Wear?" 
   
 Gerty Waved Her Hands In A Gesture Of Unconcern. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 7 Pg 56 
 "It Rests With The Fates And With Annette," She Replied. "Green, Blue, 
 White; I Don't Care." 
   
 "But I Do," Persisted Laura; "Let It Be White." She Looked At Kemper And 
 Bowed Silently As She Turned Toward The Door; Then, Hesitating An 
 Instant, She Came Back And Held Out Her Hand With A Cordial Smile. "It 
 Has Been Very Pleasant To Meet You," She Said. 
   
 "Mayn't I At Least See You Down?" He Asked. "How Do You Go?" 
   
 "There's Really No Need To Trouble You," She Answered, "I Shall Go A 
 Part Of The Way In The Stage." 
   
 She Went Out, And As He Followed Her Down The Staircase He Asked Himself 
 Again The Puzzling Question: "She Is Different From Other Women--But How 
 Is She Different?" And Still He Assured Himself With Confidence That 
 What He Liked In Her Was Her Serene Separateness From The Appeal Of 
 Passion. "This Is The Thing That Lasts--That Really Lasts For A 
 Lifetime," He Said In His Thoughts. 
   
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 8 Pg 57 
 Proves That A Poor Lover May Make An Excellent Friend 
   
   
 That Night In Her Sitting-Room, While She Corrected The Proof-Sheets Of 
 Her New Book Of Verse, Laura Remembered Kemper's Face As He Sat Across 
 From Her On The Long Seat Of The Almost Empty Stage. Beyond Him Was The 
 Humming City, Where The Lights Bloomed Like White Flowers Out Of The 
 Enveloping Dusk, And When He Turned His Profile, As He Did Once, Against 
 A Jeweller's Window, She Saw Every Line Of His Large, Strongly Marked 
 Features Silhouetted With Distinctness On A Brilliant Background. Twice 
 During The Ride Down She Had Been Conscious, As When They Left Gerty's 
 House Together, That He Was More Masculine Than Any Man She Had Known 
 Closely In Her Life, And At First She Had Told Herself That His Nervous 
 Activity--The Ardent Vitality In His Appearance--Was Too Aggressive To 
 Be Wholly Pleasing. She Had Been Used To A Considerate Gentleness From 
 Men, And His Manner, Though Frankly Sympathetic, Had Seemed To Her 
 Almost Brusque. 
   
 Even Now, While She Laid Her Work Aside To Think Of Him, She Was Hardly 
 Sure That His Genial Egoism Had Not Repelled Her. Her Instinct Told Her 
 That He Could Be Both Kind And Generous, That He Was Capable Of 
 Unselfish Impulses, And Full, Too, Of A Broad And Tolerant Humanity, 
 Yet There Was Something Within Her--Some Finer Spiritual 
 Discernment--Which Rose To Battle Against The Attraction He Appeared To 
 Possess. He Was Not Mental, He Was Not Even Superficially Bookish, And 
 Yet Because Of A Certain Magnetic Quality--A Mere Dominant Virility--She 
 Found Herself Occupied, To The Exclusion Of Her Work, With The Words He 
 Had Uttered, With The Tantalising Humour In His Eyes. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 8 Pg 58 
 "I Am Glad That I Did Not Ask Him To Call," She Thought As She Took Up 
 Her Pencil. "He Does Not Interest Me And Very Likely I Shall Never See 
 Him Again. He Was Pleasant Certainly, But One Can't Make Acquaintances 
 Of Every Stranger One Happens To Meet." Then It Seemed To Her That She 
 Had Been Distant, Almost Rude, When He Had Bidden Her Good-Night, And As 
 She Remembered The Engaging Frankness Of His Smile, The Eager Yet Humble 
 Look With Which He Had Waited At Her Door For The Invitation She Did Not 
 Give, She Regretted In Spite Of Herself That She Had Been So Openly 
 Inhospitable. After All There Was No Reason That One Should Turn A Man 
 From One's Door Simply Because His Personality Didn't Please One's 
 Fancy. For A Moment She Dragged Her Mind For Some Word, Some Look In 
 Which She Might Have Found A Shadow Of Excuse For The Dislike She Felt. 
 "No, He Said Nothing Foolish," She Confessed At Last, "He Was Only Kind 
 And Friendly And It Is I Who Have Offended--I Who Have Allowed Myself To 
 Feel An Unreasonable Aversion." All At Once An Irritation Against 
 Herself Pervaded Her Thoughts, And She Determined That If She Met Him 
 Again She Would Be More Cordial--That She Would Force Herself To Show A 
 Particular Friendliness. The Recollection Of His Love For Madame Alta 
 Came To Her, And She Felt At The Same Time A Sharp Curiosity And A Deep 
 Disgust--"A Man Like That Must Love With Madness," She Thought, And 
 Next, "But How Do I Know If It Were Love Between Them And Why Should I 
 Judge?" Her Clasped Hands Went To Her Eyes And She Prayed Silently: 
 "Keep Me Apart, O Lord, Keep Me Pure And Apart!" 
   
 For A While She Sat With Bowed Bead, Then, As Her Hands Fell Into Her 
 Lap, She Broke Into A Little Tender Laugh At Herself. "What A Fool I Am, 
 After All," She Lamented; "Here I Have Seen A Man Whom I Do Not 
 Like--Once, For An Hour--And He Has So Troubled My Quiet That I Cannot 
 Put My Mind Upon My Work. What Does It Matter, And Why Should A Stranger 
 Who Displeases Me Have Power To Compel My Thoughts? It Was But A 
 Trifle--The Distraction Of An Hour, Nothing More--And, Whether I Like 
 Him Or Not, By To-Morrow I Shall Have Forgotten His Existence." 
   
 But She Remembered His Face As He Sat Across From Her In The Dimly 
 Lighted Stage, And She Felt Again, With A Start, That He Was The First 
 Man She Had Ever Known. "Yet He Does Not Attract Me, And I Shall Never 
 See Him Again," She Thought After A Moment. She Took Up A Little 
 Religious Book From Her Desk And Tried In Vain To Fix Her Wandering 
 Attention. Life Appeared All At Once Very Full And Very Beautiful, And 
 As She Thought Of The Thronging City Around Her It Seemed To Her That 
 She Herself And The People In The Street And The Revolving Stars Were 
 Held Securely In The Hand Of God. The Belief Awoke In Her That She Was 
 Shielded And Set Apart For A Predestined Good, An Exalted Purpose, And 
 She Wondered If The Purpose Were Already Moving Toward Her Out Of The 
 City And If Its End Would Be Only The Fulfilling Of The Law Of Her Own 
 Nature. Then She Thought Of Angela In Her Closed Chamber. Had She Been 
 Shielded? Was She Also Set Apart? But The Thought Did Not Disturb Her, 
 For She Herself Seemed Of A Larger Growth, Of A Braver Spirit, Than 
 Angela Or Than Her Aunts Or Than Uncle Percival, Who Had Missed Life 
 Also. They Had Been Defeated, But Was It Not Because They Had Lacked In 
 Themselves The Courage To Attain? 
   
 The Next Morning, After She Had Had Her Tea And Toast In Her Room, She 
 Went, As Was Her Custom, Into Angela's Chamber. Early As It Was, Mrs. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 8 Pg 59 
 Payne Had Already Apparelled Herself In Her Paint And Powder And Driven 
 Down. Seen By The Morning Sunlight, Her Smeared Face With Its Brilliant 
 Artificial Smile Revealed A Pathos Which Was Rendered More Acute By Its 
 Effect Of Playful Grotesqueness. She Was Like A Faded And Decrepit 
 Actress Who, Fired By The Unconquerable Spirit Of Her Art, Forces Her 
 Wrinkled Visage To Ape The Romantic Ecstasies Of Passion. Age Which Is 
 Beautiful Only When It Has Become Expressive Of Repose--Of Serene 
 Renouncement--Showed To Laura's Eyes Only As A Ghastly And Comic 
 Travesty Of Youth. 
   
 Angela Was Having Her Breakfast At A Little Table By The Window, And At 
 Laura's Entrance She Turned To Her With A Sigh Of Evident Relief. 
   
 "Rosa Has Come Down To Speak To You Particularly," She Explained. "There 
 Is Something She Has Very Heavily On Her Mind." 
   
 Mrs. Payne Had Wheeled Herself About At The Same Instant; And Laura, 
 After Regarding Her Uncertainly For A Moment, Impressed A Light Caress 
 Upon Her Outstretched Jewelled Fingers. 
   
 "I Didn't Sleep A Wink, My Dear," Began The Old Lady In Her Most 
 Conciliatory Tones, "Not A Blessed Wink After Horace Told Me." 
   
 The Questioning Stare In Laura's Face Had The Effect Of Jerking Her Up 
 So Hurriedly That The Words Seemed To Trip And Stumble Upon Her Lips. 
   
 "I Might Have Had It From Yourself, Of Course," She Added With An 
 Aggrieved Contortion Of Her Features, "But As I Was Just Telling Angela, 
 I Would Not For Worlds Intrude Upon Your Confidence." 
   
 "But What Has He Told You?" Asked Laura, Curiously, "And What, After 
 All, Did I Tell Uncle Horace?" 
   
 Mrs. Payne Settled Herself Comfortably Back In Her Chair, And, Picking 
 Up A Bit Of Angela's Toast From The Tray, Nibbled Abstractedly At The 
 Crust. 
   
 "What Under Heaven Would He Have Told Me But The One Thing?" She 
 Demanded. "Mr. Wilberforce Has At Last Proposed." 
   
 "At Last!" Echoed Laura, Breaking Into A Laugh Of Unaffected Merriment. 
 "Well, He _Was_ Long About It!" 
   
 At The Words Angela Leaned Toward Her, Stretching Out Her Frail Hands In 
 A Pleading Gesture. 
   
 "Don't Marry, Laura," She Entreated; "Don't--Don't Marry. There Is Only 
 Misery From Men--Misery And Regret." 
   
 "I Believe He Has Millions," Remarked Mrs. Payne, In The Tone In Which 
 She Might Have Recited Her Creed In Church, "And As Far As A Husband 
 Goes I Have Never Observed That There Was Any Disadvantage To Be Found 
 In Age. My Experience Of The World Has Taught Me That Decrepitude Is The 
 Only Thing Which Permanently Domesticates A Man." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 8 Pg 60 
   
 Laura Sat Down Across From Her, And Then Clasping Her Hands Together 
 Made Her Final Determined Stand. 
   
 "You Needn't Try To Persuade Me, Aunt Rosa," She Answered, "For I 
 Wouldn't Marry Him--No, Not If He Had Billions." 
   
 For A Brief Interlude Mrs. Payne Returned Her Gaze With Silent Yet 
 Expressive Dignity. 
   
 "There's Really No Occasion To Become Violent," She Observed At Last, 
 "Particularly In The Presence Of Poor Angela." 
   
 "But I Like It! I Like It," Declared Angela, "It Is Her Marriage That I 
 Couldn't Bear." 
   
 Mrs. Payne Turned Her Reproachful Look For A Moment Upon The Weaker 
 Sister. 
   
 "I Am Very Sure, My Dear, That We Can Bear Anything The Lord Chooses To 
 Send," She Remarked, "Especially When We Feel That Our Cross Is For 
 Another's Good. Is There Any Reason," She Wound Up To Laura Again, "For 
 The Obstinate Position You Appear To Take?" 
   
 Laura Shook Her Head. 
   
 "I Don't Take Any Position," She Replied, "I Simply Decline To Be Made 
 To Marry Him, That's All." 
   
 "But You Like Him--I've Heard You Say So Much With My Own Ears." 
   
 "You Never Heard Me Say I Liked Him For A Husband." 
   
 "It Would Have Been Highly Indelicate If I Had," Observed Mrs Payne, 
 "But Since He Has Proposed I May As Well Impress Upon You That Any Kind 
 Of Liking Is Quite Sufficient Argument For A Marriage Which Would Be So 
 Suitable In Every Way. And As To The Romantic Nonsense--Well It All 
 Comes Very Much To The Same Thing In The Long Run, And Whether You Begin 
 By Loving A Man Or By Hating Him, After Six Months Of Marriage You Can 
 Ask Nothing Better Than To Be Able To Regard Him With Christian 
 Forbearance." 
   
 Laura Turned Away Impatiently As Uncle Percival Put His Bland, 
 Child-Like Face In At The Open Door. 
   
 "I Hope You Had A Quiet Night, Angela," He Said In His High, Piping 
 Voice; "The Morning Is A Fine One And I've Already Had My Turn." Then, 
 Holding His Coat Closely Over A Small Bundle Which He Carried, He 
 Greeted Mrs. Payne With A Deprecating Smile. "You're Down Early, Rosa; 
 It's A Good Habit." 
   
 Mrs. Payne Surveyed Him With An Intolerant Humour. 
   
 "I'm Not Undertaking To Cultivate A Habit At My Time Of Life," She 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 8 Pg 61 
 Responded, Raising Her Voice Until It Sounded Harsh And Cracked; Then 
 She Became A Prey To A Devouring Suspicion. "What Is That Under Your 
 Coat?" She Demanded Sternly. 
   
 Uncle Percival's Flaccid Mouth Fell Open With A Frightened Droop, And He 
 Took Instantly The Demeanour Of A Small Offending Schoolboy. 
   
 "It--It's Only A Little Present For Angela," He Replied. "I Thought It 
 Might Interest Her, But I Hardly Think You Would Care For It, Rosa." 
   
 "What Is It?" Persisted Mrs. Payne In Her Unyielding Calmness. 
   
 The Object Moved Beneath His Coat, And, Pulling It Out With A Timid Yet 
 Triumphant Gesture, He Displayed Before Their Astonished Eyes A 
 Squirming White Rabbit. 
   
 "I Hoped It Might Interest Angela," He Repeated, Seeking In Vain For 
 Sympathy In The Three Amazed Faces. 
   
 The Rabbit Struggled In His Grasp, And After Holding It Suspended A 
 Moment By The Nape Of Its Neck, He Cuddled It Again Beneath His Coat. "A 
 Woman Was Selling Them In The Street," He Explained In A Suppressed 
 Voice. "She Had A Box Filled With Them. I Bought Only One." 
   
 "That Was Fortunate," Returned Mrs. Payne, Severely, "For You Will Have 
 To Carry The Creature Back At Once--Or Drown It If You Prefer." 
   
 "But I Thought Angela Would Like It," He Said With A Disappointed Look. 
   
 Angela Closed Her Eyes As If Shutting Out An Irritating Sight. 
   
 "What In The World Would I Do With A White Rabbit?" She Enquired. 
   
 "But I Could Take Care Of It," Insisted Untie Percival. "I Should Like 
 To Take Care Of It Very Much." 
   
 Laura Drew The Rabbit From His Coat And Held It A Moment Against Her 
 Bosom. 
   
 "It's A Pretty Little Thing," She Remarked Carelessly, And Added, "Why 
 Not Keep It For Yourself, Uncle Percival?" 
   
 As He Glanced Up At Her The Light Of Animation Broke In His Face. 
   
 "Why Shouldn't I, Indeed, Why Shouldn't I?" He Demanded Eagerly, And 
 Hurried Out Before Mrs. Payne, With Her Solomonic Power Of Judgment, 
 Could Bring Herself To The Point Of Interference. 
   
 "I Hope That Will Be A Lesson To You With Regard To Men," She Observed 
 As A Parting Shot While She Tied Her Bonnet Strings. 
   
 An Uncontrollable Distaste For Her Family Swept Over Laura, And She Felt 
 That She Could Suffer No Longer The Authority Of Mrs. Payne, The 
 Senility Of Uncle Percival Or The Sorrows Of Angela. As She Looked At 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 8 Pg 62 
 Mrs. Payne She Was Struck As If For The First Time By Her Ridiculous 
 Grotesqueness, And She Experienced A Sensation Of Disgust For The Old 
 Lady's Stony Eyes And Carefully Painted Out Wrinkles. 
   
 Without Replying To The Moral Pointed By Uncle Percival And The White 
 Rabbit, She Left The Room And Hastily Dressed Herself For Her Morning 
 Walk. The House Had Grown Close And Oppressive To Her And She Wanted The 
 January Cold In Her Face And Limbs. At The Moment She Was Impatient Of 
 Anything That Recalled A Restraint Of Mind Or Body. 
   
 When She Came In Two Hours Later, After A Brisk Walk In The Park, She 
 Found Mr. Wilberforce Awaiting Her In The Drawing-Room Downstairs. He 
 Looked Older She Thought At The First Glance In The Last Few Days, But 
 There Was A Cheerfulness, A Serenity, In His Face Which Seemed To Lend 
 Itself Like A Softening Light To His Beautiful Pallid Features. He Was A 
 Man Who Having Fought Bitterly Against Resignation For Many Years Comes 
 To It Peacefully At Last Only To Find That He Has Reaped From It A 
 Portion Of The "Enchantment Of The Disenchanted." Her Intuition Told Her 
 Instantly That He Had Given Up Hope Of Love, But She Recognized Also, 
 Through Some Strange Communion Of Sympathy, That He Had Attained The 
 Peace Of Soul Which Follows Inevitably Upon Any Sincere Renouncement Of 
 Self. 
   
 "I Am So Glad, Dear Friend," She Said, Holding His Hand For A Moment As 
 She Sat Beside Him. 
   
 He Looked At Her Silently With His Brilliant Eyes Which Burned In The 
 Midst Of His Blanched And Withered Face Like Two Watch-Fires That Are 
 Kept Alive In A Scorched Desert. 
   
 "For A While I Thought It Might Be," He Replied After A Long Pause. "I 
 Asked You To Give Me What I Have Never Had--My Youth. You Could Not Do 
 It," He Added With A Smile, "And At First It Seemed To Me That There 
 Remained Only Emptiness And Disappointment For The Future, But Presently 
 I Learned Wisdom In The Night." He Hesitated An Instant And Then Added 
 Gravely, "I Saw That If You Couldn't Give Me Youth, You Could At Least 
 Make My Old Age Very Pleasant." 
   
 "I Can--I Will," She Answered In A Broken Voice, And It Seemed To Her 
 That All The Bitterness Had Turned To Sweetness In His Look. Was The 
 Divine Wisdom, After All, She Wondered, Not So Much The Courage Which 
 Turned The Events That Came To Happiness As The Greater Power Which 
 Created Light Where There Was Nothing. Only Age Had Learned To Do This, 
 She Knew, And She Was Conscious Of A Quick Resentment Against Fate That 
 Only Age Could Put Into Passion The Immortal Spirit Which Youth Craved 
 In Vain. 
   
 "I Asked A Great Deal," He Said, "But I Shall Be Content With A Very 
 Little." 
   
 "With My Whole Faith--With All My Friendship," She Replied; And As She 
 Spoke The Words, Her Heart Contracted With A Spasm Which Was Almost That 
 Of Terror Of The Unknown Purpose To Which She Felt, With A Kind Of 
 Superstitious Blindness, That She Was Pledged. Fate Had Offered Her 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 8 Pg 63 
 This One Good Thing, And She Must Put It From Her Because She Waited In 
 Absolute Ignorance--For What? For Love It Might Be, And Yet Her Woman's 
 Instinct Taught Her That The Only Love Which Endures Is The Love Of Age 
 That Has Never Been Young For Youth So Elastic That It Can Never Grow 
 Old. Then Swift As The Flash Of Self-Revelation She Saw In Imagination 
 The Eager Yet Humble Look With Which Arnold Kemper Had Waited Before Her 
 Door, And, Though She Insisted Still That The Picture Displeased Her 
 Fancy, She Knew That Passion To Meet Response In Her Must Come To Her 
 Clothed In A Virile Strength Like His. 
   
 "I Wish From My Soul That It Might Have Been," She Murmured, But Even 
 With The Words She Knew That She Had All Her Life Wished For A Different 
 Thing--For A Love That Was Wholly Unlike The Love He Offered. 
   
 "It Has Been," He Answered, While His Grave Gentleness Fell Like Dew On 
 The Smouldering Fire In His Eyes. "It Has Been, My Dear, And It Will Be 
 Always Until I Die." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 9 Pg 64 
 Of Masques And Mummeries 
   
   
 In The Afternoon Of The Next Day Laura Received By A Special Messenger 
 An Urgent Appeal From Gerty Bridewell. 
   
 "Come To Me At Once," Said The Note, Which Appeared To Have Been Written 
 In Frantic Haste. "I Am In Desperate Trouble And I Need You." 
   
 The Distress Of The Writer Was Quite As Apparent As The Exaggeration, 
 And While Laura Rolled Rapidly Toward Her In A Cab, She Prepared Herself 
 With A Kind Of Nervous Courage To Bear The Brunt Of The Inevitable 
 Scene. Perry Was At The Bottom Of It She Knew--She Had Answered Such 
 Summonses Often Enough Before To Pre-Figure With Unerring Insight The 
 Nature Of The Event. He Had Shown His Periodical Inclination To A Fresh 
 Affair, His Errant Fancy Had Wandered In A Particular Direction, And 
 Gerty's Epicurean Philosophy Had Failed As Usual To Account For The 
 Concrete Fact. To Laura The Amazing Part Was Not So Much Perry's 
 Fickleness, Which She Had Brought Herself To Accept With Tolerant 
 Aversion, As The Extraordinary Value Gerty Placed Upon An Emotion Which 
 Was Kept Alive By An Artifice At Once So Evident And So Ineffectual. 
 There Was But One Thing Shorter Lived Than His Repentance She Knew, And 
 That Was The Sentiment Of Which He Was Charitably Supposed To Have 
 Repented. By Nature He Was Designed A Lover, And It Seemed, Broadly 
 Viewed, The Merest Accident Of Circumstances That He Should Tend Toward 
 Variety Rather Than Toward Specialisation. 
   
 A Man Passing In The Street Bowed To Her As The Cab Turned A Corner, 
 And, As She Recognised Arnold Kemper, She Wondered Vaguely If He Had 
 Aught In Common With His Cousin. A Slight Resemblance To Perry Bridewell 
 Offended Her As She Recalled It, And, While Her Resentful Sympathy Flew 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 9 Pg 65 
 To Gerty, She Felt Almost Vindictive Against The Masculine Type He 
 Appeared Physically To Represent. 
   
 "O Lord, Keep Me Apart!" She Prayed Fervently, As She Had Prayed In The 
 Night, For It Appeared To Her That The Shield Of Faith Was The One 
 Shield For The Spirit Against The Besieging Vanities Of Life. Gerty's 
 Faith Had Fallen From Her Long Ago, And, As She Remembered This, Laura 
 Felt A Jealous Impulse To Snatch Her Friend Away From The Restless 
 Worldliness And The Inordinate Desires. The Pitiable Soul Of Gerty 
 Showed To Her Suddenly As A Stunted And Famished City Child Struggling 
 For Life In An Atmosphere Which Carried The Taint Of Death, And In Her 
 Imagination The Picture Was So Vivid That She Saw The Face Of The Child 
 Turned Toward Her With A Wistful, Imploring Look. 
   
 The Cab Stopped With A Jerk, And In A Little While She Was Knocking 
 Softly At The Closed Door Of Gerty's Chamber. Almost Immediately It 
 Opened And The French Maid Came Out. 
   
 "Madame Is Ill With A Headache," She Explained, Pointing To The Closed 
 Shutters, "She Refuses To Eat." 
   
 Putting Her Impatiently Aside, Laura Closed The Door Upon Her, And Then 
 Crossing To The Windows Threw Back The Shutters To Let In The Late 
 Sunshine. 
   
 "A Little Light Won't Hurt You, Dearest," She Said, With A Smile. 
   
 Gerty, Still In Her Nightgown With A Japanese Kimono Flung Carelessly 
 About Her And Her Hair Falling In A Brilliant Shower Upon Her Shoulders, 
 Was Sitting Before Her Bureau Making A Pretence Of Sorting A Pile Of 
 Bills. In Spite Of This Pathetic Subterfuge, Her Beautiful Green Eyes 
 Held A Startled And Angry Look, And Her Face Was Flushed With An 
 Excitement Like That Of Fever. 
   
 "I Was Sorry I Sent For You The Moment Afterward," She Said, Hardly 
 Yielding To Laura's Embrace, While She Nervously Tore Open A Bill She 
 Held And Then Tossed It Aside Without Glancing Over It. "It's The Same 
 Thing Over Again--There's No Use Talking About It. I Shall Die." 
   
 "You Cannot--You Cannot," Protested Laura, Still Holding Her In Her 
 Arms. "You Are Too Beautiful. You Were Never In Your Life Lovelier Than 
 You Are To-Day." 
   
 "And Yet It Does Not Hold Him," Broke Out Gerty, In Sudden Passion, "And 
 It Will Never Be Any Better, I See That. If It's Not One It's Another, 
 But It's Always Somebody. A Year Ago He Promised Me That I Should Never 
 Have Cause For Jealousy Again--He Swore That And I Believed Him--And Now 
 This--This--" 
   
 Her Anger Choked Her Like A Sob, And She Tore With Trembling Fingers At 
 The Papers In Her Lap. Then Suddenly Her Brow Contracted With 
 Resolution, And She Went Through A Long List Of Items As If The Most 
 Important Fact In Life Were The Amount Of Money She Must Pay To Her 
 Dressmaker. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 9 Pg 66 
   
 "Of Course You Know What I Think," Murmured Laura With Her Lips At 
 Gerty's Ear. 
   
 "That He Isn't Worth It," Gerty Nodded, While Her Indignant And 
 Humiliated Expression Grew Almost Violent. "Well, I Think So, Too. Of 
 Course He Isn't, But That Doesn't Make It Any Better--Any Easier." 
   
 "You Mean You Couldn't Give Him Up?" 
   
 "When I'm Dead I May, Not Before." She Closed Her Eyes And A Long 
 Shudder Ran Through Her Body. "It Has Been Nothing But A Fight Since I 
 Married--A Fight To Keep Him. I Used To Think That Marriage Meant Rest, 
 Contentment, But I Know Now That It Means A Battle--All The Time--Every 
 Instant. I've Never Had One Natural Moment, I've Never Since The 
 Beginning Been Without A Horrible Suspicion--And I See Now That I Never 
 Shall Be. He Likes Me Best I Know--In His Heart He Really Puts Me 
 First--But There Are Others And I Won't Have It. I'll Be Alone, I'll Be 
 The Only One Or Nothing. I Said I Wouldn't Be Beaten The First Time, And 
 I Won't--I Won't Be Beaten." She Paused An Instant To Draw Breath. "And 
 I Haven't Been," She Wound Up In Bitter Triumph. 
   
 "You'll Never Be, Darling," Declared Laura; "Who Is There On Earth To 
 Shine Against You?" 
   
 The Violence Faded From Gerty's Face, Yielding To An Expression Of 
 Disgust, Of Spiritual Loathing--The Loathing Of A Creature That Hates 
 The Thing It Loves. 
   
 "But It Isn't Worth It, It Isn't Worth It," She Moaned, Pushing The 
 Papers Away From Her With An Indignant Gesture, And Rising From Her 
 Chair To Walk Hurriedly Up And Down The Floor. "It Isn't Worth It, But 
 I'm Bound To It--I Can't Get Away. I'm Bound To The Wheel. Do You Think 
 If I Could Help Myself--If I Could Be Different--That I Would Turn Into 
 A Mere Bond-Slave To My Body? Why, A Day Labourer Has Rest, But I 
 Haven't. There's Not A Moment When I'm Not Doing Something For My 
 Beauty, Or Planning Effects, Or Undergoing A Treatment. I Never Sleep As 
 I Want To, Nor Bathe As I Want To, Nor Even Eat What I Like. It's All 
 Somebody's System For Preserving Something About Me. I've Lived On 
 Celery And Apples To Keep From Growing Fat And Taken Daily Massage To 
 Keep From Getting Thin--And Yet I Never Wake Up In The Morning That I 
 Don't Turn Sick For Fear I'll Discover My First Wrinkle In The Glass. 
 Now Imagine," She Finished With A Cynical Laugh, "Perry Going Upon A 
 Diet For Any Sentimental Reasons, Or Sacrificing Terrapin In Order To 
 Retain My Affection!" 
   
 "I Can't," Confessed Laura Bluntly, "It's Beyond Me, But I Wish You 
 Wouldn't. I Wish You'd Try To Hold Him By Something Different--Something 
 Higher." 
   
 "You Can't Hold A Person By What He Hasn't Got," Returned Gerty With The 
 Flippant Ridicule She So Desperately Clung To--A Ridicule Which She Used 
 As Unsparingly Upon Herself As Upon Her Husband. Then, After A Pause, 
 She Resumed Her Bitter Musing In The Same High-Strung, Reckless Manner. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 9 Pg 67 
 "A Wrinkle Would Kill Me," She Pursued; "I'd Rather Endure Any 
 Agony--I'd Be Skinned Alive First Like Some Woman Perry Laughed About. 
 Yet They Must Come--They're Obliged To Come In Fifteen--Ten--Perhaps In 
 Five Years. Perhaps Even To-Morrow. Do You Suppose," She Questioned 
 Abruptly, With A Tragic Intensity Worthy Of A Less Ignoble Cause, "That 
 When One Gets Old One Really Ceases To Mind--That One Dies Out All 
 Inside--The Sensations I Mean, And The Emotions--Before The Husk Begins 
 To Wither?" She Paused A Moment, But As Laura Continued To Regard Her 
 With A Soft, Compassionate Look She Turned Away Again And, Touching An 
 Electric Button In The Wall, Flooded The Room With Light. The Change Was 
 So Startling That Every Object Seemed To Leap At Once From Twilight 
 Vagueness Into A Conspicuous Prominence. On A Chair In The Corner Was 
 Carelessly Flung A White Chiffon Dinner Gown, And A Pair Of Little Satin 
 Slippers Had Been Thrown Upon The Floor Beside It, Where They Lay 
 Slightly Sideways, With Turned-Out Toes, As They Had Fallen From The 
 Wearer's Feet. The Pathos Which Seems So Often To Dwell In Trifling 
 Inanimate Objects Spoke To Laura From The Little Discarded Shoes, And 
 Again Society Appeared To Her As A Hideous Battle In Which The Passions 
 Preyed Upon The Ideals, The Body Upon The Soul. She Thought Of Perry 
 Bridewell, Of His Healthy Animalism, His Complacent Self-Esteem, While 
 Her Heart Hardened Within Her. Was Love, When All Was Said, Merely A 
 Subjection To The Flesh Instead Of An Enlargement Of The Spirit? Did It 
 Depend For Its Very Existence Upon The Dress-Maker's Art And The 
 Primitive Instinct Of The Chase? Had It No Soul Within It To Keep It 
 Clean? Could It See Or Hear Only Through The Eye Or The Ear Of Sense? 
   
 "O Gerty, Gerty," She Said, "If I Could Only Make You See!" 
   
 But Gerty, With One Of Those Swift Changes Of Humour Which Made Her 
 Moods At Once So Unexpected And So Irresistible, Had Burst Into A Peal 
 Of Mocking Laughter. 
   
 "I'm Prepared To Conquer Or To Die," She Said Merrily; And Going To A 
 Large White Box On The Bed, She Opened It And Dangled In The Air A 
 Gorgeous Evening Gown Of Silver Gauze Shot With Green. "This Cost Me A 
 Thousand Dollars," She Commented In The Hard, Business-Like Tones Laura 
 Had Begun To Dread. "I Was Keeping It For The Ball Next Week, But 
 There's No Call Like The Call Of An Emergency. The Horrid Creature He 
 Fancies Will Be There," She Added, Surveying Her Exquisite Armful With 
 An Admiring, Unhappy Glance, "And It Will Be War To The Death Between 
 Us, If It Costs Him Every Cent He Has." She Fell Thoughtfully Silent, To 
 Break Out At The End Of A Minute Or Two With A Remark Which Had The 
 Value Of An Imparted Confidence: "She--I Mean The Creature--Wore One 
 Something Like It, Only Not Nearly So Handsome--Last Night--And It Made 
 Her Look Frightfully Gone Off--Even Perry Noticed It." 
   
 Spreading The Gown Carefully Upon The Bed, She Went To The Mirror And 
 Regarded Herself With Passionate Scrutiny. 
   
 "Will You Wait And See Me Dress?" She Asked; "Annette Has My Cold Bath 
 Ready. I Must Have A Colour, But I Shan't Be A Minute In The Tub." 
   
 "Do You Mean That You Are Really Going Out To-Night?" Asked Laura, 
 Remembering The Despairing Note Of A Few Hours Ago. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 9 Pg 68 
   
 Gerty Nodded. "To A Dinner And A Dance. Do You Think That I Will Play 
 The Neglected Wife?" 
   
 A Glow Had Sprung To Her Eyes That Was Like The Animation With Which An 
 Intrepid Hunter Might Depart Upon A Desperate Chase--And Through All Her 
 Elaborate Toilette--The Massaging Of Her Face, The Arranging Of Her 
 Hair, The Perfuming Of Her Beautiful Neck And Arms--She Chatted Gayly In 
 The Same Flippant Yet Nervous Voice. When At Last The Maid Had Withdrawn 
 Again, Gerty, Pausing Before Laura In A Shimmer Of Silver Gauze That 
 Reminded One Of A Faintly Scented Moonlight, Bent Over And Touched Her 
 Cheek With Feverish Lips. 
   
 "It Is War To The Knife," She Laughed; And The Peculiar Radiance Of 
 Colour, Which Gave Her Beauty A Character That Was Almost Violent, Made 
 Her At The Moment Appear Triumphant, Exultant, Barbaric. To Laura She 
 Had Never Seemed More Beautiful Nor More Unhappy. Then Suddenly Her 
 Manner Underwent A Curious Change, And Her Accustomed Mask--The Smiling 
 Surface Of A Woman Of The World--Settled As If By Magic Upon Her Face. 
 Perry Bridewell Was At The Door, And She Opened It For Him With An 
 Unconcern At Which Laura Wondered. 
   
 "Come In If You Want To," She Said Coolly, "Laura Doesn't Mind." 
   
 She Drew Back Into The Middle Of The Room, Fastening Her Glove With 
 Insolent Indifference, While His Startled Gaze Hung Upon Her In An 
 Amazement He Lacked The Mental Readiness To Hide. 
   
 "By Jove, Are You Going Out?" He Asked. "I Thought You Were Downright 
 Ill And I Was About To Call Up The Doctor. I'm Jolly Glad--I Declare I 
 Am," He Added Humbly. 
   
 From The Sincere Anxiety In His Voice, Laura Surmised At Once That 
 Gerty's Exasperation Had Preceded By Some Hours Her Cooler Judgment. He 
 Looked As Uncomfortable As It Was Possible For A Man Of His Optimistic 
 Habit Of Mind To Feel, And An Evident Humiliation Was Traced Upon His 
 Countenance As If By Several Hasty Touches Of A Crayon Pencil. 
   
 But His Features Were Intended So Manifestly To Wear A Look Of Cheerful 
 Self-Esteem That His Dejection, Honest As It Was, Produced An Effect Of 
 Insincerity, And It Seemed To Laura That His Other And More Natural 
 Expression Was Still Lying Somewhere Beneath This Superficial Remorse. 
 Considered As Physical Bulk He Was Impressive, She Admitted, In A Large, 
 Ruddy, Highly Obvious Fashion; Then He Appeared Suddenly So Stupid And 
 Child-Like In His Discomfiture That She Felt Her Heart Softening In 
 Spite Of Her Convictions. At The Instant He Resembled Nothing So Much As 
 A Handsome, Good-Humoured, But Disobedient, Dog Patiently Awaiting A 
 Reprimand. 
   
 "On My Word I'm Jolly Glad," He Repeated, And Stopped Because He Could 
 Think Of Nothing Further To Say That Did Not Sound Foolish In His Own 
 Perturbed Mind. 
   
 "Oh, I'm Not Utterly Lacking In Humanity," Retorted Gerty, "And One Has 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 9 Pg 69 
 To Be Not To Admit A Moral Obligation To One's Hostess. Besides," She 
 Confessed, With Smiling Pleasantry, "I Shall Rather Enjoy Ada Lawley's 
 Face When She Sees My Gown. She Told Me Last Night That She Would Never 
 Be Caught Wearing Silver Gauze Again Until She Wanted To Look Every Day 
 As Old As She Really Is. It Was Rather Hard On Her, Poor Thing, For 
 Arnold Says She'd Rather Lose Her Character Any Day Than Her 
 Complexion--Not That She Has Very Much Of Either Left By Now," She 
 Corrected With Her Cutting Laugh. 
   
 Before The Studied Insolence Of Her Attack Perry Drew Back Quickly In 
 Surprise, And His Eyelids Winked Rapidly As If A Lighted Candle Had 
 Flashed Before Them. Then, With That Child-Like Need Of Having His Eyes 
 Opened, Of Being Made To _See_, His Attention Was Fastened Upon The 
 Brilliant Figure Of His Wife, And Her Beauty Seemed At The Moment To 
 Burn Itself Into His Slow-Witted Brain. 
   
 "By Jove!" He Exclaimed, And Again, "By Jove!" 
   
 "I'm Glad You Like It," Replied Gerty, With A Careless Shrug. "I May Not 
 Be A Model Woman From A Domestic Point Of View, But At Least I've 
 Managed To Keep Both My Colour And My Reputation." She Crossed To The 
 Bureau, And Opening A Drawer Took Out A Green And Silver Fan. "I Really 
 Needn't Trouble You To Come, You Know," She Remarked Indifferently. 
 "Arnold Will Be There And I Dare Say He'll Be Willing To Come Back In My 
 Carriage." 
   
 "I Dare Say He Will," Observed Perry, Not Without A Jealous Indignation, 
 "And I Dare Say You'd Be Pleased Enough If I'd Let Him." 
   
 Gerty Laughed As She Closed The Drawer With A Bang. "Well, I Shouldn't 
 Exactly Mind," She Rejoined. 
   
 Reconciliation, Such As It Was, The Brief Reunion Of Suspicion And 
 Broken Faith Was Apparently In Rapid Progress, And, Filled With A Pity 
 Not Unmixed With Disgust, Laura Put On Her Fur Coat And Went Slowly Down 
 The Staircase. The Last Sound That Followed Her Was The Flute-Like Music 
 Of Gerty's Laugh--A Little Tired, Heart-Sick, Utterly Disillusioned 
 Laugh. 
   
 A Man Was Going By On The Sidewalk As She Went Out, And When The Closing 
 Of The House Door Caused Him Instinctively To Look Up, She Saw That It 
 Was Roger Adams. He Stopped Immediately And Waited For Her Until She 
 Descended The Steps. 
   
 "Are You Bound Now," He Asked, "For Gramercy Park?" 
   
 She Nodded "But I'd Like To Walk A Block Or Two. I've Been Shut Up All 
 The Afternoon With Gerty." 
   
 "She's Not Ill, I Hope," He Remarked, As He Fell Into Step At Her Side. 
 "I've Always Had A Considerable Liking For Mrs. Bridewell, And For 
 Perry, Too. He's A First-Rate Chap." 
   
 For A Moment Laura Walked On Rapidly, Without Replying. It Seemed To Her 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 9 Pg 70 
 Abominable That Adams Should Confess To An Admiration For Perry 
 Bridewell, And The Generous Humanity Which She Had Formerly Respected In 
 Him Now Offended Her. 
   
 "He Is Not A Favourite Of Mine," She Commented Indifferently; Then Moved 
 By A Flitting Impulse, She Added After A Pause, "By The Way, Do You 
 Know, I've Met His Cousin." 
   
 Adams Looked A Little Mystified As He Echoed Her Remark. 
   
 "His Cousin?" But In An Instant Further Light Broke Upon Him. "Oh, You 
 Mean Arnold Kemper!" 
   
 "I Met Him At Gerty's," Explained Laura, "But I Can't Say Honestly That 
 He Particularly Appealed To Me. There's Something About Him--I Don't 
 Know What--That Runs Up Against My Prejudices." 
   
 Adams Laughed. 
   
 "I Rather Fancy The Prejudices Are More Than Half Gossip," He Observed. 
   
 "I'd Forgotten What I'd Heard About Him," Rejoined Laura, Shaking Her 
 Head. 
   
 They Had Reached A Crossing, And He Dropped A Little Behind Her While 
 She Walked On With The Flowing Yet Energetic Step She Had Inherited From 
 Her Southern Mother. On The Opposite Corner He Came Up With Her Again 
 And Resumed The Conversation Where They Had Let It Fall. 
   
 "I Never See Kemper Now," He Said, "But I Still Feel That We Are Friends 
 In A Way, And I Believe If I Were To Run Across Him To-Morrow He'd Be 
 Quite As Glad To See Me As If We Hadn't Parted Fifteen Years Ago. The 
 Last Time I Saw Much Of Him, By The Way, We Roughed It Together One 
 Autumn On The Coast Of Nova Scotia, And I Remember He Volunteered There 
 To Go Out In The First Heavy Gale To Bring In Some Fishermen Who Had 
 Been Caught Out In The Ice. They Tied A Rope Around His Waist And He 
 Went And Brought The Men In, Too, Though We Feared For A Time That His 
 Hands Would Be Frozen Off." 
   
 "Oh, I Dare Say He Has Pluck," Observed Laura, And Though Her Voice Was 
 Constrained, She Was Conscious Of A Sudden Moral Exhilaration, Such As 
 She Sometimes Experienced After Reading A Great Poem Or Seeing A 
 Shakespearian Tragedy Upon The Stage. The Lights And The Noises And The 
 People In The Street Became Singularly Vivid, While She Moved On In An 
 Excitement Which She Could Not Explain Though She Felt That It Was 
 Wholly Pleasurable. Kemper Was Present To Her Now In A Nobler, Almost A 
 Glorified, Aspect, And She Began, Though She Herself Was Hardly Aware Of 
 It, To Idealise Him With The Fatal Ardour Of A Poet And A Dreamer. There 
 Was A Splendour To Her In His Old Heroic Deed--A Glow That Transfigured, 
 Like Some Clear Northern Light, The Storm And The Danger And Even The 
 Ice Bound Fishermen--And She Told Herself That It Would Be Impossible 
 Ever To Atone To Him For Her Past Rudeness. 
   
 "Perhaps I Was Unjust," She Remarked Presently, "But One Is Never Proof 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 9 Pg 71 
 Against Intuitive Impressions, And After All It Does Not Greatly 
 Matter." 
   
 Then She Looked At Roger Adams As He Walked In The Electric Light Beside 
 Her. She Saw How Haggard Were The Lines In His Face, That He Was Bent In 
 The Shoulders As If From Some Mental Burden, And The Delicacy Of His 
 Long, Slender Figure Appeared To Her Almost As A Physical Infirmity. It 
 Occurred To Her At The Instant That His Bodily Defects Had Never Before 
 Showed So Plainly To Her Eyes, And It Was With A Flash Of Acute 
 Self-Consciousness--A Flash As From A Lantern That Has Been Turned 
 Inward--That She Realised That She Was Comparing Him With Arnold Kemper. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 10 Pg 72 
 Shows The Hero To Be Lacking In Heroic Qualities 
   
   
 When He Had Parted From Laura Adams Walked Down Fifth Avenue To 
 Thirty-Fifth Street And Then Turned East In The Direction Of His Own 
 House. He Found Upon Entering That Connie, As Usual, Was Dining Out, And 
 After He Had Eaten His Poorly Served Dinner Alone In The Dining-Room, He 
 Went Upstairs With The Intention Of Slipping Into His Smoking Jacket And 
 Returning To His Study For A Peaceful Smoke. The Electric Lights Were 
 Blazing In Connie's Bedroom, And When He Went In To Extinguish Them, 
 Moved By Some Instinct Of Economy, He Found That The Room Was In Even 
 Greater Disorder Than That To Which He Had Grown, After Years Of 
 Uncomplaining Discomfort, Outwardly If Not Inwardly Resigned. Of A 
 Naturally Systematic Habit Of Thought, Connie's Carelessness Had Been 
 For Him One Of Those Petty Annoyances Of Daily Life To Meet Which He Had 
 Always Felt That Philosophy Had Been Especially Designed; But To-Night 
 The Chaos Struck Him So Forcibly That He Found Himself Vaguely 
 Questioning If It Were Possible For A Human Creature To Sleep In Such A 
 Spot? Picking Up Several Gowns From The Middle Of The Floor, He Returned 
 Them To The Wardrobe, And Set Himself To Clearing The Bed Of An Array Of 
 Satin Shoes. Her Silver Hair Brushes Had Fallen On The Hearth Rug, And 
 In Replacing Them Upon The Bureau His Eye Fell On A Small, Half-Empty 
 Phial Lying Beneath A Pile Of Lace-Edged Handkerchiefs. Looking At It A 
 Little Closer He Found That It Contained A Solution Of Cocaine. 
   
 For A Moment Surprise Held Him Motionless; Then As If To Refute And 
 Explain Away Any Ordinary Reason For Her Possession Of The Drug, He 
 Remembered, In A Comprehensive Flash The Recent Violent Changes In Her 
 Character--Her Uncontrollable Attacks Of Nervousness, Her Spasmodic 
 Movements And Her Sudden Flowing, Almost Hysterical, Volubility Of 
 Speech. His Heart Contracted With A Sensation Like That Of Terror, And 
 He Was Turning Away Again When His Glance Was Arrested By A Heap Of 
 Crumpled Bills Lying Loosely In One Corner Of The Open Drawer. 
 Recollecting That She Had Complained The Day Before Of The Smallness Of 
 Her Allowance, He Drew Out The Papers For A Casual Examination--But It 
 Needed Much Less, In Fact, Than This To Assure Him That Her Expenses Had 
 Not Only Gone Immeasurably Beyond Her Own Limited Allowance, But That 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 10 Pg 73 
 They Had Considerably Exceeded His Slightly Larger Income. Her Debts Had 
 Evidently Run Up To A Sum Which She Had Lost The Courage To Confess Even 
 To Herself, And, While The Gravity Of The Situation Entered Into Him, He 
 Smoothed Out The Torn And Crumpled Sheets And Went With Them To His 
 Study. Until To-Night He Had Looked Upon Connie's Extravagance Merely As 
 An Innocent Childish Failing, Resulting From An Inherent Incapacity, As 
 She Laughingly Said, "To Do Sums," But Now As He Sat Under The Green 
 Lamp Shade, Anxiously Multiplying Item After Item, It Seemed To Him That 
 This Recent Recklessness Involved Not Only Her Private Happiness But 
 His Own Personal Honour. He Was A Hot-Tempered Man By Nature, And At 
 First The Very Absurdity Of Her Expenditures, The Useless, Costly 
 Trifles Which Made Up The Amount, Produced In Him An Unreasoning Passion 
 Of Anger. Had She Been In The House He Would Have Gone To Her In The 
 First Shock Of His Temper, But Her Ceaseless Pursuit Of Pleasure Had Put 
 Her Beyond His Reach, So He Sat Silently Staring At The Neatly Arranged 
 Heap Of Papers While His Exasperation Cooled Within Him. 
   
 Presently, Still Sitting Motionless In His Chair, He Felt The Absolute 
 Quiet Of The Room Take Effect Upon His Mood, And With The Peculiar 
 Tolerance Confirmed As Much By Balked Ambition As By Years Of Enforced 
 And Bitter Patience He Began With A Philosophic And Impersonal Leniency 
 To Soften In His Judgment Of Connie's Case. At The Moment There Was No 
 Tenderness, He Told Himself, In The View He Took, And He Gave To Her 
 Merely The Distant, Habitual Charity That He Would Have Extended To The 
 Stranger In The Street. To Give To Her In The Very Least Seemed To Him 
 Suddenly Almost Impossible When He Remembered That From A Forlornly 
 Foolish Caprice She Had Plunged Him Into A Debt Of Several Years. He Had 
 Worked Hard, With Broken Health, In A Profession Of Small Financial 
 Returns, But To His Own Simple Tastes His Income Might Have Brought Not 
 Only Perfect Material Ease, But The Enjoyment Of Comparative Luxury. 
 Still There Was Connie--He Had Always In Every Situation Remembered That 
 There Was Connie--And In Order To Insure Her Present Comfort As Well As 
 To Provide For Her Future Livelihood, He Had Contrived To Limit His 
 Expenses To The Merest Necessities. One Only Gratification He Had 
 Allowed Himself--His Eyes Travelled Gloomily Round His Precious 
 Book-Lined Walls And He Found Himself Wondering If Those Particular 
 Treasures Would Bring Their Full Value In The Open Market? He Regarded 
 Them Meditatively, Almost Religiously, With The Impassioned Eye Of The 
 Collector Who Is Born Not Cultivated. Yet There Were Among Them No 
 High-Priced, Particular Rarities, For He Had Always Counted The Cost 
 With The Deliberation Which He Felt To Be The Better Part Of Impulse. 
 Financially They Did Not Represent A Great Deal, He Admitted; Then, As 
 If Flinching Before A Threatened Sacrilege, He Looked Away Again, While 
 He Remembered With A Quick Recognition Of The Ludicrous, That Among The 
 Articles For Which Connie Had Not Paid Was A Pair Of Pearl Ear-Rings. 
 The Item Had Taken A Prominence Oddly Out Of Keeping With Its 
 Significance, And He Found That It Irritated Him More Than The Thought 
 Of Objects Of A Decidedly Greater Cost. That Any Woman, That His Wife In 
 Particular, Should Want A Pair Of Ear-Rings Appeared To Him Little Short 
 Of The Barbaric. 
   
 But The Incident Was Trifling, And A Minute Later It Had Faded Entirely 
 From His Reflections. As He Sat There In His Easy-Chair In The Lamp 
 Light His Thoughts Turned Slowly Backward, Travelling Over The Tragic 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 10 Pg 74 
 Yet Uneventful History Of His Life. He Remembered His Childhood On A 
 Little Western Farm, The Commonplace Poverty Of His People, And His Own 
 Burning, Agonised Ambition, Which Had Sent Him Through College On A 
 Pittance, Swept The Highest Honours From His Graduation Year, And 
 Wrecked At Last What Had Been At His Starting Out A Fairly Promising 
 Physical Constitution. He Recalled, Too, The Sleepless Enthusiasm Of 
 His Last Term At Harvard, The Terrible Exhaustion Which Had Made His 
 Final Triumph Barren, And The Long Illness Which Had Brought Him In The 
 End, With Shattered Health, To The Door Of The Great Specialist In Lung 
 Diseases. At This Day He Could Shut His Eyes And Summon Back With 
 Distinctness The Smallest Detail Of The Interview. He Went Over Again 
 His Tedious Wait In The Outer Office--The Scattered Magazines Upon The 
 Table, The Utterly Inartistic Prints Upon The Wall, The Ticking Of The 
 Tall Bronze Clock On The Mantel, And Even The Number Of The Page He Had 
 Been Reading In A Periodical, For--Following A Methodical Habit--He Had 
 Unconsciously Made A Mental Note Of The Figures When He Laid The 
 Magazine Aside To Face The Examination Behind The Folding Doors. With 
 The Patient Attention To Minutia Which Was A Part Of His Literary 
 Instinct, His Memory Followed The Great Man Across The Ugly Yellow 
 Squares In The Carpet And Fixed Itself Upon A Row Of Small Green Bottles 
 Standing In A Wooden Rack Upon The Table. Through The Half Hour Of His 
 Visit, Which Brief As It Was Casually Dismissed Him To His Death, Those 
 Slender Green Phials Seemed To His Fancy To Hold An Absurd And Grotesque 
 Prominence. "In A Climate Like This I'd Give You Three Years--Maybe A 
 Little Longer--Yes, I Think I May Grant A Little Longer," The Great Man 
 Had Remarked, With What Seemed To Adams A Ridiculous Assumption Of 
 Yielding A Concession. "In A Dryer Air You Might Even Be Good, We May 
 Say, Until Thirty-Five Or Forty." He Shrugged His Shoulders With A 
 Gesture Intended To Convey His Sympathy But Which Succeeded Only In 
 Expressing His Personal Importance, And Adams Had Walked Out From The 
 Stuffy Little Ether-Smelling Office With A Feeling Curiously Like That 
 He Had Known As A Boy When During A School Game Of Football, He Found 
 Himself Suddenly Thumped Upon The Heart. On The Doorstep He Had Stopped 
 And Laughed Aloud, Struck By The Persistency With Which The Green 
 Bottles Dominated His Impressions. 
   
 After This There Had Come A Blank Of A Few Weeks--A Blank Of Which He 
 Remembered Nothing Except That He Had Struggled Like An Entrapped Beast 
 Against His Fate--Against His Fruitless Labour, His Sacrificed Ambition, 
 The Unavailing Bitterness Of His Self-Denial--Against The World, 
 Destiny, Life, Death, God! But The Very Intensity Of His Rebellion Had 
 Brought Reaction, And It Was In The Succeeding Apathy Of Spirit That He 
 Had Packed His Few Belongings And Started For The Colorado Country. 
 Behind Him He Was Leaving All That Made Life Endurable In His Eyes, And 
 Yet He Was Leaving It From Some Half Animal Instinct Which Caused Him To 
 Preserve The Mere Naked Strip Of Existence That He No Longer Valued. He 
 Hated Himself For Going, Yet He Went That He Might Hate Himself The More 
 Bitterly With Each Step Of The Journey. 
   
 The Lamp On His Desk Flared Up Fitfully And As He Turned To Lower The 
 Wick His Eyes Fell On Connie's Picture. The Uplifted Babyish Face Came 
 Back To Him As He Had First Seen It Under Floating Cherry-Colored 
 Ribbons, And His Anger Of The Last Half-Hour Melted And Vanished Utterly 
 Away. For The Sake Of Those Few Months, When The Waning Fire Within Him 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 10 Pg 75 
 Had Leaped Despairingly Toward The Flame Of Life, He Knew That He Could 
 Never Quite Put Connie From His Heart--For The Sake Of His Short 
 Romance And For The Sake, Too, Of His Child That Had Lived Three Hours. 
 The Thin, Heavily Veined Hand On The Arm Of His Chair Quivered For An 
 Instant, And He Felt His Pulses Throb Quickly As If From Acute Physical 
 Pain. From The Pitiable Failure Of His Marriage, From His Loneliness And 
 Disillusionment There Came Back To Him The Three Hours When He Had 
 Looked Upon The Face Of His Living Child--The Hours Of His Profoundest 
 Emotion, His Completest Reconciliation. He Had Never Regarded Himself As 
 An Emotionally Religious Man, Yet Ten Years Ago, On The Night That His 
 Boy Died, He Had Felt That An Immortal And Indissoluble Part Of Himself 
 Had Gone Out Into The Void. For The First Time He Had Come To The Deeper 
 Reality Of Life--Through The Flowing Of The Agonised Longing Within 
 Himself Toward That Permanent Universal Consciousness Of Which All Human 
 Longings Are But Detached And Wandering Forms. From That Time Death Had 
 Held For Him A More Personal Promise; And The Obligation To Live, To 
 Fulfil One's Present Opportunities, Had Become Charged With Another 
 Meaning Than He Had Been Used To Read Into What He Called His Mere 
 Animal Responsibility. The Boy Who Had Died Was For Him In A Close, An 
 Intimate Relation, Still Vitally Alive; And With One Of Those Quaint Yet 
 Pathetic Blendings Of Memory With Imagination The Little Undeveloped 
 Soul Had Blossomed, Not Invisibly, Incommunicably, But Into Actual Daily 
 Companionship With His Thoughts. 
   
 Sitting There Under The Green Lamp, He Himself Showed As An 
 Insignificant Figure To Possess An Ear For The Divine Silences, An Eye 
 For The Invisible Beauty. His Long, Gaunt Body Lay Relaxed And Inert 
 Upon The Leather Cushions, And His Knotted, Bony Hands--The Hands Of A 
 Scholar And A Thinker--Were Stretched, Palms Downward, On The Rolled 
 Arms Of His Chair. There Was Nothing In His Appearance--Nothing In His 
 Worn, Humorous Face Under The Thin Brown Hair, To Suggest The Valiant 
 Lover, The Impressionable Dreamer. Yet In The Innermost Truth Of His Own 
 Nature He Was Both, And His Grief, Of Which In His Strange, Almost 
 Savage, Reserve He Had Never Spoken Even To His Wife, Had Softened 
 Gradually Into The Gentlest Of His Dreams As Well As The Profoundest Of 
 His Regrets. "The Little Chap," As He Always Called The Child, In His 
 Thoughts, Had Grown For Him Into An Individuality Which For All Its 
 Nearness Was Yet Clearly Distinct From His Own. Adams Had Lived Day By 
 Day With Him, Had Sat Face To Face With Him In His Lamp-Lighted Room, 
 Had Carried Him Successfully Through The First Childish Books That He 
 Might Have Studied, Had Even Launched Him Into The Latin He Might Have 
 Learned. A Boy To Train, To Educate, A Mental Companionship Such As He 
 Loved To Fancy He Would Have Found In A Young, Eager Mind, Had Since His 
 Marriage Become The One Burning Desire Of His Heart, And Even To-Night 
 Sitting, As He So Often Did, Alone In His House, His Thoughts Dwelt With 
 A Playful Tenderness Upon The Boy Who Might Have Brought His _Caesar_ To 
 His Footstool. He Was A Man Of Instinctive Moral Cleanness, And Even In 
 His Imagination He Had Always Kept The Riotous Senses Severely In The 
 Check Of Reason. In The Domain Of The Affections He Had Wanted Nothing 
 Desperately, He Told Himself, Except His Child; And So Intense Had This 
 Yearning Of Fatherhood Become In Him That There Were Moments Of Bitter 
 Loneliness When He Seemed Almost To Feel The Touch Of The Boy's Hand 
 Upon His Knee. He Had Strange Hours, Even When His Dream Became More 
 Vivid To Him Than The Pressing Reality Of Events. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 10 Pg 76 
   
 The Clicking Of The Latchkey As It Was Put Into The Lock Aroused Him 
 Presently, And Immediately Afterward He Heard The Closing Of The Outer 
 Door, A Brief "Good-Night!" In Connie's High-Pitched Voice, And Her 
 Rapid Steps As They Crossed The Carpet In The Hall. While He Waited, 
 Hesitating To Follow Her Upstairs, His Door Opened And Shut Quickly, And 
 She Came In And Threw Herself Into A Chair Beside The Lamp. Her Blonde 
 Head Fell Heavily Back Upon The Cushions And The Light, Streaming 
 Directly Upon Her Face, Revealed To His Startled Eyes All The Intenser 
 Angularities Produced By The Last Twelve Months--Angularities Which 
 Seemed, Somehow, To Belong Less To The Features Themselves Than To The 
 Restless Intelligence Which Lay Behind Them. Connie's Features Had 
 Always Appeared Too Small For Expression; Too Correctly Formed For Any 
 Deviating Individuality, But The Impression Made Upon Adams Now Was That 
 They Had Grown So Thin--So Transparent In Their Fineness--That He Looked 
 Through Them To The Nervous Animation Confined And Struggling In Her 
 Fragile Body. The Same Animation Throbbed Like A Pulse In Her Emaciated 
 Bosom, Which Only The Extreme Smallness Of Her Bones Kept Still Lovely 
 In Its Low-Cut Evening Gown. She Was Devoured, Consumed By The Agony Of 
 Restlessness Which Shook Through Her, Directing And Controlling Her 
 Slender Judgment Like A Perpetual And Imperfectly Subdued Convulsion Of 
 Passion. 
   
 For An Instant He Looked At Her In Attentive Silence, Then, As Her 
 Fingers Wrestled Uncertainly With The Cords Of Her Evening Wrap, He Rose 
 From His Chair And Bent Forward To Assist Her. 
   
 "It's In A Hard Knot," She Said Irritably. "I Can't Undo It." 
   
 While He Released The Fastening And Drew Back His Glance Fell Upon The 
 Little Bluish Hollows In Her Temples, Over Which The Light Curls Were 
 Skilfully Arranged, And As He Realised Fully Her Wasted Physical 
 Resources, It Seemed To Him That An Allusion To Anything So Sordid As A 
 Mere Financial Difficulty Would Sound Not Only Trivial But Positively 
 Indecorous As Well. With A Whimsical Trick Of Memory He Recalled 
 Abruptly A Man Under Sentence Of Death In A Western Gaol Who Had 
 Received The Night Before His Execution A Bill For A Dozen Bottles Of 
 Champagne. Connie's Extravagance Appeared To Him Suddenly But A Kind Of 
 Moral Champagne--The Particular _Hasheesh_ That She Had Chosen From 
 Unhappy Consciousness. To Live At All One Must Live With A Dream, He 
 Knew, And To His Present Flashing Vision It Seemed That Connie's Ecstasy 
 Of Possession And His Own Ecstasy Of Desire Served A Like End When They 
 Transfigured For A Little While The Brutal Actuality From Which There 
 Was No Escape Except By The Way Of A Man's Own Soul. 
   
 "You're Ill," He Said At Last In A Compassionate Voice, "And There's 
 Nothing For You But To Get Out Of New York As Soon As Possible." 
   
 She Looked Disconcerted, Almost Incensed, By The Suggestion. 
   
 "You Can't Send Me To Florida," She Returned, "And That's Where 
 Everybody Goes At This Season." 
   
 A Trembling Like That Of Faintness Which Is Fought Off By An Effort Of 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 10 Pg 77 
 Will Ran Over Her, And He Watched The Pale, Unsteady Quiver Of Her 
 Eyelids. 
   
 "I Will Send You There--I'll Send You Anywhere," He Said, "If You Will 
 Promise Me--" 
   
 The Words Were Hard To Come, And While He Stumbled Over Them She Looked 
 Up With A Startled Exclamation. Her Glance Travelling To His Face, Swept 
 Over The Desk Beside Which He Stood And Was Arrested By The Pile Of 
 Unpaid Bills, Which He Had Pushed, As He Spoke, Further Away From The 
 Lamp Light. A Hot, Angry Flush Overspread Her Face, And She Made A 
 Nervous Movement That Brought Her To Her Feet With A Spring. 
   
 "You Had No Right To Look At Them," She Burst Out Sharply, "They Are All 
 Wrong. Half Of Them Were Not Meant For Me." 
   
 The Lie Was So Foolish, So Ineffectual And Without Excuse, That He 
 Flinched And Turned His Eyes Away--For The Shame Of It Seemed To Belong 
 Less To Her Than To Himself. At The Instant He Was Conscious Of A 
 Stinging Sensation In His Veins As Of A Man Who Realises For The First 
 Time That He Has Fallen Into Dishonour. 
   
 "I Did Not Mean To Mention That--At Least Not Now," He Said Quickly. 
 "We'll Call It Off And Try To Keep Clean Out Of Debt In The Future. I 
 Fear Your Allowance Does Seem Rather Shabby To You, But It Can't Be 
 Helped. It Takes Every Cent Of The Balance To Run The House And Pay My 
 Life Insurance." 
   
 He Waited An Instant, Hoping That His Matter-Of-Fact Statement Of The 
 Situation--His Freedom From Implied Reproach--Might Call Forth Some 
 Expression, However Slight, Of Her Appreciation. But Her Glance Flashed 
 Over Him, Critical, Disapproving, And He Became Aware, Through A Wonder 
 Of Intuition, That Even At The Moment She Was Possessed By Her Passion 
 For Externals, Was Weighing His Personal Details As He Stood In The Lamp 
 Light, And Deciding Impartially That He Made But A Poor Physical 
 Showing. Her Unfavourable Verdict Was Impressed Upon Him So Strongly 
 That It Produced A Revulsion Of Anger. He Felt, Somehow, That Their 
 Positions Were Reversed, That She Had Him Now At Her Mercy, And Failing 
 To Reduce Him By Flattery, Had Chosen To Wither Him By Contempt. 
   
 "There's Not A Woman I Know Who Could Dress Decently On What I Have," 
 She Rejoined, Skilfully Adjusting Him Into The Necessity Of Defence. 
   
 He Gathered Up The Papers, And Placing Them In A Drawer Of His Desk, 
 Closed It Sharply. There Was A Sordid Indecency About The Discussion 
 Which Stung Him Like The Stroke Of A Whip. 
   
 "I Am Sorry," He Returned Coolly, "But I Have Done My Best. There Is 
 Nothing More To Be Said." His Eyes Lingered For A Moment On Her Thin 
 Bosom Where The Bones Were Beginning To Be Faintly Visible Through The 
 Ivory Flesh. Then He Looked At Her Sharpened Face And Saw That The Three 
 Little Wrinkles Were Stamped Indelibly Between Her Eyebrows. As He 
 Watched Her She Lifted Her Head With The Babyish Tilt He Had First Seen 
 Under Cherry-Coloured Ribbons. "I Will Find The Money To Send You To 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 10 Pg 78 
 Florida," He Said Slowly, "If You Will Promise Me--To Give Up Drugs." 
   
 She Gathered Her Wraps About Her And Made A Movement As If To Leave The 
 Room. "Drugs! Why, How Ridiculous!" She Exclaimed With A Laugh, Though 
 He Felt The Cold Edge Of Hatred In Her Voice. 
   
 Still Laughing, She Went Out And Up The Staircase, And A Few Minutes 
 Afterwards He Heard Her Nervous Step In The Room Above. He Took Out The 
 Bills Again And Spent Half The Night In The Effort To Realise The Exact 
 Amount Of His Indebtedness. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 11 Pg 79 
 In Which A Lie Is The Better Part Of Truth 
   
   
 At Breakfast Connie Did Not Appear--She Had Seemed To Be Asleep When He 
 Went Into His Dressing-Room--And It Was Not Until One O'clock That He 
 Had A Chance To Speak To Her Again. Luncheon Was Already On The Table 
 When He Entered The Dining-Room, And Connie, In A Green Velvet Gown And 
 A Little Green Velvet Hat Ornamented By A Twinkling Aigrette, Was 
 Standing By The Window Looking Out Restlessly At The Falling Snow. As He 
 Came In She Went Over To The Table And Began Making Tea With Nervous 
 Hands. She Was Apparently In The Highest Spirits, And While She Fumbled 
 Noisily With The Cups And Saucers She Rambled On In Her Expressionless 
 Voice With Tinkling Interludes Of Her Shrill, Falsetto Laughter. As He 
 Watched Her In Shamed Silence He Remembered With Astonishment That It 
 Had Taken Him Almost Ten Years To Find Out That Connie Was Vulgar. Now 
 At Last His Eyes Were Opened--He Had Achieved A Standard Of Comparison 
 And He Felt Her Commonness With An Awakening Of His Literary Instinct, 
 Quite As Acutely, He Told Himself, As He Should Have Felt It Had She 
 Been Presented To Him In The Form Of A Printed Page. The Sense Of 
 Remoteness, Of Strangeness, Grew Upon Him At Each Instant; He Realised 
 The Uselessness Of His Good Intentions Toward Her--The Utter 
 Impossibility Of Snatching Her Or Any Human Creature From The Clutch Of 
 Temperament. 
   
 Her Day Was Filled With Engagements, She Told Him At The End Of Luncheon 
 When She Rose To Hurry Off While He Still Lingered Over His Coffee; "And 
 I Shan't Be Here To Dine, Either," She Added, As An After Thought. "Gus 
 Brady Will Come For Me--There's The Opera And A Supper Afterwards, So 
 You Needn't Trouble To Sit Up." 
   
 "But Whom Are You Going With?" He Enquired, Filled For The First Time 
 With A Painful Curiosity Concerning The Social Body In Which Connie 
 Moved. 
   
 She Shook Her Head With A Gesture Of Irritation, While The Aigrette In 
 Her Hat Sent Out Little Iridescent Flashes Of Blue And Green. "Oh, You 
 Wouldn't Know If I Told You," She Answered Impatiently, And Left The 
 Room So Hastily That He Felt She Had Meant To Wriggle Away From The 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 11 Pg 80 
 Repeated Question. What Did It Mean? He Wondered For A Minute As He 
 Slowly Sipped His Coffee. Even If She Should Go With Brady Alone, Where 
 Was The Harm Of It? And Why Should She Avoid So Innocent An Admission. 
 He Was Of A Candidly Unsuspicious Nature, And Since In His Own Mind He 
 Had Seen No Particular Reason For Infringing Upon The Conventions Of 
 Society They Had Never Given Him So Much As An Unquiet Thought. 
 Certainly To Dine At A Restaurant Or Attend So Public A Function As 
 Grand Opera With A Person Of The Opposite Sex, Seemed To Him A 
 Singularly Harmless Choice Of Indiscretions, And Had She Made A Careless 
 Avowal Of Her Intention The Matter Would Probably Have Dropped At The 
 Moment From His Thoughts. But The Very Secretiveness Of Her Manner--The 
 Suggestion Of A Hidden Motive Which Dwelt In Her Nervous Movements And 
 Even Quivered In The Little Scintillating Aigrette On Her Blonde 
 Head--Aroused In Him If Not A Positive Distrust, Still A Bewildering And 
 Decidedly Unpleasant Confusion Of Ideas. He Felt, Somehow, Vaguely 
 Impelled To Action, Yet For The Life Of Him, He Admitted After A Moment, 
 He Could See No Single Direction In Which Action With Regard To His Wife 
 Would Not Savor Of The Indiscreet, If Not Of The Ridiculous. The 
 Attitude Of An Aggrieved Husband Had Always Showed To Him As Something 
 Laughable, And An Explosion Of Jealousy Had Never Appeared More Vulgar 
 Than It Did While He Sat Patiently Conjecturing If Such A Domestic 
 Cyclone Might Be Counted Upon To Shake Connie To Her Senses. In The End 
 He Gave It Up As A Farce Which He Felt It Would Be Beyond The Power Of 
 His Gravity To Sustain. "I'll Do Anything In Reason, Heaven Knows," He 
 Found Himself Confessing, After The Instant's Reflection, "But I'll Be 
 Hanged Before I'll Set Out In Cold Blood To Play The Fool." 
   
 The Front Door, Closing With A Bang, Brought Him Instantly To His Feet 
 And, Glancing Through The Window, He Saw Connie About To Step Into A Cab 
 Which She Had Signalled From The Sidewalk. Her Velvet Gown Trailed 
 Behind Her, And She Appeared Perfectly Unconcerned By The Fact That She 
 Had Sunk Above Her Ankles In The Heavy Snowdrifts. A Moment Later, When 
 She Lifted Her Train To Enter The Cab, He Discovered To His Amazement 
 That She Was Wearing Low Kid Shoes With The Thinnest Of Silk Stockings. 
 Then, Before He Could Raise The Window For A Protest, The Cab Rolled Off 
 In The Direction Of Fifth Avenue, And, Wet Feet And Twinkling Feather, 
 She Was Out Of Sight. 
   
 By The Time He Had Got Into His Overcoat And Followed Her Into The 
 Street, The Snow Had Begun To Fall More Rapidly In Large Powdery 
 Flakes, Which Soon Covered Him In A Thick, Frosty Coating From Head To 
 Foot. As He Walked Briskly Toward His Office, He Noticed With A 
 Quickened Attention The Women Who Like Connie, With Nervous Faces 
 Showing Above Elaborate Gowns, Were Borne Swiftly Past Him In Hired 
 Cabs. Something, He Hardly Knew What, Had Opened His Eyes To That 
 Glittering Life Of The World Of Which He Had Always Been Profoundly 
 Ignorant, And It Seemed To Him Suddenly That The Distance Between 
 Himself And His Wife Had Broadened To An Impassable Space In A Single 
 Night. Connie Was No Longer The Girl Whom He Remembered Under 
 Cherry-Coloured Ribbons. She Came In Reality No Closer To Him Than Did 
 The Tired, Restless Women, With Artificially Brightened Faces, Who 
 Appeared To His Exhausted Eyes To Whirl Past Him Perpetually In Cabs. A 
 Passionate Regret Seized Him For The Thing Which Connie Was Not And 
 Could Never Be Again--For The Love He Had Never Known And For The 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 11 Pg 81 
 Fatherhood That Had Been Denied Him. 
   
 He Had Turned, Still Plunged In His Thoughts, Into A Quiet Cross Street 
 Where A Crowd Of Ragged Urchins Were Snowballing One Another In A Noisy 
 Battle; And As He Paused For An Instant To Watch The Fight He Noticed 
 That A Man, Coming From The Opposite Direction, Had Stopped Also And 
 Stood Now Motionless With Interest Upon The Sidewalk. The Peculiar 
 Concentration Of Attention Was The First Thing Which Adams Remarked In 
 The Stranger--From His Absorbed Level Gaze It Was Evident That Mentally 
 At Least He Had Thrown Himself For The Moment Into The Thickest Of The 
 Battle, And There Was A Flush Of Eager Enjoyment In The Face Which Was 
 Partially Obscured By The Falling Snow Flakes. Then, Quick As A Flash Of 
 Light, Something Pleasantly Familiar In The Watching Figure, Gripped 
 Adams With The Memory Of A College Battle More Than Fifteen Years Ago, 
 And He Burst Out In An Exclamation Of Pleased Surprise. 
   
 "You're Arnold Kemper And I'm Roger Adams," He Said, Laying His Hand 
 Upon The Other's Arm. 
   
 Kemper Wheeled About Immediately, While The Smile Of Placid Amusement In 
 His Face Broadened Into A Laugh Of Delighted Recognition. 
   
 "Well, By Jove, It's Great!" He Responded, And The Heartiness Of His 
 Handshake Sent A Tingling Sensation Through Adams' Arm. "I Don't Know 
 When I've Been So Pleased For Years. Been To Luncheon?" 
   
 "I've Just Had It," Laughed Adams, Remembering That Fifteen Years Ago, 
 When He Last Saw Him, Kemper Had Extended A Similar Invitation With The 
 Same Grasp Of Hearty Good Fellowship. Was It Possible That The Man Had 
 Really Kept His College Memories Alive? He Wondered In A Daze Of 
 Admiration, Or Had He Himself Merely Awakened By His Reappearance A 
 Train Of Associations Which Had Lain Undisturbed Since Their Last 
 Parting. Let It Be As It Might, Adams Felt That The Encounter Was Of The 
 Pleasantest. 
   
 "I'm Driven Like A Slave Back To Office Drudgery," He Added, "And I'm 
 Half Inclined To Envy You Your Freedom And Your Automobiles." 
   
 Kemper's Eyes Shot Back An Intimate Curiosity. "So You're Editor Of _The 
 International Review_, I Hear," He Said. "Do You Know I've Had It In My 
 Mind For Years To Look You Up, But There's Such A Confounded Temptation 
 To Let Things Drift, You Know." 
   
 "I Know," Rejoined Adams, Smiling. "I've Drifted With Them." 
   
 "Well, I'm Jolly Glad That You've Drifted My Way At Last. So You've Been 
 To Luncheon, Have You?" Kemper Enquired Again, As He Unfastened A Button 
 Of His Overcoat And Drew Out His Watch. "I Wish You Hadn't--I've 
 Promised To Meet A Man At The Club And It's Past The Hour. I Say, Look 
 Here," He Added Hastily As He Was About To Hurry Off, "I've Some Rather 
 Decent Rooms Of My Own Now Where I Sometimes Manage To Get A Quiet 
 Morsel. Will You Come To Dine To-Morrow At Half-Past Seven, Sharp?" 
   
 It Took Adams Hardly An Instant To Consider And Accept The Invitation. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 11 Pg 82 
 Though He Rarely Dined Out He Felt A Positive Pleasure At The Thought, 
 And When, A Minute Later, He Walked On Again, Repeating The Number Of 
 The Address Which The Other Had Pressed Upon Him, He Found That Kemper's 
 Greeting Had Left A Trail Of Cheerfulness Which Lingered For At Least A 
 Half Hour After The Man Himself Had Gone On His Genial Way. If, As Gerty 
 Bridewell Had Once Declared In A Fit Of Exasperation, "Arnold Kemper 
 Consisted Of A Surface," He Managed At Least To Present Those Mystifying 
 Ripples Of Personality Which Suggest To The Imagination Depths Of 
 Pleasantness As Yet Undiscovered. Adams Had Lived To His Present Age By 
 The Help Of Few Illusions--And He Realised Even Now That The Thing He 
 Liked In Kemper Was An Effect Of Manner Which Implied An Impossible 
 Subtlety--That The Power One Saw In The Man Was Produced Simply By Some 
 Trick Of Pose, By A Frankness So Big That One Felt Intuitively There 
 Must Be Still Bigger Qualities Behind It. Whether It Was All A Bluster 
 Of Affectation Adams Had Never As Yet Decided In His Own Mind, But 
 There Were Moments When, In Listening To Stories Of The Masculine 
 Freedom In Which Kemper Lived, He Felt Inclined To Acknowledge That The 
 Force, Whatever It Was, Had Spent Itself In Wind. In A Profession The 
 Man Would Inevitably Have Become A Figure, He Thought Now With A Touch 
 Of Friendly Humor--In Law Or Medicine He Would Have Gone In For The 
 Invincible "Grand Style," And The Picturesqueness Of His Person Would 
 Have Served To Swell The Number Of His Clients. It Was A Shabby Turn Of 
 Fortune, Adams Admitted, Which In Supplying Kemper With A Too Liberal 
 Bank Account, Had Made Of Him At The Same Time A Driver Of Racing Motor 
 Cars Instead Of The Ornament Of A More Distinguished Field. There Were 
 Compensations Doubtless, And He Wondered If In This Instance They Had 
 Centred In The Fascinations Of An Operatic Juliet? 
   
 Upon Reaching His Office He Found That He Was Late For An Interview He 
 Had Appointed With A Famous Russian Revolutionist, Who Had Promised Him 
 An Article For The _Review_. It Was The Time Of The Month When They Were 
 Making Up The Forthcoming Number, And He Was Kept Late Over A Discussion 
 Of The Leading Paper, Which, Owing To The Sudden Death Of A Literary 
 Personage Of Distinction, He Had Been Compelled To Replace At The Last 
 Moment. 
   
 His Office Was A Small, Dingy Room On The Eighth Floor Of A Building In 
 Union Square, And His Privacy Was Guarded By The Desks Of His 
 Secretaries Placed Directly Beyond The Threshold. These Assistants Were 
 Young Men Of Considerable Promise, He Liked To Think--College Graduates 
 And Temperamental Hero-Worshippers, Who Adored Him With An Ardour Which 
 He Found At Once Disconcerting And Ridiculous. He Had Been Used, 
 However, To So Little Personal Appreciation In His Life That He Had 
 Grown Of Late To Look Forward, With Pathetic Eagerness, To The Hearty 
 Morning Greeting Of His Fellow-Workers--For One Of Whom, A 
 Fresh-Coloured Youth Named Baldwin, He Had Come To Cherish A Positive 
 Affection. It Was Stimulating To Feel That Somewhere He Counted For 
 Something In His Bodily Presence--Even Though The Scene Of His 
 Importance Was Confined To The Little Smoke-Stained Office Among The 
 Chimney Pots. 
   
 When, At The End Of The Day, He Came Out Into The Street Again And 
 Crossed To Fifth Avenue For His Accustomed Walk, He Found That The Snow 
 Had Ceased To Fall, Though A Bitter Wind Was Scattering The Heavy Drifts 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 11 Pg 83 
 In A Succession Of Miniature Blizzards. After The Heated Office The 
 Tempestuous Gale Struck Agreeably Upon His Face, And His Mind, Which He 
 Had Kept Closely Upon His Work Until The Hour Of Release, Began Almost 
 With Difficulty To Detach Itself From The Fortunes Of The _Review_. In 
 The Effort To Compel Rather Than Seek Distraction, He Put His 
 Imagination Idly On The Scent Of The People In The Street--Ran Down In 
 Fancy The History Of A Woman In A Purple Velvet Gown And A Bedraggled 
 Petticoat, Catalogued An Athletic Young Englishman Who Tugged At His 
 Heels A Reluctant Bulldog, And Wove A Tragic Romance Around A Pretty 
 Girl In A Shabby Coat Who Stood In A Staring Ecstasy Before A Window 
 Filled With Imitation Jewels. Then Two Men, Smoking Cigars, Came Up 
 Suddenly Behind Him And He Amused Himself With Guessing At The Brand Of 
 The Tobacco, Which Had A Remarkably Fragrant Aroma. 
   
 "The Only Thing I Know Against Her," Said One Of The Men With A Laugh As 
 He Went By, "Is That She Dines Alone With Brady If You See Nothing In 
 That Beyond The Simple Act Of Dining--" 
   
 Reaching A Corner They Turned Off Abruptly Down A Cross Street And The 
 Rest Of The Sentence Passed With The Speaker Into An Obscurity Of Fog. 
 For An Instant It Did Not Occur To Adams To Connect The Phrase With An 
 Allusion To His Wife; Then As He Repeated It Mechanically In His 
 Thoughts, There Sprang Upon Him, Like Some Sinister Outward Visitation, 
 An Indefinable Horror--A Presentiment Which He Dared Not Whisper Even To 
 Himself. Pshaw! There Were Perhaps, A Dozen Women Who Dined With Brady, 
 He Insisted Reassuringly, And For The Matter Of That, There Were 
 Probably A Dozen Bradys. The Name Was Common Enough, And The Only Decent 
 Thing To Do Was To Get Rid Of The Suspicion And To Apologise To Connie 
 In His Thoughts. To Impute A Low Motive To A Simple Action Had Always 
 Seemed To Him The Vulgarity Of Littleness, And Littleness In A Man He 
 Had Come To Look Upon As A Kind Of Passive Vice. So Until The Event 
 Proved The Necessity Of Action, He Was Determined That There Should Be 
 No "Black Bats" Among His Thoughts. Had He Loved Connie There Might Have 
 Been Perhaps More Passion And Less Conscience In His Treatment Of The 
 Situation, But The Humour Of The Philosopher Had For Many Years Replaced 
 In His Nature The Ardour Of The Lover. What He Gave To Her Was The 
 Inflexible Code Of Honour Which He Observed In His Association With His 
 Own Sex. 
   
 At Fortieth Street He Was About To Turn Back Again When He Was Arrested 
 By The Sound Of His Own Name Called By A Passing Voice, And Looking Up 
 He Saw Perry Bridewell Spring From A Cab Which Had Hastily Driven Up To 
 The Sidewalk. 
   
 "Wait A Bit, Will You, Adams?" Said Perry, Waving One Heavily Gloved 
 Hand While He Reached Up With The Other To Pay The Driver. "You're The 
 Very Man I'm After," He Added An Instant Later As He Turned From The 
 Curbing, "So If You Don't Mind I'll Walk A Couple Of Blocks In Your 
 Direction. I'd Just Got Into My Dinner Clothes," He Explained, Fastening 
 His Fur-Lined Overcoat More Snugly Across His Chest, "When I Found That 
 Miss Wilde Was Going Down Alone To Gramercy Park. That's Where I've Come 
 From, And Now I'm Rushing Back To Keep An Engagement Gerty Has Made For 
 Dinner. I'll Be Hanged If I Know Where She's Taking Me--It's All One To 
 Me, Half The Time I Forget To Ask Whose House We're Going To Until I 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 11 Pg 84 
 Bolt Into The Drawing-Room. Beastly Life, This Everlasting Eating In 
 Other People's Houses." 
   
 His Tone Was One Of Amiable Discontentment, But There Was A Look Of 
 Positive Annoyance Upon His Handsome Face, And He Turned Presently To 
 Regard His Companion With An Enquiry Which Might Have Been Darkly 
 Furtive Had Not The Luminous Publicity In Which He Moved Rendered The 
 Smallest Of His Mental Processes So Brilliantly Overt. It Was 
 Immediately Plain To Adams That The Jerky Sentences Were Shot Out At 
 Random In Order That Perry's Slow Mind Might Gain A Larger Space In 
 Which To Grope For The Word He Really Wanted. There Was Something 
 Evidently Behind It All, And Until The Situation Should Disclose Itself 
 They Walked On In An Embarrassed And Waiting Silence. In His Top Hat And 
 His Mink-Lined Overcoat Perry Presented An Ample Dignity Which His 
 Companion Found Almost Overpowering In Its Male Magnificence. That 
 Hesitation Should Manifest Itself Amid Such A Pageantry Of Personality 
 Reminded Adams Of The Beggars In The Old Nursery Rhyme Who Had Come To 
 Town Sporting Velvet Gowns. Everything About Perry Bridewell Was Built 
 On So Opulent A Scale That In Thinking Of Him One Found Oneself Using 
 Almost Unconsciously A Romanesque And Florid Diction. 
   
 "There Is Something You'd Like To Say To Me," Suggested Adams Presently. 
 "I'm In No Hurry, Of Course, But Isn't This As Good A Time As Any 
 Other?" 
   
 "By Jove, That's Just What I Was Thinking," Returned Perry, With A Burst 
 Of Confidence, "But It Isn't Really Anything, You Know--That Is, I Mean, 
 It Isn't Anything That--That's Real Business." 
   
 A Pretty Woman Passed Suddenly Under The Electric Light, And Even In His 
 Embarrassment, Which Was Great, He Followed Her With The Animated Glance 
 Which He Instinctively Devoted To Vanishing Feminine Beauty. 
   
 "Thank God, There's No Real Business Between Us," Retorted Adams, "And 
 That's Why It's A Rest To Spend A Half-Hour With You--Because You Don't 
 Know A Piece Of Literature From A Publisher's Advertisement." 
   
 "We're Such Old Friends, You Know," Pursued Perry, Forgetting The Moment 
 Which He Had Wasted Upon The Pretty Woman, "That When There's A Thing On 
 My Mind I Feel--Well, I Feel A--A Deuced Queer Fish Not To Tell You." 
   
 Adams Laughed Good Naturedly. 
   
 "For Heaven's Sake Don't Remain Long In A Fishy Sensation," He 
 Rejoined. "Let's Have It Out And Over. By The Way, May I Ask If It 
 Concerns You Or Me?" 
   
 Perry Shook His Head As He Tugged Nervously At His Fair Moustache. "Look 
 Here, Old Man," He Said At Last, "I Know, Of Course, That Mrs. Adams Is 
 As Innocent As A Baby--Gerty's Just Like Her And There Are Plenty Of 
 Women Made That Way. It's The Men Who Are Such Confounded Brutes," He 
 Commented With Pensive Morality. 
   
 "Oh, Is That It?" Responded Adams, And He Turned Upon The Other A Look 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 11 Pg 85 
 That Was Coolly Interrogative. "Come, Now, We'll Take It Quietly. You're 
 One Of The Best Friends I Have, And I Want To Know What They're Saying 
 About My Wife." 
   
 "It's That Damned Brady!" Exclaimed Perry, While He Felt For His 
 Handkerchief, And Blew His Nose With Violence. 
   
 "All Right--It's That Damned Brady?" Repeated Adams. 
   
 "If I Didn't Think More Of You Than Of Any Man On Earth I'd Be Shot 
 Before I'd Tell You," Protested Perry, And Added With A Desperate Rush 
 Under Fire. 
   
 "He Had Too Much Champagne Last Night--Though, As For That Matter, I've 
 Seen Him Upset By A Cocktail--And Afterward At Billiards He Told Skinker 
 That--That Mrs. Adams--You Understand, Old Chap, It's All His Rot--Was 
 Going To Supper Alone With Him To-Night--In His Rooms After The Opera. 
 Of Course He Was Drunk And I Wouldn't Bet A Cent On His Word Even When 
 He's Sober. He's The Kind Of Fool That Tells Of His Conquests At The 
 Club," He Wound Up With Scathing Contempt. 
   
 For A Moment Adams, Looking Away From Him, Stared Silently Into A Shop 
 Window Before Which He Stood--Intent Apparently Upon The Varied Display 
 Of Antique Silver. Then He Turned Squarely To Perry Bridewell And Broke 
 Into A Short, Hard Laugh. 
   
 "Well, Brady Lied," He Said. "I Promised Mrs. Adams That I Would Bring 
 Her Home From The Opera." It Was No Hesitation In His Own Voice, But The 
 Joyful Relief Which Shone At Him From Perry's Face That Brought Him 
 Suddenly To A Stop. "You Were A First-Rate Fellow To Come To Me," He 
 Went On More Quietly. "Of Course, You Know, Our Western Conventions Are 
 Much More Elastic Than Your New York Ones. All The Same--" 
   
 "I Merely Wanted To Let Her Know The Kind Of Man He Is," Explained 
 Perry. "What Do Women Understand About The Men They Meet--Why, We All 
 Look Pretty Much Alike Upon The Surface." Then His Righteous Anger Got 
 The Better Of His Philosophy And He Broke Out In A Heartfelt Oath. "Damn 
 Him! I'd Like To Thrash Him Clean Out Of His Skin!" 
   
 "I Am Glad You Told Me," Was All Adams Said, But There Was A Reserved 
 Strength In His Voice Which Made The Explosive Violence Of The Other 
 Sound The Merest Bravado. As He Spoke The Light Flashed In His Face, And 
 Perry Saw That It Was The Face Of An Old And A Tired Man. There Was A 
 Shrinking In His Eyes As Of One Who Has Stumbled Unexpectedly Upon A 
 Revolting Sight. 
   
 Of The Many And Varied Emotions Which Had Entered Perry's Life, The 
 Cleanest, Perhaps, Was His Loyal Regard For Roger Adams. It Had Begun 
 With His College Days, Had Strengthened With His Manhood, And Had 
 Lasted, In Spite Of The Amiable Contempt In Which He Held All 
 Literature, With A Constancy Which Had Certainly Not Belonged To His 
 Affairs With Representatives Of The Opposite Sex. Now As He Looked At 
 Adams' Haggard Face Under The Electric Light, He Felt The Tugging Of A 
 Sympathy So Strong That It Seemed To Hurt Him Somewhere In His Expansive 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 11 Pg 86 
 Chest. 
   
 "Look Here, Old Chap, Come And Dine With Me At Sherry's," He Burst Out, 
 "And I'll Telephone Gerty That I've Thrown Over That Beastly Dinner." 
   
 To Offer Something To Eat To The Afflicted Was The Solitary Form In 
 Which Consolation Appeared To Him Invested With Solidity; And So Earnest 
 Was The Generous Impulse By Which He Now Felt Himself To Be Prompted, 
 That Before Adams Could Reply To The Invitation He Had Begun Already To 
 Run Over Mentally The Courses He Was Prepared To Order. For A Colossal, 
 A Consolatory, An Unforgettable Dinner He Was Determined That It Should 
 Be--Such A Dinner As He Permitted Himself Only Upon The Rare Occasions 
 When One Of His Intimate Friends Had Lost Heavily In Stocks Or Been 
 Abandoned By His Wife. "Come To Sherry's," He Urged Again, Halting In 
 The Ecstatic Working Of His Mind, "And I Promise You That We Will Make 
 An Evening." 
   
 But The Sly Incarnate Devil Which Lurked In Adams In The Form Of An 
 Ironic Spirit Asserted Itself With An Explosion Which Shook The 
 Plethoric Gravity With Which Perry Contemplated An Orgy Of Indigestion. 
 The Universal Scheme Appeared Planned To Fulfil The Law Of A Titanic 
 Humour, And His Own Credulity And Connie's Indiscretions Showed Suddenly 
 To Adams As Mere Mote-Like Jests Which Circled In A General Convulsion 
 Of Nature's Irony. 
   
 "Well, You Are A Capital Fellow," He Stammered, After A Moment, While 
 The Spasm Of His Unholy Laughter Rocked Him From Head To Foot. "I--I'd 
 Like It Of All Things--But I Can't. The Fact Is It Is All So Funny--The 
 Whole Business Of Life." 
   
 Even As He Uttered The Words He Realised That To Perry They Would Convey 
 An Infamous Lightness, But At The Thought His Hysterical Humour 
 Redoubled In Its Energy. It Was As If He Stood Outside--Afar Off--And 
 Watched As A God The Little Tangled Eccentricities Of Earth. And They 
 _Were_ Little, Even Though Perry Should Continue To Regard The Situation 
 With Such Large Magnificence. 
   
 By The Time, However, That He Had Parted From Perry Bridewell And Turned 
 In At His Own Door, The Gravity Of The Occasion Had Grown Almost 
 Oppressive In His Reflections. Connie Had Gone An Hour Before--He Was 
 Too Late To Have Detained Her Upon A Pretext--And While Sitting 
 Speechless Before The Dinner He Could Not Eat--His Heated Imagination 
 Wove Visions Of Horror In Which His Wife Was Entangled As A Fly In A 
 Spider's Web. What If Connie Were Really Possessed By The Influence Of 
 Some Drug Which Rendered Her Incapable Of Willing Rationally? What If He 
 Missed Her At The Entrance To The Opera? Or What If--Most Desperate 
 Supposition--She Should, In The Event Of His Finding Her, Refuse To 
 Accept His Manufactured Excuse To Recall Her Home? She Was Capable, He 
 Knew, Of Any Recklessness, But He Had Never For An Instant Conceived Her 
 As Walking Open Eyed Into Dishonour, And He Felt Again The Awful, If 
 Partly Comforting Conviction That She Was Not Herself--That An Infernal 
 Drug Was Working In Her And Bending Her To Some Particular Uses Of The 
 Devil. Why Had She Wasted Her Beauty And Even Her Life? He Wondered 
 Bitterly--And Did The Moment's Mad Exhilaration Compensate For The Slow 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 11 Pg 87 
 Deliberate Eating Away Of Her Moral Consciousness? He Recalled Again The 
 Violent Flutter Of Her Manner, The Excitement As Of Intoxication In Her 
 Voice, The Yellow Tinge Which Had Crept Gradually Over The Ivory Of Her 
 Skin; Her Spasmodic Movements And The Ineffectual Lies Which Deluded 
 Neither Of Them For An Instant. The Tragedy Of Life Rose Before Him As 
 Vividly As The Humour Of It Had Done An Hour Ago--A Tragedy Which Was 
 Hideous Because It Was Ignoble, In Which There Was Neither The Beauty Of 
 Resignation Nor The Sublimity Of Defiance. Had There Been The 
 Least--Even The Smallest Redeeming Honesty In The Situation He Felt That 
 He Might Have Faced It, If Not With Positive Sympathy Yet With A 
 Tolerant, A Merciful Comprehension. Love He Might Have Understood--For 
 Women Needed It, He Knew, And He Was Burdened By No Delusion Concerning 
 The Place He Occupied In Connie's Horizon. But Before The Breathless 
 Chase Of Excitement In Which She Lived, The Frenzied Invocation Of 
 Pleasure That Filled Her Thoughts, He Found Himself Groping Blindly For 
 Some Meaning Which Would Explain The Thing It Could Not Justify. 
   
 The Hours Dragged So Heavily That By Ten O'clock He Put On His Overcoat 
 And Snow-Shoes And Went Out Again Into The Street. He Was Possessed At 
 The Moment By A Growing Fear Of Missing Connie, And As He Walked Toward 
 The Opera House He Had Sense Of A Premonition Almost Occult In Power 
 That The Terrible Destiny Which Had Her In Its Clutch Was Gathering 
 Energy For Some Pitiless Catastrophe With Characteristic Patience He 
 Searched His Own Conscience, The Incidents Of His Daily Life, And Held 
 Himself Rather Than His Wife To Account. After All, He Was The Stronger 
 Of The Two, And Yet When Had He Put Forth His Strength Or His Pity On 
 Her Behalf? In The Closer Human Relations Mere Indifference Showed 
 Suddenly As Sin, And The Sluggish Spirit Which Had Controlled His 
 Married Life Appeared In His Memory As A Form Of Moral Apathy. Was A 
 Human Soul So Small A Thing That It Could Perish At His Side And He Be 
 None The Wiser? What Was His Boasted Intellect Worth If It Could 
 Paralyse The Human Part Of Him And Exhaust The Fount Of His Compassion? 
 In His Widening Vision He Saw That In The Spirit Of Things Humanity Is 
 One And Indivisible, A Single Organism Held Together By A Common Pulse 
 Of Life. To Live Or To Die Apart He Realised, Is Beyond The Scope Of An 
 Individual Destiny, For In The Eye Of God Each Man That Lives Is The 
 Keeper Not Of His Own But Of His Brother's Soul. 
   
 The Self Reproach Which Moved In His Heart Impelled Him So Rapidly Upon 
 His Way That When He Reached The Doors He Had Still An Hour To Wait 
 Before The Opera Ended. Remembering That If He Were So Fortunate To Find 
 Connie He Must Take Her Home, He Went To A Livery Stable For A Carriage, 
 And Then Coming Back, Walked Nervously Up And Down Upon The Frozen 
 Pavement. His Mind Was Divided Between The Fear That She Might Leave By 
 Another Entrance--That He Might Miss Her Altogether--And The More 
 Horrible Dread That In Seeing Her He Should Be Unable To Prevail Upon 
 Her To Come Away. She Might, He Felt, Demand A Reason, Exact From Him 
 The Meaning Of His Unexpected Appearance; There Was Even A Hideous 
 Possibility That She Might Fly Into A Temper. 
   
 The Wind Was Bitter And He Went Into The Lobby, Where A Few Men Were 
 Hurrying Out To Secure Their Carriages. Then At Last Came The Crowd In 
 Evening Dress, And It Seemed To Him That The Acuteness Of His Perception 
 Was Reinforced By An Almost Unnatural Power Of Vision. Out Of The Moving 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 11 Pg 88 
 Throng The Face Of Each Woman Stood Forth Distinctly As If Relieved By A 
 Spectral Illumination; And He Saw Them Clearly One After One, Fair Or 
 Dark, Plain Or Beautiful, Until From Among Them There Shone Toward Him 
 The Elaborately Arranged Blonde Head Of Connie, Under A Winking Diamond 
 Which Shed Over Her An Unbecoming Light. He Had Hoped To The Last That 
 She Would Be With Several Others, But He Perceived When She Came Out At 
 Brady's Side, With Her Babyish Chin Tilted Upward And Her Thin Features 
 Working In A Forced And Unhealthy Animation, That They Were Alone And 
 Would Probably Be Alone For The Remainder Of The Evening. 
   
 Standing Beyond The Entrance, And Watching Her Unseen, While She Paused 
 For An Instant In The Crowded Lobby, Adams Felt Again The Strange Stir 
 Of Emotion He Had Experienced When He Looked At Her The Evening Before 
 Under The Lamplight In His Study. In A Single Vivid Instant He Saw Her 
 Winking Diamonds, Her Rouged Cheeks, The Nervous Flutter That Shook Her 
 Fragile Figure, And The Consuming Fire Which Was Destroying The 
 Appealing Prettiness Of Her Face. Then He Looked Deeper Still To The 
 Naked Terrified Soul Of Her, Caught In A Web From Which, Because Of Her 
 Weakness, There Could Be No Escape. 
   
 There Was No Room In His Heart Now For Any Other Feeling Than One Of 
 Agonised Compassion, And As She Came Through The Doorway He Touched Her 
 Arm And Spoke In A Voice Which Had The Sound Of A Caress. "I've Just Had 
 Bad News, Connie, So I Came To Find You." 
   
 She Started Violently, Her Hand Dropped From Her Companion's Arm, And 
 She Stood Trembling From Head To Foot Like A Blade Of Grass That Is 
 Shaken By A High Wind. "What Do You Mean? What Is It?" She Demanded. 
   
 After Lifting His Hat To Brady He Had Not Noticed Him Again, And Now He 
 Bent Upon His Wife A Look Of Gentle, If Unyielding, Authority. "I'll 
 Tell You Presently--In The Carriage," He Said, Drawing Her Wrap More 
 Closely About Her Throat. "I Have One Waiting At The Corner." 
   
 He Saw Her Look At Him In A Frightened Hesitation; Saw, Too, That Even 
 In The Quiver Of Her Alarm She Had Taken In The Unflattering Details Of 
 His Appearance--- His Ordinary Business Overcoat, The Blue Silk Muffler 
 About His Neck, And Even The Bespattered Condition Of His Rubber Shoes. 
 For An Instant She Glanced Uncertainly At Brady's Immaculate Evening 
 Dress Showing Beneath His Open Fur-Lined Overcoat, And Knowing Her As He 
 Did, Adams Read Her Appreciation Of The Contrast As Plainly As If It Had 
 Been Written In Her Face. 
   
 But He Was Not Moved By The Knowledge Of Her Criticism, Nor Did It Shake 
 Him In The Least From That Penetrating Vision He Had Attained. The 
 Instinct For Battle Was Alive And Quick Within Him--If Connie Was To Be 
 Saved He Knew That He Must Fight Single-Handed With The Powers Of Evil 
 For Her Soul. And Fight He Would--It Was The End For Which A Man Was 
 Born--That He Might Overcome And So Justify The Spirit About The Brute. 
   
 Her Hand Hung At Her Side, And Taking It In His, He Slipped It Under His 
 Arm With A Possessive Air, While She Made To Brady Some Hurried Excuses 
 In A Trembling Voice. For A Moment Still She Hung Back, But Adams Drew 
 Her Gently With Him, And After The First Few Steps, She Recovered 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 1 (Impulse) Chapter 11 Pg 89 
 Herself And Walked Rapidly To The Waiting Carriage. Inside She Shrank 
 Back Immediately Into A Corner From Which, When They Had Rolled Off, She 
 Sent Forth A Nervous Question. "What Is It? Tell Me What It Is?" She 
 Asked. 
   
 The Tremor That Shook Her Limbs, Her Utter Helplessness Before Him, 
 Touched His Heart With A Compassion Beside Which His Old Emotion For Her 
 Showed As A Small And Trivial Thing. All That Was Divine In Him Awoke 
 And Responded To The Horror That Looked From Her Face, And He Felt 
 Suddenly That Until This Instant He Had Never Loved Her. Now She Was 
 Really His Because Now She Needed Him; But For Him She Would Stand 
 Alone, Deserted And Afraid, In That Future To Which She Had Turned With 
 Such Pitiable And Childlike Ignorance. She And The Fight Were Both In 
 His Hands, And He Was Bracing Himself To Resist Until The End. 
   
 "I'll Tell You If You Wish," He Said, "But You Mustn't Let It Give You A 
 Sleepless Night." 
   
 As They Turned A Corner An Electric Light Flashed Into The Darkness Of 
 The Carriage Lighting Up Her Blonde Hair And The Sparkling Diamonds 
 Which Made Her Blue Eyes Look Dull And Lifeless. "It Is--Is It Anything 
 About Money?" She Asked With A Movement Toward Him. 
   
 "It's About Nothing More Important Than That Consummate Ass You Were 
 With," He Answered, Laughing As He Reached Out And Took Her Hand In His 
 With A Friendly Pressure. "I've Just Found Out That He's A Blackguard, 
 And I Thought You Were Too Precious To Be Left An Instant Longer In His 
 Company. We Must Be Careful, Dear," He Added. "God Knows I'll Do My Best 
 To Help You--But We Must Be Careful" 
   
 "Oh!" She Cried Out Sharply, In A High Voice. "Oh!" And She Shrank From 
 Him As If He Had Hurt Her By His Touch. It Was All She Said, But The 
 Word Quivered In His Ears With A Suppressed Emotion. Was It Thankfulness 
 For Her Escape? He Wondered, Or Was It Anger At The Part That He Had 
 Played? 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 90 
 Of Pleasure As The Chief End Of Man 
   
   
 On The Morning After His Meeting With Adams, Arnold Kemper Awoke At 
 Three Minutes Of Nine O'clock, And Lay For Exactly The Three Minutes 
 That Were Needed To Make Up The Hour Watching The Hand As It Moved On 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 91 
 The Face Of The Bronze Clock Upon His Mantel. The Clock, Like Everything 
 In His Rooms, Was Costly, A Little Ornate, And Suggestive Of An Owner 
 Whose Intention Aimed Frankly At The Original. 
   
 Lying In His Large Mahogany Bedstead, With His Body Outstretched Between 
 Soft Yet Crisply Ironed Linen Sheets, And His Head Placed Exactly In The 
 Centre Of The Pillows, He Waited, Yawning, Until The Expected Hour 
 Should Strike. If By An Effort Of Will He Could Have Put Back The Minute 
 Hand For Another Quarter Of An Hour He Felt That It Would Have Been 
 Pleasant To Doze Off Again, Shutting His Eyes To The Sunlight Which 
 Streamed Through The Window On The Turkish Rug, And Inhaling Agreeably 
 The Aroma Of Boiling Coffee Which Reached Him Through The Open Door Of 
 His Sitting-Room. With The Thought He Closed His Eyes, Stretched Himself 
 Again And Clasped His Hands Sleepily Above His Head; Then, Without 
 Warning, The Clock Struck In A Deep, Bronze-Like Tone, And With A 
 Vigorous Movement, He Sprang Out Of Bed, Flung His Dressing-Gown Across 
 His Shoulders, And Passed Quickly To The Cold Plunge In His 
 Dressing-Room. When He Reappeared There Was A Fresh, Healthy Glow In His 
 Face, And The Smile With Which He Knotted His Green Figured Necktie 
 Before The Mirror, Stuck His Black Pearl Scarf Pin Carefully In Place, 
 And Twisted The Short Ends Of His Brown Moustache, Was That Of A Man Who 
 Begins His Day In A Blithe And Friendly Humour. 
   
 In The Dining-Room, Which Opened From His Sitting-Room Next Door, His 
 Breakfast Was Already Awaiting Him, And Beside His Plate He Found 
 Several Letters And The Morning Papers. He Read The Letters First, But 
 With A Single Exception They Proved To Be Bills, And After Glancing At 
 These With A Suspicious Frown He Tossed Them Aside And Turned To The 
 Little Square White Envelope, Which Contained An Invitation To Dine From 
 A Woman Whom He Detested Because She Bored Him With Domestic Complaints. 
 His Heavy Brows Gathered Darkly Over His Impatient Gray Eyes, And He 
 Pushed The Mail Carelessly Away To Make Room For His Coffee, To Which 
 His Man Was Adding A Precise Amount Of Cream And Sugar. 
   
 "Don't Let Me Forget To Answer That, Wilkins," He Said, In An Annoyed 
 Tone; "The Response Must Be Sent This Afternoon, Too, Without Fail." 
   
 "I Don't Think You Wrote The Notes You Spoke Of Yesterday, Sir," 
 Observed Wilkins, With An English Accent And A Manner Of Respectful 
 Intimacy. 
   
 "Hang It All! I Don't Believe I Did," Returned Kemper, As He Drew His 
 Chair Up To The Table And Tapped His Egg Shell. "That Comes Of Letting A 
 Thing You Hate To Do Go Over. I Say, Wilkins, If I Attempt To Leave This 
 Room Before I've Answered Those Letters, You're To Restrain Me By 
 Force, Do You Hear?" 
   
 "Yes, Sir; Certainly, Sir," Replied Wilkins, As He Went Out To Bring In 
 The Toast. 
   
 Kemper Laid His Napkin Across His Knees, Leaned Comfortably Back In His 
 Chair, And Unfolded One Of The Morning Papers Beside His Plate. As He 
 Did So He Expanded His Lungs With A Deep Breath, While His Glance 
 Travelled Rapidly To The Column Which Contained The Day's Reports Of The 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 92 
 Stock Market. He Knew Already That The Chericoke Valley Central In Which 
 He Had Invested Had Jumped Thirty Points And Was Still Advancing, But He 
 Read The Printed Statements With The Exhaustless Interest With Which A 
 Lover Might Return To A Love Letter He Had Already Learned By Heart. His 
 Faith In The Chericoke Valley Central Stock Was Strong, And He Meant To 
 Keep A Close Grip On It For Some Time To Come. 
   
 Turning A Fresh Page Presently, His Eyes Wandered Leisurely Over The 
 Staring Headlines, And Came Suddenly To A Halt Before A Trivial Item 
 Inserted Among The Western News. It Was A Brief Notice Of His Divorced 
 Wife's Marriage, And To His Amazement The Announcement Caused Him An 
 Annoyance That Was Almost Like The Ghost Of A Retrospective Jealousy. It 
 Was Quite Evident To Him That He Did Not Want Her For Himself, Yet He 
 Suffered A Positive Displeasure At The Thought That She Should Now 
 Belong To Another Man. After The Ten Years Since They Had Separated Was 
 She Still So "Awfully Splendid?" He Wondered, Had She Kept Her Figure, 
 Which Was Long, Athletic, With A Military Carriage, And Did She Still 
 Wear Her Hair In The Fashion Of A German Omelette? "Thank Heaven I'm 
 Well Out Of It At Any Rate," He Commented With Feeling. "That Comes Of A 
 Man's Marrying Before He's Twenty-Five. He's Turned Cynic Before He Gets 
 To Forty"; And Marriage Appeared To Him In His Thoughts As A Detestable 
 And Utterly Boring Institution, Which Interfered Continually With A 
 Man's Freedom And Exacted From Him A Perpetual Sociability. The Most 
 Blissful Sensation He Had Ever Known, He Told Himself, Was That Of His 
 Recovered Liberty; Then His Sincerity Of Nature Compelled Him To An 
 Honest Contradiction--He Had Known One Emotion More Blissful Still And 
 That Was The Madness Which Had Prompted Him To His Unfortunate Marriage. 
   
 Oh, He Had Been Very Much In Love Without A Doubt! And While He Sat 
 Peacefully Drinking His Two Cups Of Coffee, Eating His Two Eggs And His 
 Four Pieces Of Toast With Orange Marmalade, He Remembered, With A 
 Melancholy Which In No Wise Affected His Appetite, The First Occasion 
 Upon Which He Had Kissed The Woman Who Had Been His Wife. The Memory Of 
 Her Tall, Erect Figure, With Its Dashing Military Carriage, Aroused In 
 Him An Agreeable And Purely Physical Regret--The Kind Of Regret Which Is 
 Strong Enough Only To Sweeten The Knowledge Of Past Pleasures; And He 
 Admitted With His Accustomed Frankness That If He Had Never Kissed Her 
 Again He Should Probably Have Continued To Regard Her With A Charming, 
 If Impractical, Sentiment. But Marriage Had Brushed Off The Bloom Of 
 That Early Romance; And As He Recognised This, He Felt A Keen Resentment 
 Against Nature Which Had Cheated Him Into Believing That The Illusion Of 
 Love Would Not Vanish At The First Touch Of Reality. 
   
 He Had Lived Upon The Surface Of Things And The Surface Had Contented If 
 It Had Not Satisfied Him. It Had Never Entered His Thoughts To Question 
 If He Had Had From Life The Best That It Could Offer, But He Had 
 Sometimes Wondered, In Moments Of Nervous Exasperation Against Small 
 Events, Why It Was That There Could Be No End Under The Sun To A Man's 
 Pursuit Of The Fugitive Sensation. When He Looked Back Now Over The 
 Breathless Years Of His Life, He Saw, Almost With Indignation, That 
 Whatever Punishment Fate Had Held In Reserve For Him, The Avenger Had 
 Inevitably Appeared In The Form His Own Gratified Desire. He Had 
 Withheld His Hand From Nothing; The Thing That He Had Wanted He Had 
 Taken Without Question--Impulse And Possession Had Flowed For Him With A 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 93 
 Rhythmic Regularity Of Movement--And Yet In Glancing Back He Could Place 
 His Finger Upon No Past Events And Say Of Them "This Brought Me 
 Happiness--And This--And This." In Retrospect His Pleasures Showed Cheap 
 And Threadbare--Woven Of Perishable Colours, Of Lost Illusions--And He 
 Felt Suddenly That He Had Been Cheated Into A False Valuation Of Life, 
 That He Had Been Deluded Into A Childish Yet Irretrievable Error. 
   
 As He Sat There Over His Paper, He Remembered His Impatient Early Love, 
 His Ecstatic Marriage, And Then The Long Years During Which He Had 
 Lived, As He Put It To Himself, In A "Mortal Funk" Of The Divorce Court. 
 Not Moral Obligation, But Social Cowardice, He Admitted, Had Held Him In 
 A Bondage From Which His Wife Had At Last Liberated Him By A Single 
 Blow. Well, It Was All Over! He Heaved A Sigh Of Relief, Emptied His 
 Coffee Cup, And Dismissed The Subject, With Its Oppressive Train Of 
 Associations, From His Mind. 
   
 But His Temperamental Blitheness Had Suffered In The Chill Of 
 Recollection, And He Frowned Down Upon The Staring Headlines Which 
 Ornamented The Open Page Before Him. His Face, Which Recorded Unerringly 
 The Slightest Emotional Change Through Which He Passed, Grew Suddenly 
 Heavy And Was Over Clouded By A Momentary Fit Of Gloom. He Had Not Seen, 
 Had Hardly Thought Of His Former Wife, Once In The Ten Years Since Their 
 Separation, Yet He Found Almost To His Annoyance That The Mere Printed 
 Letters Of Her Name Reinvoked Her Image From The Darkness In Which His 
 Sentimental Skeletons Were Laid. Two Brief Lines In A Newspaper Sufficed 
 To Produce Her As An Important Factor In His Present Life. 
   
 And Despite This She Was Nothing To Him, Had No Proper Business In His 
 Mind. He Tried To Think Of The Other Women Whom He Had Loved And 
 Remembered, Or Of The More Numerous Ones Still Whom He Had Loved Only To 
 Forget. Well, He Had Lived A Man's Life, And The Deuce Of It Was That 
 Women Should Have Come Into It At All. He Had Never Wanted Sentiment In 
 The Abstract, He Told Himself Half Angrily; He Was Bored To Death By The 
 Deadly Routine Of What In His Own Mind He Alluded To As "The Business Of 
 Love." It Had Always Come To Him Without His Sanction--Even Against His 
 Will, And He Had Never Failed To Combat The Feeling With Shallow 
 Cynicism, To Exhaust It Speedily In Racing Motors. There Was No 
 Satisfaction In Sentiment, Of This He Was Quite Convinced; And He 
 Remembered The Voice Of Madame Alta, With Her Peculiar High Note Of 
 Piercing Sweetness, Which Entered Like Wine And Honey Into His Blood. 
 The Hold She Still Kept Upon His Senses Through His Memory Was 
 Strengthened By The Knowledge Which Fretted Him To The Admission That 
 She Had Wearied First--That While Her Fascination Was Still Potent To 
 Work Its Spell Upon Him, She Had Fled In A Half Lyric, Half Devilish 
 Pursuit Of The Flesh She Worshipped. To Live Life Thoroughly, To Get Out 
 Of It All That It Contained Of Pleasure Or Of Experience, This Was The 
 Germ Of His Applied Philosophy; And It Was Only By Some Fortunate Mental 
 Power Of Selection, Some Instinctive Sense For Comeliness, For A 
 Well-Ordered, Healthful Physical Existence, Which Had Left Him At The 
 End Of His Forty Years Of Pleasure With A Perfectly Sound And Active 
 Mind And Body. He Himself Was Accustomed To Declare That Though He Had 
 Lived Gayly, He Had Lived Decently, Too, And He Was Even Inclined At 
 Times To Flatter His Vanity Rather Upon The Things Which He Had Left 
 Undone Than Upon Those More Evident Achievements Which Had Stamped Him 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 94 
 To His Social World. A Religious Instinct, Which Was Hardly Definite 
 Enough For A Conviction, Still Survived In Him, And It Was Entirely 
 Characteristic Of The Man That He Should Find Cause For Shame, Not 
 Congratulation, In His Old Relations With Madame Alta. 
   
 The Last Remaining Bit Of Toast And Marmalade Had Vanished From His 
 Plate, And As He Never Allowed Himself More Than His Usual Number Of 
 Slices, He Carefully Brushed The Crumbs From His Coat, And Pushing Back 
 His Chair, Rose From The Table. The Movement, Slight As It Was, Served 
 To Dispel His Passing Dejection, And As He Gathered Up His Papers And 
 Passed Into The Adjoining Sitting-Room, He Smiled At Wilkins With Such 
 Genial Brightness That The Man Was Almost Deluded Into Attributing The 
 Changed Atmosphere To His Own Personal Attentions Instead Of To The 
 Agreeable Sensation Following Upon Digestion. When He Left The 
 Dining-Room Kemper Was Already Humming A Little Italian Air, And It Was 
 Not Until He Was Seated, With His Cigar, In An Easy Chair Upon His 
 Hearthrug, That He Suddenly Recognised The Music As A Favourite Aria Of 
 Madame Alta's. He Had Heard Her Sing It A Hundred Times, And He Recalled 
 Now That She Had A Trick Of Throwing Her Head Back As The Notes Issued 
 From Her Round, White Throat, Until Her Beautiful, Though Coarsened 
 Face, Was Seen In An Admirable Foreshortening, While Her Eyes Were 
 Shadowed By Her Drooping Lids, Which Were Faintly Tinted To Look Like 
 Rose-Leaves. With The Memory His Expression Was Again Overcast. Then A 
 Pleased Smile Chased The Heaviness From His Eyes, For He Remembered 
 Suddenly That He Held A Firm Grip On The Promising Chericoke Valley 
 Central Stock. He Lighted His Cigar, Tossed The Match Into The Empty 
 Fireplace, And Pushing The Papers From His Knees, Relapsed For Twenty 
 Minutes Into An Agreeable Vacancy Of Mind. 
   
 The Room In Which He Sat Was Essentially A Man's Room, Furnished For 
 Comfort Rather Than For Beauty, And One Saw In It An Unconscious 
 Striving After Large Effects, A Disdain Of Useless Bric-A-Brac As Of 
 Small Decorations. On The Mantel The Solitary Ornament Was An Exquisite 
 Bronze Figure Of A Wrestler At The Triumphant Instant When He Subdues 
 His Opponent, A Spirited And Virile Study Of The Nude Male Figure, And 
 Just Above It Hung A Portrait In Oils Of Madame Alta, Painted In A Large 
 Black Hat With A Falling Feather Which Shadowed The Golden Aureole Of 
 Her Hair. Kemper Seldom Looked At The Picture, And When He Did So It Was 
 With The Casual Glance He Bestowed Upon A Piece Of Household Furniture; 
 His Emotion Had Been So Bound Up With The Concrete Fact Of A Fleshly 
 Presence That In The Continued Absence Of The Prima Donna He Had Found 
 It Difficult Even To Realise The Condition Of Her Unchanged Existence. 
 In His Whole Life The Past Had Never Engrossed Him To The Immediate 
 Exclusion Of The Present. 
   
 When He Had Finished His Cigar, He Rose Slowly To His Feet, Shook 
 Himself With An Energetic Movement As If To Settle His Body More 
 Comfortably In His Clothes, And Went Into The Hall To Put On His 
 Overcoat Before Going Out. Here He Was Overtaken By A Remonstrance From 
 Wilkins. 
   
 "You Aren't Going To The Office, I Hope, Sir, Until You've Written Those 
 Notes?" 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 95 
 Kemper Stared At Him Silently An Instant, One Arm Still In The Sleeve Of 
 The Overcoat He Was Putting On. 
   
 "Oh, I Say, Wilkins, I'll Do Them At The Club," He Replied At Last. 
   
 Wilkins Shook His Head With Decision Written In Every Line Of His 
 Smooth-Shaven English Profile. He Was Faithful, He Was Even 
 Affectionate, But He Had Been In Kemper's Service For Fifteen Years And 
 He Knew His Man. 
   
 "You'd Better Get Them Off Now, Sir," He Urged In A Persuasive Voice, 
 "It Won't Take You A Minute, And Unless I Post Them Myself, They Are 
 Like To Lie Over." 
   
 "Well, I Suppose You'll Have Your Way With Me, Wilkins," Remarked 
 Kemper, As He Withdrew His Arm From His Overcoat, Which His Servant 
 Promptly Took From Him. "Most People Do, You Know." Then He Turned Back 
 Into His Sitting-Room And Placing Himself At His Desk, Took Up His Pen 
 And Accepted Three Invitations Out Of The Round Dozen He Had To Answer. 
 This Accomplished, The Discreet Wilkins Gave Him His Hat And Coat And 
 Permitted Him To Depart Rapidly Upon His Way. 
   
 By Eleven O'clock He Was Due At The Office Of The Confidential Life 
 Insurance Company, Of Which He Was One Of The Directors, And As He 
 Walked Toward Broadway With His Brisk And Energetic Step, He Kept His 
 Mind Closely Upon The Business Affairs Which Were Immediately Before 
 Him. This Peculiar Ability To Concentrate His Whole Being Upon A Single 
 Instant, To Apply Himself With Enthusiasm To The Thing Beneath His Eyes, 
 Was The Quality Of All Others Which Had Worked Most Not Only For His 
 Present Worldly Success, But For His Personal Happiness As Well. When He 
 Came Out Of His Rooms The Brief Despondency Of The Morning Had Vanished 
 As Utterly As If It Had Never Been, And Until His Wife's Name Stared At 
 Him Anew From A Printed Page, It Was Hardly Probable That She Would 
 Occur Again To His Thoughts. A Feeling Of Peace, Of Perfect Charity 
 Pervaded His Breast, And Had He Been Asked On The Spot For An Expression 
 Of His Religious Creed, He Would, Perhaps, Have Answered Without 
 Hesitation, "To Live In Pleasure And Let Live With Pleasantness." 
 Naturally Of A Quick And Humane Heart There Were Moments When He Felt An 
 Urgent Desire To Give Out Happiness, To Add His Proper Share To The 
 General Sum Of Earthly Contentment. He Was A Man, In Fact, Who Might Be 
 Infallibly Counted On For The "Generous Thing," Provided Always That 
 The "Generous Thing" Was Also The Thing Which He Found It Agreeable To 
 Perform. In Ancient Rome He Would Have Been, Without Doubt, A Popular 
 Politician, In Greece A Cyrenaic Philosopher, In The Middle Ages A 
 Churchman Conspicuous For His Purple, And During The American Revolution 
 A Believer In The Cause That Wore The Most Gold Lace. It Was Not That He 
 Was Lacking In Patriotism, But That His Patriotism Responded Best To A 
 Spectacular Appeal. 
   
 At The Luncheon Hour, When He Came Out Of His Office To Go To His Club, 
 He Remembered That He Had Neglected To Send Roses To A Woman With Whom 
 He Had Dined The Week Before She Went To A Hospital For A Serious 
 Operation, And Though The Stop Delayed His Luncheon For Half An Hour, He 
 Left His Car At The Corner Of Twenty-Third Street To Leave An Order With 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 96 
 His Florist. Then, After A Simple Meal, He Put In A Pleasant Hour At The 
 Club, During Which He Managed To Interest A Great Occulist In A Chap He 
 Knew Who Was Threatened With Blindness But Too Poor To Pay For The 
 Operation Necessary To His Recovery. It Was This Conversation That 
 Recalled To Him A Friend Who Was Ill With Pneumonia In Chambers Just 
 Around The Block, And He Rushed Off To Enquire After Him, Before He 
 Attended To The Unpacking Of A New French Motor Car, And Hurried To Keep 
 An Engagement He Had Made With Gerty Bridewell To Call On Laura Wilde. A 
 Week Ago, When The Engagement Was Made, He Had Been Urgent With Gerty 
 About Going, But Now That The Hour Drew Near He Began To Feel The 
 Necessity Of The Visit To Be A Bore. Like All Of His Sensations, The 
 Impression Laura Had Made Upon Him Had Been Vivid But Easily Effaced, 
 And He Was Almost Surprised At The Disappointment He Felt When, Upon 
 Reaching The House, He Found That She Was Not At Home. 
   
 "It's Too Hard," Commented Gerty, Standing Upon The Front Steps And 
 Glancing Wistfully Up At Him From Under The White Feathers In Her Hat, 
 "But There's No Help For It Unless You Care To Call On Uncle Percival." 
   
 "Uncle Percival?" He Repeated, Impatiently Twirling His Walking Stick; 
 "Who's He?" 
   
 "He's A Curiosity." 
   
 "What Kind Of Curiosity? A Live One?" 
   
 She Nodded. "The Kind Of Curiosity That Plays A Flute." 
   
 He Began His Descent Of The Steps, Not Replying Until He Stood With Her 
 Upon The Sidewalk Before Her Carriage. "I Might Have Put Up With A 
 Poet," He Remarked With His Foreign Shrug, "But I'm Compelled To Draw 
 The Line Before A Piper." 
   
 "Well, I Thought You Would," Confessed Gerty, "Or I Shouldn't Have 
 Suggested It." 
   
 "It Seems, By The Way, To Be A Family That Runs To Talent," He Laughed, 
 While She Paused A Moment Before Entering Her Carriage. 
   
 "I Don't Know That Uncle Percival Is Exactly A Person Of Talent," She 
 Observed, "He Plays Very Badly, I Believe. Can't I Drop You Somewhere? 
 Do Let Me." 
   
 He Shook His Head With A Quizzical Humour. "To Tell The Truth Horses 
 Make Me Nervous," He Returned. "I'm Afraid Of Them--You Never Know What 
 Intentions They Have In Mind. No, I'll Walk, Thank You." His Gaze Was 
 On Her And She Saw His Eyes Flash With Admiration Of Her Beauty. 
   
 "Oh, Your Dreadful, Soulless Automobiles!" She Exclaimed, With Disgust. 
 "By The Way, Laura Hates Them--She Says They Have The Devil's Energy 
 Without His Intellect." 
   
 He Laughed Indifferently. "Does She? I'll Teach Her Better." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 97 
 Gerty Looked Back To Protest As She Stepped Into Her Carriage. "But 
 You'll Never Have A Chance," She Said. 
   
 "I'll Make One," He Persisted, Gayly. 
   
 From The Midst Of Her Fur Rugs She Leaned Out With A Provoking Little 
 Laugh, While He Watched Her Green Eyes Narrow In An Arch And Fascinating 
 Merriment. "What Would You Say If I Told You She Was At Home All The 
 Time?" She Asked. Then Before He Could Remonstrate Or Reply, She Rolled 
 Off Leaving Him Transfixed And Questioning Upon The Sidewalk. 
   
 Was Laura Wilde Really At Home? The Suspicion Piqued Him Into A 
 Curiosity He Could Not Satisfy, And Because He Could Not Satisfy It He 
 Found Himself Dwelling With A Reawakened Interest Upon The Woman Who Had 
 Avoided Him. If She Had In Truth Refused To Receive His Visit It Could 
 Mean Only That She Entertained A Dislike For His Presence, And For A 
 Dislike So Evident There Must Be Surely Some Foundation Either In Fact 
 Or In Intuition. No Woman, So Far As He Could Remember--And So Unusual 
 An Occurence Would Not Easily Have Slipped His Memory--Had Ever Begun 
 His Acquaintance With A Distinctly Expressed Aversion, And The Very 
 Strangeness Of The Experience Was Not Without Attraction For His Eager 
 And Dominant Temperament. What A Queer Little Oddity She Was, He 
 Thought As He Glanced Up At The Grave Old House Before Turning Rapidly 
 Away--As Light And Sensitive As Thistle-Down, As Vivid As Flame. He 
 Tried To Recall Her Delicately Distinguished Figure And Profound Dark 
 Eyes, But Her Charming Smile Seemed To Come Between Him And Her 
 Features, And Her Face Was Obscured For Him In A Mysterious Radiance. 
 Her Features Taken In Themselves Were Plain, He Supposed, Certainly They 
 Were Not Beautiful, Yet Of Her Whole Appearance His Memory Held Only The 
 Fervent Charm Of Her Expression. It Was A Face With A Soul In It, He 
 Though--All The Mystery Of Flame And Of Shadow Was In Her Smile, So What 
 Mattered The Mere Surface Modelling Or The Tinting Of The Skin Which Was 
 Less Ivory Than Pale Amber. An Hour Ago He Had Been Absolutely 
 Indifferent, Almost Forgetful Of Her Existence, But His Vanity If Not 
 His Heart Was Stung Now Into An Emotion Which Had In It Something Of The 
 Primitive Barbarian Ardour Of Pursuit. He Cared Nothing--Less Than 
 Nothing--For Laura Wilde Herself, Yet It Was Not In His Nature That He 
 Should Suffer In Silence Before A Sudden And Unreasonable Affront. 
   
 Some Hours Later, When He Sat With Adams At Dinner, The Subject Occurred 
 To Him Again, And He Broke In Upon A Discussion Of The Varied Fortunes 
 Of Their Fellow Classmen To Allude Directly To The Cause Of His 
 Inquietude. 
   
 "By The Way, I Had The Pleasure Of Meeting A Protegee Of Yours The Other 
 Afternoon," He Said. 
   
 Adams Met The Remark With His Whimsical Laugh. "Of Mine? Thank Heaven I 
 Haven't Any," He Retorted, "But I Suppose You Mean Young Trent, Who Has 
 Just Come Up From Virginia." 
   
 "I've Heard Something Of Him From Mrs. Bridewell, I Believe," Answered 
 Kemper Across The Centrepiece Of Red Carnations, "But I Haven't Met Him 
 As Yet--I Was Thinking Of Miss Wilde When I Spoke. I Wish You'd Try This 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 98 
 Sherry--It's Really First Rate--I Brought It Over Myself." 
   
 When Wilkins Had Filled His Glass, Adams Lifted It Against The Light And 
 Looked At The Colour Of The Wine A Moment Before Drinking. "First 
 Rate--I Should Say So. It's Exquisite," He Observed As He Touched It To 
 His Lips In Answer To Kemper's Glance Of Enquiry. "Yes, She's Done Some 
 Rather Fine Things," He Resumed Presently, Returning To The Subject Of 
 Laura, "But She'll Hardly Make A Popular Appeal, I Fancy, Unless She 
 Turns Her Talent To Patriotic Airs. The Only Poetry We Tolerate To-Day 
 Is The Poetry That Serves Some Definite Material Purpose--It Must Either 
 Send Us Into Battle Or Set Us To Building Churches. The Simple Spirit Of 
 Contemplation We've Come To Regard As A Pauperising Habit And It Puts Us 
 Out Of Patience. Great Poetry Grows Out Of Quiet And Nobody Is Quiet Any 
 Longer--A Thought No Sooner Creeps Into Our Head Than We Begin To Talk 
 About It At The Top Of Our Voice." 
   
 The Branched Candlestick At The End Of The Table Shed A Glimmering, 
 Pearly Light Upon His Face, And Kemper, As He Watched Him Critically, 
 Was Struck Suddenly By The Fact That Adams Was No Longer Young. He Could 
 Not Be Over Forty, Yet His Features Had The Drawn And Pallid Look Of A 
 Man Who Has Known, Not Only Ill Health, But The Shock Of Emotional 
 Catastrophes. Physically He Appeared Worn To The Point Of Exhaustion, 
 But If There Was Pathos In The Slight, Elastic Figure, There Was Also An 
 Impression Of Power For Which The Other Found It Impossible To Account. 
 By Mere Bodily Force Kemper Could Have Thrown Adams From The Window With 
 One Hand, He Realised With A Perfectly Amiable Self-Congratulation--Yet 
 In Adams' Presence He Invariably Felt Himself To Be The Weaker 
 Man, And The Attitude He Unconsciously Adopted Showed An Almost 
 Boyish Recognition Of A Superior Intelligence. Something In Roger 
 Adams--A Quality Which Was Neither Brute Strength Nor Imperious 
 Personality--Exerted A Power Which Kemper Generously Admitted To Be 
 Greater Even Than These. Nothing In The Man Was Conspicuous--He 
 Exercised No Dominant Magnetism--But The Invisible Spirit Which 
 Controlled His Life, Controlled Also, In A Measure, The Thoughts Of 
 Those Who Came Directly Beneath His Influence. Was It True, Kemper Now 
 Wondered, As Perry Bridewell Had Once Declared With Unspeakable Mirth, 
 That The Thing He Liked In Adams Was, After All, Merely Simple Goodness 
 In A Manifest Form? Goodness In A Masculine Personality Had Always 
 Appeared To Kemper To Be Ridiculously Out Of Place--A Masquerading 
 Feminised Virtue--But At This Instant As He Drank To Adams' Health 
 Across The Carnations, He Felt Again The Power Of An Attraction Which 
 Possessed A Sweetness That Made His Past "Wine And Honey" Sicken In His 
 Memory. "Is It Possible That What I Admire In This Man Is The Quality I 
 Have Laughed At All My Life?" He Found Himself Asking Suddenly; And The 
 Power Of Self-Restraint, The Grace Of Denial, The Strength Which Could 
 Do Without, Though It Could Not Take The Thing It Wanted, The Quietness 
 Of Sacrifice, The Sweetened Humour That Is Learned Only In Sorrow--These 
 Showed To Him At The Moment In A Singularly New And Vivid Light. "I Know 
 Nothing Of His Life Except That He Has Had Courage," He Thought Again, 
 "Yet Because Of This One Thing--And Because, Too, Of A Quality Which I 
 Recognise, Though I Cannot Name It, I Would Trust Him Sooner Than Any 
 Man Or Woman Whom I Know--Sooner, By Jove, Than I Would Trust Myself." 
 Among His Many Generous Traits Was The Ability To Appreciate Keenly 
 Where He Could Not Follow, To Apprehend Almost Instinctively The Finer 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 99 
 Attributes Of The Spirit, And Though He Himself Preferred The Pleasures 
 Of The Senses To The Vaguer Comforts Of Philosophy, He Was Not Without A 
 Profound Admiration For The Man Who, As He Believed, Had Deliberately 
 Chosen To Forfeit The Joy Of Life. Roger Adams Impressed Him To-Night As 
 A Peculiarly Happy Man--Not With The Hectic Happiness He Himself Had 
 Sought--But With A Secure, A Reposeful, An Indestructible 
 Possession--The Happiness Which Comes Not Through The Illusion Of 
 Desire, But Which Is Bound Up In The Peace Of An Eternal Reconciliation. 
 The Man Beyond The Carnations, He Knew By An Intuition Surer Than 
 Knowledge, Had Never Even For An Hour Dallied In The Primrose Path Where 
 His Own Pursuit Of Delight Had Begun And Ended--He Could Not Imagine 
 Adams' Control Yielding To A Fleeting Impulse Of Passion--Yet Had Not 
 The Very Power He Recognised Come To His Friend In The Stony Places 
 Through Which He Had Been Constrained To Walk With God? Sitting There 
 Kemper Was Brought Suddenly For The First Time In His Life Face To Face 
 With The Profoundest Truth That Lies Hidden In The Deeps Of 
 Knowledge--That Renunciation May Become The Richest Experience In The 
 Consciousness Of Man; That To Renounce For The Sake Of Goodness Is Not 
 Merely To Refrain From Sin But To Achieve Virtue; And That He Who Gives 
 Up His Happiness And Is Still Happy Has Gained Not Only The Beauty Of 
 His Forfeited Joys, But Has Added To His Own A Strength That Is Equal To 
 The Strength Of His Unfulfilled Desire. Kemper Had Always Believed 
 Himself Strong Because He Had Attained, Yet He Knew Now That Adams Was 
 Stronger Than He Inasmuch As He Had Gone Without For The Sake Of His Own 
 Soul. 
   
 From His Reflections, Which Were Dimly Like These, Kemper Came Back 
 Abruptly To His Memory Of Laura. "Do You Know," He Said, Speaking To 
 Himself Rather Than To His Companion, "That She Really Interests Me Very 
 Much Indeed." 
   
 "Well, She Is Interesting," Laughed Adams, "In Spite Of The Fact That 
 Perry Finds Her Rather Dull. He Complains That She Doesn't Talk Like A 
 Book, Which Is A Trifle Odd When You Consider That He Has Never Read 
 One." 
   
 "What I Like About Her Is That She's Different," Said Kemper. "She Is, 
 Isn't She?" 
   
 "Different From Other People? Yes, I Dare Say She Is, But All The Wildes 
 Are That, You Know. She Comes Of An Eccentric Stock. Did You Ever Happen 
 To Meet Her Aunt, Mrs. Payne?" 
   
 Kemper Nodded As He Leaned Forward To Make A Division In The Centre Of 
 The Intervening Carnations, "The Old Lady Who Looks Like A Chorus Girl 
 In Her Dotage? Yes, I've Had The Pleasure And I Found Her Decidedly 
 Better Than She Looked. Her Husband, By The Way, Is A Great Old Chap, 
 Isn't He? He Held The Biggest Share In Iron Last Spring And I Guess He 
 Has Made A Pretty Figure." 
   
 "He's A Philosopher Who Got Into The Stock Market By Mistake," Observed 
 Adams. "I Believe He Would Have Been Perfectly Happy If He Could Have 
 Owned A Single Farm, A Cow Or Two And A Pair Of Horses To His Plough, 
 But He's Condemned To Bear The Uncongenial Weight Of Millions, And I 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 100 
 Hear That He Has Even To Give His Charities In Secret. I Never Look At 
 Him That I Don't Think Of Marcus Aurelius Oppressed By The Burden Of The 
 Whole Roman Empire." 
   
 Kemper Was Peeling A Pear, Which He Had Taken From A Dish Upon The 
 Table, And He Laid Down His Knife For A Moment To Push Aside His Cup Of 
 Coffee. 
   
 "Has He Any Children?" He Asked Abruptly. 
   
 "Two--Both Sons And Gay Young Birds, I'm Told." 
   
 "Then Miss Wilde Will Hardly Come In For A Share Of The Burden?" 
   
 "Hardly. The Sons Will Probably Dissipate A Good Half Of It Before It 
 Reaches Them." 
   
 "It's A Pity," Said Kemper Thoughtfully; And Having Finished His Pear, 
 He Dipped His Fingers In His Finger Bowl, Moistened His Short Moustache, 
 And Turned To Take A Cigar From The Little Silver Tray Which Wilkins 
 Held Before Him. "Do You Know I Can't Imagine A Greater Happiness Than 
 The Quick Accumulation Of Wealth," He Observed In His Hearty Voice. 
   
 Adams Laughed Aloud With A Merriment That Was Almost Boyish. "Well, I 
 Dare Say You Come In For Your Part Of It," He Returned, While He 
 Flicked The Ashes From His Cigar. 
   
 "I?" Kemper Shook His Head Without A Smile. "Oh, I Accumulate Nothing 
 Except Habits. I Make And I Spend--I Win And I Lose--And On My Word I'm 
 No Richer To-Day Than I Was Ten Years Ago. I've Made A Fortune In A 
 Day," He Added Regretfully, "To Lose It In An Hour." 
   
 A Glow Had Sprung To His Face, And As He Spoke He Leaned His Elbow On 
 The Table, And Closing His Eyes Inhaled The Delicious Aroma Of His 
 Cigar. Finance Interested Him Always--Wealth In Its Material Mass Had A 
 Tremendous Attraction For Him, And He Loved Not Only The Sound Of 
 Figures But The Clink Of Coin. Though He Was A Lavish Liver When It 
 Suited His Impulses, The Modern Regard For Money As A Concrete 
 Possession--A Personal Distinction--Was Strong In His Blood; But Here, 
 As In Other Ways, He Was Redeemed From Positive Vulgarity By The Very 
 Candour With Which He Confessed His Weakness. He Drifted Presently Into 
 Stocks, And They Sat Talking Until Eleven O'clock, When Adams, After 
 Glancing In Surprise At The Hour, Remarked, With A Laugh, That He Had 
 Forgotten He No Longer Boasted The Constitution Of His College Days. It 
 Had Been A Pleasant Evening To Both, And As Kemper Threw Off His Coat A 
 Little Later, He Found Himself Reflecting, Not Without Wonder, That The 
 Quiet--The Absolute Inaction Of The Last Few Hours Had Refreshed Rather 
 Than Bored Him. On The Whole He Was Inclined To Admit That He Liked 
 Adams Better Than Any Man He Knew--Liked His Assured Self-Possession, 
 His Indifference To Small Creature Comforts; Liked, Too, The Quiet 
 Tolerance Which Characterised His Human Relations--And He Impulsively 
 Determined That He Would Arrange To See Him Often During The Next Few 
 Years. It Was Time Now, He Concluded With An Admirable Midnight 
 Resolution, While He Struggled In Exasperation To Unfasten His Collar, 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 101 
 That He Himself Should Begin To Pay A Due Regard To His Health--To 
 Restrict His Indulgences; And He Drew An Agreeable Picture Of The 
 Consolation That Adams' Friendship Might Afford To An Abstemious Man Of 
 Middle Age. "By Jove--Confound This Button--There, I've Twisted It Like 
 The Deuce--By Jove, It Is Refreshing To Be Thrown With A Chap Who Is 
 Interested In Something Besides Women And Horses--Who Finds Other 
 Objects--Or Subjects If You Choose--Suffice For His Entertainment." For 
 The First Time In His Life He Found Himself Wishing Regretfully That At 
 Least A Share Of His Own Enjoyments Had Assumed A Character Which 
 Belonged Less Exclusively To The External World. The Joy In Knowledge, 
 The Delight In Contemplation Were Unknown To Him, Though He Was Dimly 
 Aware That For Another Man They Might Prove To Be An Unfailing, A 
 Permanent Solace. But His Virtues Were The Magnificent Virtues Of The 
 Animal, And Amid The Many Warring Impulses Of The Body There Was But 
 Little Room For A More Gracious Development Of The Soul. He Had Lived 
 For The World And The World Had Repaid Him As She Repays All Her Lovers 
 With The Fruit Which Is Rarely Bitter Before The Fortieth Year. 
   
 Adams, Meanwhile, Had Walked Rapidly Home, Thinking With Enthusiasm That 
 Kemper Was A Thoroughly Good Fellow. His Social Pleasures Were Few, And 
 He Had Enjoyed The Fine Wine And The Choice Cigars As A Man Enjoys A 
 Taste For Luxury Which He Seldom Gratifies. He Had Expected To Find 
 Connie Still Out, But To His Surprise There Was A Sound On The Staircase 
 As He Entered The Front Door, And She Came Rapidly To Meet Him, Her 
 Blonde Hair Hanging Upon Her Shoulders And The Soiled White Silk 
 Dressing-Gown She Wore Trailing On The Carpeted Steps Behind Her. 
   
 "I Was All Alone And I've Been So Frightened," She Said With A Sob. 
   
 He Took Her Hand, Which Felt Dead And Cold, And Grasped It Warmly While 
 He Turned To Fasten The Outer Door. 
   
 "Why, I Thought You Were At The Theatre," He Responded. "I've Been To 
 Dine With Kemper, But Heaven Knows I'd Have Stayed At Home If You'd Told 
 Me You Meant To Keep Me Company." 
   
 A Shudder Ran Through Her, And He Saw When He Turned To Look At Her, 
 That Her Face Was Pinched And Blue As If From Cold. In Her White Gown, 
 Under Her Tangled Fair Hair, She Had A Ghastly Look Like One Just 
 Awakened From A Fearful Dream. But She Was Very Little--So Little In Her 
 Terror And Her Blighted Prettiness That His Heart Contracted As It Would 
 Have Done At The Sight Of A Suffering Child. 
   
 "I Say, Little Girl, What Is It All About?" He Asked Gently, And As She 
 Swayed Unsteadily, He Put His Arm Around Her And Drew Her Against His 
 Side. "Wait A Minute While I Turn Out The Light," He Added Cheerfully, 
 Pressing The Electric Button With His Free Hand. Then Holding Her Closer 
 In A Steadying Support, They Ascended Together The Darkened Staircase. 
   
 "I Went To The Theatre, But I Was So Ill I Couldn't Stay," She Said, And 
 He Felt The Heavy Breaths That Laboured Through The Thin Figure Within 
 His Arm. "Oh, I Am In Agony--In Agony And I Am So Afraid." 
   
 She Began Crying In Loud, Uncontrollable Sobs As A Child Cries When It 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 102 
 Is Hurt, Protesting That She Was Afraid--That She Was Fearfully Afraid. 
 He Felt Her Terror Struggling Like A Live Thing Within Her--Like An 
 Imprisoned Animal That Could Not Find An Escape Into The Light. Her 
 Hysteria Was Almost Akin To Madness, And The Form It Took Was One Of A 
 Blind Presentiment Of Evil--As If She Felt Always In The Air About Her 
 The Presence Of An Invisible, Unspeakable Horror. Half Dragging, Half 
 Carrying Her, He Crossed The Hall To Her Room, And Laid Her Upon The 
 Bed, Which Was Tumbled As If She Had Lain Tossing Wildly There For 
 Hours. Every Electric Jet Was Blazing High, And Connie's Evening Clothes 
 Were Lying In A Huddled Heap Upon The Floor. There Was A Sickening Smell 
 Of Perfume In The Room, And He Saw That She Had Broken A Bottle Of 
 Extract And Spilled Its Contents Upon The Carpet. 
   
 "Tell Me What It Is--Tell Me, Connie," He Commanded, Rather Than 
 Pleaded, Sitting Beside The Bed And Laying His Hand Upon Her Shuddering 
 Body. 
   
 "It Is Nothing--But It Is Everything," She Gasped, Clutching His Hand 
 With Fingers Which Were Cold And Moist. "I Am Not In Pain--At Least Not 
 Physically, But I Feel--I Believe--I Know That I Am Going Mad. I See 
 Horrible Things And I Can't Keep Them Away--I Can't--I Can't. They Come 
 In Flashes--In Coloured Flashes, All Red And Green, And There Is 
 Something Dreadful About To Happen To Me. Oh, Don't Let It, Don't Let 
 It!" 
   
 She Clung To Him, Shuddering, Sobbing, Imploring, Moaning Again That She 
 Was Afraid, Beseeching Him To Keep Off The Horror--Not To Let It Come 
 Any Nearer--Not To Let It Look Her In The Eyes. The Spasm Ended At Last 
 In A Wild Burst Of Tears, While She Shrieked Out Frantically In A Terror 
 That Was Pitiable And Abject. Her Hallucinations Seemed To Have Got 
 Entirely Beyond The Control Of Reason, And As She Crouched, With Drawn 
 Up Knees And Quivering Arms, Among The Pillows She Looked Like Some 
 Small Helpless, Distracted Mortal In The Grasp Of The Avenging Furies. 
 At The Moment She Seemed To Him Less His Wife Than His Child. 
   
 "Listen To Me, Connie," He Said Presently In A Voice Whose Quiet 
 Authority Silenced For An Instant Her Despairing Moans. "You Haven't A 
 Trouble On Earth That I Am Not Willing To Share And I Am Sharing This--I 
 Have Made It Mine This Very Minute. Whatever There Is To Face, I'll Face 
 It For You, So Get This Into Your Head And Go To Sleep. Nothing Can Get 
 To You--Neither Man Nor Devil--Until It Has First Passed By Me. There, 
 Now--Don't Sob So; Don't, You'll Hurt Yourself. There's Nothing To Cry 
 About--It's All A False Alarm." 
   
 "I'm So Afraid," She Repeated Over And Over Again, As She Clung To Him. 
 "Promise Not To Leave Me An Instant--Not To Take Your Hands Off Of Me. 
 If I Am Left Alone Again I Shall Die Of Fear." 
   
 "You Shall Not Be Alone, I Swear It," He Answered With Cheerful 
 Assurance. "Lie Quiet And I'll Sit Here The Whole Blessed Night If It's 
 Any Comfort." 
   
 "It Is A Comfort," She Answered; And Her Words Entered His Ears With A 
 Piercing Sweetness, Which Was Not Unlike The Sweetness Of Love. Love It 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 1 Pg 103 
 Was Indeed, He Knew Now, But A Love So Sexless, So Dispassionate That 
 Its Joys Were Like The Joys Of Religion. The Tenderness That Flooded His 
 Breast Was Less The Emotion Of Man For Woman Than Of The Soul For The 
 Soul, And The Wife Whom He Had Ceased To Love In The World's Way Was 
 Nearer To Him, More Closely, More Divinely His, Than She Had Been In The 
 Hour Of His Greatest Ecstasy. The Appeal She Made To Him Now, Lying 
 There Helpless, Distraught And Unlovely, Was An Appeal Which Is Woven Of 
 The Strongest Fibres In The Heart Of Man--The Appeal To The Immortal 
 Soul To Arise And Discover Its Immortality. Connie Cried Out To Him To 
 Save Her--To Save Her From The World, From Herself, From The Hovering 
 Powers Of Evil, And He Knew Now That His Joy In The Hour Of Her 
 Salvation Would Be As The Joy Of The Angels In Heaven. He Would Fight 
 For Her As He Had Never Fought For His Own Life, And He Felt Suddenly 
 That There Was Nothing Upon The Earth Nor In The Sky That Was Strong 
 Enough To Contend Against The Power Of His Compassion. All Lesser 
 Desires Or Emotions Shrank Before It And Vanished Utterly Away--His 
 Ambition, His Longing For Health Wherewith To Work, The Increasing 
 Ardour Of His Love For Laura--These Were As Naught Before The Bond Which 
 United Him To The Terrified, Small Soul That Trembled Beneath His Hands. 
 And Immediately That Goodness At Which Kemper Or Perry Bridewell Would 
 Have Laughed--The Goodness Which Is Spirit, Which Both Builds And 
 Destroys, Which Knows No Law Except The Divine Law Of Its Own Being; In 
 Which There Is Neither The Whitened Surface Nor The Loud 
 Self-Glorification Of The Pharisee--The Goodness Which Is A Pure Flame, 
 A Consuming Passion--This Appeared To His Eyes In All Its Alluring 
 Beauty. The Way Of It Was Hard, He Knew, A Way Of Service, Of 
 Self-Sacrifice, And Yet The One Way Of Happiness As Well. This Lesson He 
 Had Learned From Himself--For It Is The Thing That No Man Can Teach 
 Another--And Because It Had Come To Him From Himself He Knew That It Had 
 Come To Him From God. 
   
 "I Made A Plan On The Way Home To-Night," He Said, Keeping His Firm 
 Touch Upon Her Throbbing Temples. "To-Morrow I Shall Arrange For A 
 Fortnight's Absence At The Office And The Next Day I'll Take You South. 
 There You'll Stay Out Of Doors And Get Well Again. The Flesh Will Come 
 Back To Your Body And The Colour To Your Cheeks. 
   
 "I Shall Never Be Pretty Again--Never," She Moaned, As He Held Her. 
   
 "Nonsense. You're A Trifle Pale And Fagged That's All--But We'll Have 
 You A Beauty Again Before Two Weeks Are Up." 
   
 And So Through The Long Night He Sat With His Touch, Which Compelled 
 Quiet, Upon Her Body, For When, After She Had Fallen At Last Into A 
 Fitful Slumber, He Arose And Lowered The Lights, She Started Up With A 
 Scream And Called Out That She Was "Alone--Fearfully Alone!" Then, As He 
 Returned To His Chair, She Reached For Him In The Darkness And Clung 
 Desperately To His Outstretched Arm, Drawing It Presently Across Her 
 Shoulders Until She Lay As If Shielded By The Soothing Familiar 
 Presence. 
   
   
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 2 Pg 104 
 An Advance And A Retreat 
   
   
 It Was The Day After This, While Laura Was Still In Kemper's Thoughts, 
 That He Ran Across Her As She Came Out Of A Church In Twenty-Ninth 
 Street. At The First Glance She Appeared A Little Startled, But The 
 Disturbance Was So Slight That It Passed Swift As A Shadow Across Her 
 Face, And The Next Instant The Illumining Smile Which He Had Thought Of 
 As Her One Memorable Beauty Shone From Her Eyes And Lips. 
   
 "At First I Hardly Recognised You," She Explained, "You Don't Look Quite 
 As I Remembered You." 
   
 His Amused Glance Lingered Upon Her Face. "So You Did Remember Me?" He 
 Said And The Retort Was So Characteristic Of The Man That Gerty 
 Bridewell Would Have Paused Waiting For It After She Had Spoken. If 
 There Was The Smallest Loophole Apparent In The Conversation Through 
 Which The Personal Intention Might Be Made To Enter, He Took To It As 
 Instinctively As The Fox Takes To The Covert. The Mere Uttered Words 
 Were What He Might Have Responded To Any Woman Who Unconsciously Gave 
 Him The Opportunity, Yet As He Looked Down Upon Laura, In Her Velvet Hat 
 And Black Furs, At His Side, He Was Filled With Amazement At The 
 Interest Aroused In Him By Her Slender, Though Delicately Suggestive 
 Figure. He Felt The Magnetic Touch Of Her Through The Very Flutter Of 
 Her Skirts--Felt The Fervour Of Her Soul, The Warmth Of Her Personality, 
 And He Found Himself Attracted By Her As By The Mystery Of A Bright And 
 Distant Flame. The Intensity Of Life--The Radiant Energy Of 
 Intellect--Was In Her Look, In Her Voice, In Her Smile--And He Knew 
 Instinctively That She Was Capable Of Larger Issues--Of Higher Heights 
 And Deeper Depths--Than Any Woman He Had Ever Known. She Puzzled Him 
 Into A Sympathy Which Quickened With Each Fresh Instant Of Uncertainty, 
 And It Seemed To Him, While She Moved By His Side, That The Illusion Of 
 Mystery Was The One Perennial Charm A Woman Could Possess--A Mystery 
 Which Lay Not Only In The Flame And Shadow Of Her Expression, But In The 
 Intenser Irregularities Of Her Profile, In The Curved Darkness Of Her 
 Eyebrows, In The Fulness Of Her Mouth, In The Profound Eloquence Of Her 
 Eyes, In The Pale Amber Of Her Skin, Which Was Like Porcelain Touched By 
 A Flame, In Her Gestures, In Her Walk, In Her Delicate Bosom And Slender 
 Swaying Hips, In Her Voice, Her Hands, Her Words, And In The Blackness 
 Of Her Abundant Hair Braided Low Upon The Nape Of Her Slender Neck. And 
 This Illusion--Stronger Than The Illusion Of Beauty Because More Subtle, 
 More Tantalisingly Inexplicable, Caught And Held His Attention With A 
 Vivid And Irresistible Appeal. 
   
 At His Words She Had Turned Toward Him With An Animated Gesture, While 
 Her Hand In Its White Glove Slipped From The Large Muff She Held. 
   
 "It Would Be A Poor Memory That Could Not Hold Three Days," She Laughed. 
   
 "Three Days?" He Raised His Eyebrows With A Blithe Interrogation Which 
 Lent A Peculiar Charm To His Expression. "Why, I Thought That I Had 
 Known You Forever!" 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 2 Pg 105 
   
 She Shook Her Head In A Merry Protest, Though She Felt Herself Flush 
 Slowly Under The Gay Deference In His Eyes. 
   
 "Forever Is A Long Day. There Are Few People That It Pays To Know 
 Forever." 
   
 "And How Do You Know That You Are Not One Of Them--For Me?" He Asked. 
   
 "How Do I Know?" She Took Up The Question In A Voice Which Even In Her 
 Lightest Moments Was Not Without A Quality Of Impassioned Earnestness. 
 "The One Infallible Way Of Knowing Anything Is To Know It Without Really 
 Knowing How Or Why One Knows. My Intuitions, You See, Are My Deeper 
 Wisdom." 
   
 "And What Do Your Intuitions Have To Say In Regard To Me?" 
   
 "Only," She Responded, Smiling, "That It Would Be Dangerous For Us To 
 Attempt An Acquaintance That Should Last Forever." 
   
 "Dangerous!" The Word Excited His Imagination And He Felt The Sting Of 
 It In His Blood. "What Harm Do You Think Would Come Of It?" 
   
 "The Harm That Always Comes Of The Association Between Opposites," She 
 Answered Quickly, And The Laughter, He Was Prompt To Notice, Had Died 
 From Her Voice, "The Harm Of Endless Disagreements, Of Lost Illusions." 
   
 "Why Should Our Illusions, If We Were So Fortunate As To Have Them, 
 Inevitably Be Lost?" He Asked, Provoked Into An Assurance Of His 
 Interest By The Serene Disinclination She Displayed. 
   
 "Because They Invariably Are If They Are Illusions?" She Responded, 
 "And You And I Could Never Be Absolute Realities To Each Other, Since To 
 Reach The Reality In A Person One Must Not Only Apprehend But Comprehend 
 As Well. I Doubt If There Can Be Any Permanent Friendship Between People 
 Who Are Totally Unlike." 
   
 Half Angrily He Swung The Stick He Carried At His Side. "Then What 
 Becomes Of The Attraction Of Opposites?" He Insisted. 
   
 "A Catastrophe Usually," She Returned. 
   
 Her Composed Indifference Irritated Him More Than He Was Willing To 
 Admit Even To Himself. Never In His Recollection Had He Encountered A 
 Woman Who Showed So Marked A Disinclination For His Society; And The 
 Wonder Of Her Avoidance Challenged Him Into The Exercise Of The Personal 
 Magnetism He Had Always Found So Invincible In Its Attraction. Had She 
 Met His Advances With Unaffected Feminine Eagerness, He Would Have 
 Parted, Probably, From Her At The Next Corner, But Her Polite 
 Indifference Kept Him, Though Indignant, Still At Her Side. Of Adulation 
 He Was Weary, But A Positive Aversion Promised A New And Exhilarating 
 Experience Of Life. 
   
 "But Why Are You So Sure That We Are Opposites?" He Enquired Presently. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 2 Pg 106 
   
 "How Am I Sure That You Prefer Fair Women--And Adore An Ample Beauty?" 
 She Retorted Lightly. "My Intuitions Again!" 
   
 "Your Intuitions Are So Numerous That They Must Be Sometimes Wrong," He 
 Remarked. 
   
 "Oh, My Intuitions Are Helped Out By Gerty's Observation," She Laughed 
 In Response. 
   
 "Ah, I See," He Said: And It Seemed To Him That He Understood Now Her 
 Open Avoidance, Her Barely Concealed Dislike, And The Distant Reticence 
 Which Made Her Appear To Him As Remote As A Star. Gerty Had Whispered Of 
 His Affairs--Perhaps Of Madame Alta, And In Laura's Unworldly Vision His 
 Delinquencies Had Showed Strangely Distorted And Out Of Drawing. His 
 Anger Blazed Up Within Him, Yet He Knew That The Attraction Of The Woman 
 Beside Him Was Increased Rather Than Diminished By His Resentment. 
   
 "So My Pretty Cousin Has Given Me A Bad Character," He Observed, And His 
 Annoyance Roughened His Usually Genial Voice. 
   
 "On The Other Hand She Admires You Very Much," Laura Hastened To Assure 
 Him; "She Sings Your Praises With Unflagging Energy." 
   
 "Then, This, I Suppose, You Have Counted A Curse To Me," He Quoted A 
 Little Bitterly. 
   
 As She Walked Beside Him She Felt The Contact Of The Nervous Irritation 
 She Had Provoked, And She Found Suddenly That Almost In Spite Of Herself 
 She Was Rejoicing In The Masculine Quality Of His Presence--In His 
 Muscular Strength, In The Vibrant Tones Of His Voice And In The Ardent 
 Vitality With Which He Moved. But The Force Of His Personality Was A 
 Force Against Which She Felt That She Would Struggle Until The End. 
   
 "I'm Not Sure About The Curse," She Answered, "But Gerty's Heroes And 
 Mine Are Rarely The Same, You Know." 
   
 "Then, I Suppose, It's Virtue That You Are After," He Remarked. 
   
 She Looked Gravely Up At Him Before She Bowed Her Head In Assent. "I 
 Like Virtue," She Responded Quietly. "Don't You?" 
   
 "God Knows, I Do," He Replied Without Hesitation In The Grandiloquent 
 Tone He Loved To Assume Upon Occasions. "But Do You Think," He Added 
 Presently, "That A Man Can Acquire Virtue Unless It Has Been Born In 
 Him?" 
   
 "I Think It Is Another Name For Wisdom," She Replied, "And That Is Often 
 Found Late And In Hard Places." 
   
 He Looked At Her With An Attention Which Had Become Absorbed, Exclusive. 
 "Do You Know, I Thought Virtue Was What Women Didn't Care About In Men?" 
 He Said, And His Voice Was Tense With Curiosity. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 2 Pg 107 
 "Perhaps You Mistake The Conventions For Virtue," She Rejoined; "Men 
 Usually Do." Then After A Moment She Added Frankly, "But I Know Very 
 Little Of What Women Like Or Don't Like. I've Never Really Known But Two 
 Besides My Aunts--And One Of These Is Gerty." 
   
 "And You Are Very Fond Of Gerty?" He Enquired. 
   
 As She Looked Up At Him It Seemed To Him That Her Smile Was A Miracle Of 
 Light. "I Love Her More Than Anyone In The Whole World," She Said. 
   
 Again She Perplexed Him, And With Each Fresh Perplexity He Was Conscious 
 Of An Increasing Desire To Understand. "But I Thought All Women Hated 
 One Another," He Observed. 
   
 "That's Because Men Have Ruled The World In Two Ways," She Returned, And 
 Her Protest Was Not Without A Smothered Indignation; "They Have Made The 
 Laws And They Have Made The Jokes." 
   
 Her Championship Of Her Sex Amused Even While It Attracted Him--He Saw 
 In It A Kind Of Abstract Honour Which He Had Always Believed To Be 
 Lacking In The Feminine Mind--And At The Same Instant He Remembered The 
 Rancorous Jealousy Which Had Controlled Madame Alta's Relations With 
 Other Women, The Petty Stings He Had Seen Dealt At Gerty By Her Less 
 Lovely Acquaintances, And The Thousand Small Insincerities He Heard 
 Around Him Every Day. The Very Enthusiasm With Which She Spoke, The 
 Intensity In Her Face, The Decision In Her Voice, Impressed Him In A 
 Manner For Which He Was Utterly Unprepared. In The World In Which He 
 Moved An Enthusiasm Which Was Not At The Same Time An Affectation Would 
 Have Appeared Awkwardly Out Of Place. Women Whom He Knew Were 
 Vivaciously Excited Over Their Winnings Or Losses At Bridge Whist, But 
 He Could Not Recall That He Had Ever Seen A Single One Of Them Stirred 
 To Utterance By Any Impersonal Question Of Injustice. To Be Sure There 
 Were Charitable Ones Among Them, He Supposed, But He Had Always Tended 
 By A Kind Of Natural Selection Toward The Conspicuously Fair, And The 
 Conspicuously Fair Had Proved Invariably To Be The Secretly Selfish As 
 Well. His Social Life Appeared To Him Now, As He Walked By Laura's Side, 
 To Have Been Devoid Of Sincerity As Of Intelligence, And He Recalled 
 With Disgust The Exquisite Empty Voice Of Madame Alta, Her Lyric 
 Sensuality, And The Grossness Of Her Affairs With Her Many Lovers. Was 
 It The After Taste Of Bitterness In His "Wine And Honey" Which Caused It 
 To Turn Suddenly Nauseous In His Remembrance? 
   
 "And So Women Can Really Like One Another Without Jealousy?" He 
 Questioned, Laughing. 
   
 "What Is There To Be Jealous Of?" She Retorted Quickly. "For After All 
 One Is One's Self, You Know, And Not Another. Gerty Is Beautiful And I 
 Am Not, But Her Loveliness Is As Keen A Delight To Me As It Is To 
 Her--Keener, I Think, For She Is Sometimes Bored With It And I Never Am. 
 And She Is More Than This, Too, For She Is As Devoted--As Loyal As She 
 Is Lovely." 
   
 "To You--Yes," He Answered Slowly, For He Was Thinking Of The Gerty Whom 
 He Had Known--Of Her Audacious Cynicism, Her Startling Frankness, Her 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 2 Pg 108 
 Suggestive Coquetry. Was It Possible That This Creature Of Red And White 
 Flesh, Of Sweetness And Irony, Was Really A Multiple Personality--The 
 Possessor Of Divers Souls? Had He Seen Only The Surface Of Her Because 
 It Was To The Surface Alone That He Had Appealed? Or Was It That Laura's 
 Creative Instinct Had Builded An Image Out Of Her Own Ideals Which She 
 Had Called By Gerty's Name? He Did Not Know--He Could Not Even Attempt 
 To Answer--But The Very Confusion Of His Thoughts Strengthened The 
 Emotional Interest Which Laura Had Aroused. And As Each New And Vivid 
 Sensation Effaces From The Mind Every Impression That Has Gone Before 
 It, So At This Moment, In The Ardent Awakening Of His Temperament, There 
 Existed No Memory Of The Past Occasions Upon Which Other Women Had 
 Allured As Irresistibly His Inflamed Imagination. So Far As His 
 Immediate Reflections Were Concerned Laura Might Have Been The Solitary 
 Woman Upon A Solitary Planet. If He Had Paused To Remember He Might Have 
 Recalled That He Had Fallen In Love With The Girl Whom He Afterward 
 Married Between The Sunset And The Moonrise Of A Single Day--That His 
 Passion For Madame Alta Leaped, Full Armed, Into Being During Her 
 Singing Of The Balcony Scene In "Romeo And Juliet"--But He Did Not Pause 
 To Remember, For With That Singular Forgetfulness Which Characterises 
 The Man Of Pleasure, The Present Sensation, However Small, Was Still 
 Sufficient To Lessen The Influence Of Former Loves. 
   
 They Strolled Slowly Down To Gramercy Park, And This Time, As They Stood 
 Together Before Her Door, She Asked Him, Flushing A Little, If He Would 
 Not Come Inside. 
   
 "I Only Wish I Could," He Answered, Taking Out His Watch, "But I've 
 Promised To Meet A Man At The Club On The Stroke Of Five. If You'll 
 Extend The Privilege, However, I'll Take Advantage Of It Before Many 
 Days." 
   
 His Words Ended In A Laugh, But She Felt A Moment Afterward, As She 
 Entered The House And He Turned Away, That He Had Looked At Her As No 
 Man Had Ever Done In Her Life Before. She Grew Hot All Over As She 
 Thought Of It, Yet There Had Been Nothing To Resent In His Easy Freedom 
 And She Was Not Angry. The Gay Deference Was Still In His Eyes, But 
 Beneath It She Had Been Conscious For An Instant That The Whole Magnetic 
 Current Of His Personality Flowed To Her Through His Look. That The 
 Glance He Had Bent Upon Her Was One Of His Most Effective Methods Of 
 Impressing His Individuality She Did Not Know. Gerty Could Have Told Her 
 That He Resorted To It Invariably At The Psychological Instant--And So, 
 Perhaps, Could Madame Alta Had She Chosen To Be Confidential. As A 
 Conscious Or Unconscious Trick Of Manner It Had Served Its Purpose In 
 Many A Place When Words Appeared A Difficult Or Dangerous Medium Of 
 Expression--But To Laura In Her Almost Cloistral Ignorance It Was At 
 Once A Revelation And An Enlightenment. When It Passed From Her She 
 Found That The Face Of The Whole World Was Changed. 
   
 Indoors Mr. Wilberforce And Gerty Bridewell Were Awaiting Her, But It 
 Seemed To Her That Her Attitude Toward Them Had Grown Less 
 Intimate--That She Herself, Her Friends, And Even The Ordinary 
 Surroundings Of Her Life Were Different From What They Had Been Only 
 Several Hours Before. She Wanted To Be Alone--To Retreat Into Herself In 
 Search Of A Clearer Knowledge, And Even Her Voice Sounded Strangely 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 2 Pg 109 
 Altered In Her Own Ears. 
   
 "You Look As If You Had Been Frightened, Laura; What Is It?" Asked 
 Gerty, Pressing Her Hand. 
   
 "It Is Nothing," Returned Laura, With A Glance; "It Is Only That My Head 
 Aches." She Pressed Her Hands Upon Her Temples, And The Throbbing Of Her 
 Pulses Against Her Finger Tips Confirmed Her Words. When, After A Few 
 Sympathetic Questions, They Rose To Go, She Was Aware All At Once Of A 
 Great Relief--A Relief Which Seemed To Her An Affront To Friendship So 
 Devoted As Theirs. 
   
 "Roger Tells Me That We Are To Have The New Book On Wednesday," Said Mr. 
 Wilberforce, As He Stood Looking Down Upon Her With The Peculiar Insight 
 Which Belongs To The Affection Of Age. Then It Seemed To Her Suddenly 
 That He Understood The Cause Of Her Disturbance And That There Were Both 
 Pity And Disappointment In His Eyes. 
   
 "I Hope So," She Answered, Smiling The First Insincere Smile Of Her 
 Life, For Even As She Uttered The Words She Knew That She No Longer Felt 
 The Old Eager, Consuming Interest In Her Work, And That The Making Of 
 Books Appeared To Her An Employment Which Was Tedious And Without End. 
 Why, She Wondered Vaguely, Had She Devoted Her Whole Life To A Pursuit 
 In Which There Was So Little Of The Pulsation Of The Intenser Realities? 
 She Felt At The Instant As If A Bandage Had Dropped From Before Her 
 Eyes, And The Fact That Kemper As An Individual Did Not Enter Into Her 
 Thoughts In No Wise Lessened His Tremendous Moral Effect Upon Her 
 Awakening Nature. Not One Man, But Life Itself Was Making Its Appeal To 
 Her, And For The First Time She Realised Something Of The Intoxication 
 That Might Dwell In Pleasure--In Pleasure Accepted Solely As A Pursuit, 
 As An End In And For Itself Alone. Then, A Moment Later, Standing By Her 
 Desk In Her Room Upstairs, She Remembered, In An Illuminating Flash, The 
 Look With Which Kemper Had Parted From Her At Her Door. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 3 Pg 110 
 The Moth And The Flame 
   
   
 Several Weeks After This, On The Day That Trent's First Play Was 
 Accepted, He Dropped In To Adams' Office, Where The Editor Was Busily 
 Giving Directions About The Coming _Review_. 
   
 "I Know You Aren't In A Mood For Interruptions," Began The Younger Man, 
 In A Voice Which, In Spite Of His Effort At Control, Still Quivered With 
 A Boyish Excitement, "But I Couldn't Resist Coming To Tell You That 
 Benson Has At Last Held Out His Hand. I'm To Be Put On In The Autumn." 
   
 Adams Laid Down The Manuscript Upon Which He Was Engaged, And Turned 
 With The Winning Smile Which Trent Had Grown To Look For And To Love. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 3 Pg 111 
 "Well, That Is Jolly News," He Said Heartily, "You Know Without My 
 Saying So That There Is No One In New York Who Is More Interested In 
 Your Success Than I Am. We'll Make A Fine First Night Of It." 
   
 "That's Why I Dropped In To Tell You," Responded Trent, While His 
 Youthful Enthusiasm Made Adams Feel Suddenly As Old As Failure. "I Came 
 About A Week Ago, By The Way, But That Shock-Headed Chap At The Door 
 Told Me You Were Out Of Town." 
   
 Adams Nodded As He Picked Up The Manuscript Again. 
   
 "I Took Mrs. Adams South," He Replied. "Her Health Had Given Way." 
   
 "So I Heard, But I Hope She's Well Again By Now?" 
   
 "Oh, She's Very Much Better, But One Never Knows, Of Course, How Long 
 One Can Manage To Keep One's Health In This Climate. I Hate To Make You 
 Hurry Off," He Added, As The Other Rose From His Chair. 
   
 "I Want To Carry My Good News To Miss Wilde," Rejoined Treat. "Do You 
 Know, She Was Asking About You Only The Other Day." 
   
 "Is That So? I've Hardly Had Time For A Word With Her For Three Weeks. 
 Mrs. Adams Has Not Been Well And I've Kept Very Closely At Home Ever 
 Since I Got Back. Will You Tell Her This From Me? It's A Nuisance, Isn't 
 It, That Life Is So Short One Never Has Time, Somehow, For One's Real 
 Pleasures? Now, Laura Wilde Is One Of My Real Pleasures," He Pursued, 
 With His Quiet Humour, "So When There's A Sacrifice To Be Made, Its 
 Always The Pleasure Instead Of The Business That Goes Overboard. Oh, 
 It's A Tremendous Pity, Of Course, But Then So Many Things Are That, You 
 Know, And Its Confoundedly Difficult, After All, To Edit A Magazine And 
 Still Keep Human." 
   
 The Winning Smile Shone Out Again, And Treat Noticed How It Transfigured 
 The Worn, Sallow Face Under The Thin Brown Hair. 
   
 "Well, You May Comfort Yourself With The Reflection That It's Easy To Be 
 Human But Hard To Edit A Magazine," Laughed The Younger Man, Adding, As 
 He Went Toward The Door And Paused Near The Threshold, "I Haven't Seen 
 You, By The Way, Since Miss Wilde's Last Poems Are Out. Don't You Agree 
 With Me That Her 'Prelude' Is The Biggest Thing She's Done As Yet?" 
   
 "The Biggest--Yes, But There's No End To My Belief In Her, You Know," 
 Said Adams. "She'll Live To Go Far Beyond This, And I'm Glad To See That 
 Her Work Is Winning Slowly. Every Now And Then One Runs Across A Rare 
 Admirer." 
   
 "And She Is As Kind As She Is Gifted," Remarked Trent Fervently. Then He 
 Made His Way Through The Assistant Editors In The Outer Office, And 
 Hastened With His Prodigious News To Gramercy Park. 
   
 Laura Was Alone, And After Sending Up His Name He Followed The Servant 
 To Her Study On The Floor Above, Where He Found Her Working With A 
 Pencil, As She Sat Before A Brightly Burning Wood Fire, Over A 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 3 Pg 112 
 Manuscript Which He Saw To His Surprise Was Not In Verse. At His Glance 
 Of Enquiry She Smiled And Laid The Typewritten Pages Carelessly Aside. 
   
 "No, It's Not Mine," She Said. "They're Several Short Stories Which Mr. 
 Kemper Did Many Years Ago, And He's Asked Me To Look Over Them. I Find, 
 By The Way, That They Need A Great Deal Of Recasting." 
   
 "Is It Possible," He Exclaimed In Amazement, "That You Allow People To 
 Bore You With Stuff Like That?" 
   
 The Smile Which Flickered Almost Imperceptibly Across Her Lips Mystified 
 Him Completely, And He Drew His Chair A Little Nearer That He Might 
 Bring Himself Directly Beneath Her Eyes. 
   
 "Oh, Well, I Don't Mind It Once In A While," She Returned, "Though He 
 Hasn't In The Very Least The Literary Sense." 
   
 "But I Wasn't Aware That You Even Knew Him," He Persisted, Puzzled. 
   
 "It Doesn't Take Long To Know Some People," She Retorted Gayly; Then As 
 Her Eyes Rested Upon His Face, She Spoke With One Of Her Sympathetic 
 Flashes Of Insight: "You've Come To Bring Me Good News About The Play," 
 She Said. "Benson Has Accepted It--Am I Not Right?" 
   
 "I'm Jolly Glad To Say You Are!" He Assented With Enthusiasm. "It Will 
 Be Put On In The Autumn And Benson Has Suggested Katie Hanska For The 
 Leading Role." 
   
 His Voice Died Out In A Joyous Tremor, And He Sat Looking At Her With 
 All The Sparkles In His Young Blue Eyes. 
   
 "I Am Glad," Said Laura, And She Stretched Out Her Hand, Which Closed 
 Warmly Upon His. "I Can't Tell You--It's Useless To Try--How Overjoyed I 
 Am." 
   
 "I Knew You'd Be," He Answered Softly, While His Grateful Glance 
 Caressed Her. The Triumph Of The Day--Which Seemed To Him Prophetic Of 
 The Triumph Of The Future--Went Suddenly To His Head, And In Some 
 Strange Presentiment He Felt That His Emotion For Laura Was Bound Up And 
 Made A Part Of His Success In Literature. He Could Not, Try As He 
 Would--Disassociate Her From Her Books, Nor Her Books From His, And As 
 He Sat There In Ecstatic Silence, With His Eyes On Her Slender Figure In 
 Its Soft Black Gown, He Told Himself That The Morning's Happy Promise 
 United Them In A Close, An Indissoluble Bond Of Fellowship. He Saw Her 
 Always Under The Literary Glamour--He Felt The Full Charm Of The Poetic 
 Genius--The Impassioned Idealism Which She Expressed, And It Became 
 Almost Impossible For Him To Detach The Personality Of The Woman Herself 
 From The Personality Of The Writer Whom He Felt, After All, To Be The 
 More Intimately Vivid Of The Two. 
   
 "I Knew You'd Be," He Repeated, And This Time He Spoke With A Passionate 
 Assurance. "If You Hadn't Been I'd Have Found The Whole Thing 
 Worthless." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 3 Pg 113 
 She Looked Up Still Smiling, And He Watched Her Large, Beautiful 
 Forehead, On Which The Firelight Played As On A Mirror. "Well, One's 
 Friends Do Add Zest To The Pleasure," She Returned. 
   
 For A Moment He Hesitated; Then Leaning Forward He Spoke With A 
 Desperate Resolve. "One's Friends--Yes--But You Have Been More Than A 
 Friend To Me Since The Beginning--Since The First Day. You Have Been 
 Everything. I Could Not Have Lived Without You." 
   
 He Saw Her Curved Brows Draw Quickly Together, And She Bent Upon Him A 
 Look In Which He Read Pity, Surprise And A Slight Tinge Of Amusement. 
 "Oh, You Poor Boy, Is It Possible That You Imagine All This?" She Asked. 
   
 "I Imagine Nothing," He Answered With A Wounded And Despairing 
 Indignation, "But I Have Loved You--I Have Dreamed Of You--I Have Lived 
 For You Since The First Moment That I Saw You." 
   
 "Then You Have Been Behaving Very Foolishly," She Commented, "For What 
 You Are In Love With Is A Shadow--A Poem, A Fancy That Isn't Myself At 
 All. The Real Truth Is," She Pursued, With A Decision Which Cut Him To 
 The Heart, "That You Are In Love With A Literary Reputation And You 
 Imagine That It's A Woman. Why, I'm Not Only Older Than You In Years, 
 I'm Older In Soul, Older In A Thousand Lives. There Is Nothing Foolish 
 About Me, Nothing Pink And White And Fleshly Perfect--Nothing That A 
 Boy Like You Could Hold To For A Day--" 
   
 She Broke Off And Sat Staring Into The Fire With A Troubled And Brooding 
 Look--A Look Which Seemed To Lose The Fact Of His Presence In Some More 
 Absorbing Vision At Which She Gazed. He Noticed Even In His Misery That 
 She Had Suffered During The Last Few Weeks An Obscure, A Mysterious 
 Change--It Was As If The Flame-Like Suggestion, Which Had Always 
 Belonged To Her Personality, Had Of Late Gathered Warmth, Light, 
 Effectiveness, Consuming, As It Strengthened, Whatever Had Been Passive 
 Or Without Definite Purpose In Her Nature. Her Face Seemed To Him More 
 Than Ever To Be Without Significance Judged By A Purely Physical 
 Standard--More Than Ever He Felt It To Be But A Delicate And Sympathetic 
 Medium For The Expression Of Some Radiant Quality Of Soul. 
   
 "I Did Not Know--I Would Not Have Believed That You Could Be So Cruel," 
 He Protested With Bitterness. 
   
 "I Can Be Anything," She Answered Slowly, Drawing Her Gaze With An 
 Effort From The Fire. "Most Women Can." 
   
 The Glory Of The Morning Passed From Him As Suddenly As It Had Come, And 
 He Told Himself With The Uncompromising Desperation Of Youth That For 
 All He Cared Now His Great Play Might Remain Forever In Oblivion. Life 
 Itself Appeared As Empty--As Futile As His Ambition--So Empty, Indeed, 
 That He Began Immediately In The Elastic Melancholy Which Comes Easily 
 At Twenty-Five--To Plan The Consoling Details Of An Early Death. When He 
 Remembered His Buoyant Happiness Of A Few Hours Ago It Seemed To Him 
 Almost Ridiculous, And He Experienced A Curious Sensation Of 
 Detachment, Of Having Drifted Out Of His Proper And Peculiar Place In 
 Life. "I Shall Never Be Happy Again And I Am No Longer The Same Person 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 3 Pg 114 
 That I Was Yesterday--Or Even A Half Hour Ago," He Thought With A 
 Determination To Be Completely Miserable. Yet Even While The Words Were 
 In His Mind He Found Himself Weighing Almost Instinctively The Literary 
 Value Of His New Emotion, And To His Horror The Situation In Which He 
 Now Stood Began Slowly To Take A Dramatic Form In His Mental Vision. The 
 Very Attitude Into Which He Had Unconsciously Fallen--As He Paused With 
 His Face Averted And His Hand Tightening With Violence Upon A Book He 
 Had Picked Up--Showed To His Imagination As A Bit Of Restrained 
 Emotional Acting Beyond The Footlights. 
   
 "Then There's Nothing I Can Do But Go Straight To The Devil," He 
 Declared With Resolution, And At The Same Instant He Found To His 
 Supreme Self-Contempt That He Was Wondering How The Speech Would Sound 
 In The Mouth Of An Actor In His Drama. 
   
 "Or Write Another Play," Suggested Laura, While He Started Quickly And 
 Turned Toward The Door. 
   
 "I'll Never Write Another," He Said In A Voice Of Gloom, Which He Tried 
 With All His Soul To Make An Honest Expression Of His State Of Mind. "I 
 Wish Now I Hadn't Written This One. I Wouldn't If I'd Known." 
   
 "Then It's Just As Well That You Didn't," She Returned With A Positive 
 Motherly Assurance. "My Poor Dear Boy," She Added Soothingly, "You Are 
 Not The First Man Of Twenty-Five Who Has Mistaken The Literary Mania For 
 The Passion Of Love, And I Fear That You Will Not Be The Last. There 
 Seems, Curiously Enough, To Be A Strange Resemblance Between The Two 
 Emotions. If You'd Only Look At Me Plainly Without Any Of Your Lovely 
 Glamour You'll See In A Minute What Nonsense It All Is. Why, You Are All 
 The Time In Your Heart Of Hearts In Love With Some Little Blonde Thing 
 With Pink Cheeks Who Is Still At School." 
   
 He Turned Away In A Passion Of Wounded Pride; Then Coming Back Again He 
 Stood Looking Moodily Down Upon Her. 
   
 "I'll Prove To You If It Kills Me That I've Spoken The Truth," He 
 Declared, And It Seemed To Him That The Words Were Not Really What He 
 Meant To Say--That They Came From Him Against His Will Because He Had 
 Fitted Them Into The Mouth Of An Imaginary Character. 
   
 "Oh, Please Don't," She Begged. 
   
 "I Suppose I May Still See You Sometimes?" He Enquired. 
   
 "Oh, Dear, Yes; Whenever You Like." 
   
 Then While He Stood There, Hesitating And Indignant, The Servant Brought 
 Her A Card, And As She Took It From The Tray, He Saw A Flush That Was 
 Like A Pale Flame Overspread Her Face. 
   
 "It's Mr. Kemper Now," She Said. "Why Will You Not Stay And Be Good And 
 Forget?" 
   
 "I'd Rather Meet The Devil Himself At This Minute," He Cried In A Boyish 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 3 Pg 115 
 Rage That Brought Tears To His Eyes. "It Seems To Me That I Spend Half 
 My Life Getting Out Of His Way." 
   
 "But Don't You Like Him?" She Enquired Curiously. "Every One Likes Him, 
 I Think." 
   
 "Well, I'm Not Every One," He Blurted Out Angrily, "For I Think Him A 
 Consummate, Thickheaded Ass." 
   
 "Good Heavens!" She Gayly Ejaculated, "What A Character You Give Him." 
 Then, As He Was Leaving The Room, She Reached Out, And Taking His Hand, 
 Drew Him Against His Will, Back To His Chair. "You Shall Not Go Like 
 This--I'll Not Have It," She Said. "Do You Think I Am A Stone That I Can 
 Bear To Spoil All Your Beautiful Triumph. Here, Sit Down And I Promise 
 To Make You Like Both Him And Me." 
   
 As She Finished, Kemper Came In With His Energetic Step And His Genial 
 Greeting, And She Introduced The Two Men With A Little Flattering Smile 
 In Trent's Direction. "You Have The Honour To Meet Our Coming 
 Playwright," She Added With A Gracious Gesture, Skilfully Turning The 
 Conversation Upon The Younger Man's Affairs, While She Talked On With A 
 Sweetness Which At Once Distracted And Enraged Him. He Listened To Her 
 At First Moodily And Then With An Attention Which, In Spite Of His 
 Resolution, Was Fixed Upon The Fine Points Of His Play As She Made Now 
 And Then Friendly Suggestions As To The Interpretations Of Particular 
 Lines Or Scenes. The Charming Deference In Her Voice Soothed His Ruffled 
 Vanity And It Seemed To Him Presently That The Flattering Intoxication 
 Of Her Praise Sent His Imagination Spinning Among The Stars. 
   
 Kemper Listened To It All With An Intelligent And Animated Interest, And 
 When He Spoke, As He Did From Time To Time, It Was To Put A Sympathetic 
 Question Which Dismissed Trent's Darling Prejudice Into The Region Of 
 Departed Errors. To Have Held Out Against The Singular Attraction Of The 
 Man, Would Have Been, Trent Thought A Little Later, The Part Of A 
 Perverse And Stiffnecked Fool. It Was Not Only That He Succumbed To 
 Kemper's Magnetism, But That He Recognised His Sincerity--His Utter Lack 
 Of The Dissimulation He Had Once Believed Him To Possess. Then, As 
 Kemper Sat In The Square Of Sunlight Which Fell Through The Bow Window, 
 Trent Noticed Each Plain, Yet Impressive Detail Of His Appearance. He 
 Saw The Peculiar Roughness Of Finish Which Lent Weight, If Not Beauty, 
 To His Remarkably Expressive Face, And He Saw, Too, With An Eye Trained 
 To Attentive Observation, That The Dark Brown Hair, So Thick Upon The 
 Forehead And At The Back Of The Neck, Had Already Worn Thin Upon The 
 Crown Of The Large, Well-Turned Head. "In A Few Years He Will Begin To 
 Be Bald," Thought The Younger Man, "Then He Will Put On Glasses, And Yet 
 These Things Will Not Keep Him From Appealing To The Imaginary Ideal Of 
 Romance Which Every Woman Must Possess. Even When He Is Old He Will 
 Still Have The Power To Attract, If He Cannot Keep The Fancy." But The 
 Bitterness Had Gone Out Of His Thoughts, And A Little Later, When He 
 Left The House And Walked Slowly Homeward, He Discovered That A Hopeless 
 Love Might Lend A Considerable Sweetness To A Literary Life. After All, 
 He Concluded, One Might Warm Oneself At The Flame, And Yet Neither 
 Possess It Utterly Nor Be Destroyed. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 3 Pg 116 
 His Mother Sat Knitting By The Window When He Entered The Apartment, And 
 He Saw That The Table Was Already Laid For Dinner In The Adjoining Room. 
   
 "I Ordered Dinner A Little Earlier For You," She Explained As She Laid 
 Aside The Purple Shawl While The Ball Of Yarn Slipped From Her Short, 
 Plump Knees And Rolled Under The Chair In Which She Sat. Never In His 
 Recollection Had He Seen Her Put Aside Her Knitting That The Ball Did 
 Not Roll From Her Lap Upon The Floor, And Now As He Stooped To Follow 
 The Loosened Skein, He Wondered Vaguely How She Had Been Able To Fill 
 Her Life With So Trivial And Monotonous An Employment. 
   
 "I Wish You Could Get Out," He Said, As He Sat Down On A Footstool At 
 Her Feet And Leaned His Head Affectionately Against Her Knees. "I Don't 
 Believe You've Had A Breath Of Air For A Month." 
   
 "Why, I Never Went Out Of Doors In The Snow In My Life," She Responded, 
 "At Least Not Since I Was A Child--And It Always Snows Here Except When 
 It Rains. Do You Know," She Pursued, With One Of Her Mild Glances Of 
 Curiosity Through The Window, "I Can't Imagine How The People In That 
 Big Apartment Over There Ever Manage To Get Through The Day. Why, The 
 Woman Stays In Bed Every Morning Until Eleven O'clock And Then The Maid 
 Brings Her Something Like Chocolate On A Tray. She Wears Such Beautiful 
 Wrappers, Too, I Really Don't See How She Can Be Entirely Proper, And 
 Then She Seems To Fly In Such Rages With Her Husband. There Are Some 
 Children, I Believe," She Went On With Increasing Animation, "But They 
 Are Never Allowed To Set Foot In Her Room, And This Afternoon When She 
 Dressed To Go Out I Saw Her Try On At Least Four Different Hats And 
 Every Single One Of Them Green." 
   
 "Poor Creature!" Observed Trent, With A Laugh, "It Must Be Worse Than 
 Living Under The Omnipresent Eye Of Providence. By The Way, I Told The 
 Man To Come Up And Have A Look At The Radiator. Did He Do It?" 
   
 She Laid Her Large, Plump Hand Upon His Head With A Touch That Was As 
 Soft As Her Ball Of Yarn. 
   
 "The Manager Came Himself," She Replied, "But We Got To Talking And 
 After I Found Out How Much Trouble He Had Had In Life--He Lost His Wife 
 And Two Little Boys All In One Year--I Didn't Like To Say Anything About 
 The Heating. I Was Afraid It Would Hurt His Feelings To Find I Had A 
 Complaint To Make--He Seemed So Very Nice And Obliging. And, After All," 
 She Concluded Amiably, "The Rooms Do Get Quite Warm, You Know, Just 
 About The Time We Are Ready To Go To Bed, So All I Need To Do Is To Wear 
 My Cloak A Little While When I First Get Up In The Morning. It Will Be A 
 Very Good Way To Make Some Use Of It, For I Never Expect To Go Out Of 
 Doors Again In This Climate." 
   
 "You'll Have To Go Once," He Said Gayly, "To The First Rehearsal Of My 
 Play. You Can't Afford To Miss It." 
   
 "Oh, I'll Muffle Up Well On That Occasion," She Answered. "Did You See 
 Mr. Benson This Morning? And What Did He Say To You?" 
   
 "A Great Deal--He Was Quite Enthusiastic--For _Him_, You Know." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 3 Pg 117 
   
 "I Wonder What He Is Like," She Murmured With Her Large, Sweet 
 Seriousness. "Is He Married, And Has He Any Children?" 
   
 "I Didn't Investigate. You See I Was More Interested In My Own Affairs. 
 He Wants Katie Hanska To Take The Leading Part. You May Have Seen Her 
 Picture--It Was In One Of The Magazines I Brought You." 
   
 "Did You Enquire Anything About Her?" She Asked Earnestly, "I Mean About 
 Her Character And Her Bringing Up. I Couldn't Bear To Have The Part 
 Played By Any But A Pure Woman, And They Tell Me That So Many Actresses 
 Aren't--Aren't Quite That. Before You Consent I Hope You'll Find Out 
 Very Particularly About The Life She Has Led." 
   
 "Oh, I Dare Say She's All Right," He Remarked, With The Affectionate 
 Patience Which Was One Of His More Amiable Characteristics. "At Any Rate 
 She Has The Mettle For The Role." 
   
 "I Hope She's Good," Said His Mother Softly, And She Added After A 
 Moment, "Do You Remember That Poor Christina Coles I Was Telling You 
 About Not Long Ago?" 
   
 "Why, Yes," Replied Trent; "The Pretty Girl With The Blue Eyes And The 
 Uncompromising Manner? What's Become Of Her, I Wonder?" 
   
 "I Fear," Began His Mother, While She Lowered Her Voice And Glanced 
 Timidly Around As If She Were On The Point Of A Shameful Disclosure, "I 
 Honestly Fear That She Is Starving." 
   
 "Starving!" Exclaimed St. George, In Horror, And He Sprang To His Feet 
 As If He Meant To Plunge At Once Into A Work Of Rescue. "Why, How Long 
 Has She Been About It?" 
   
 "I Know She Has Stopped Coming To See Me Because Her Clothes Are So 
 Shabby," Returned Mrs. Trent, With What Seemed To Him A Calmness That 
 Was Almost Cruel, "And The Charwoman Tells Me That She Lives On Next To 
 Nothing--A Loaf Of Baker's Bread And A Bit Of Cheese For Dinner. It 
 Takes All The Little Money She Can Rake And Scrape Together To Pay Her 
 Room Rent--For It Seems That The Papers Have Stopped Publishing Her 
 Stories." 
   
 "For God's Sake, Let's Do Something--Let's Do It Quickly," Exclaimed 
 Trent, In An Agony Of Sympathy. 
   
 "I Was Just Thinking That You Might Run Up And See If She Would Come 
 Down To Dine With Us," Said The Old Lady; "It Really Makes Me Miserable 
 To Feel That She Doesn't Get Even Enough To Eat." 
   
 "Why, I'll Go Before I Dress--I'll Go This Very Minute," Declared The 
 Young Man. "Shall I Tell Her That We Dine In Half An Hour Or Do You 
 Think, If She's So Very Hungry, You Might Hurry It Up A Bit?" 
   
 "In Half An Hour--She'll Want A Little Time," Replied His Mother, And 
 She Added Presently, "But She's So Proud, Poor Thing, That I Don't 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 3 Pg 118 
 Believe She'll Come." 
   
 The Words Were Said Softly, But Had They Been Spoken In A Louder Tone, 
 Trent Would Not Have Heard Them For He Had Already Hastened From The 
 Room. 
   
 In Response To His Knock, Christina Opened Her Door Almost Immediately, 
 And When She Recognised Him A Look Of Surprise Appeared Upon Her Face. 
   
 "Won't You Come In?" She Asked, Drawing Slightly Aside With A Politeness 
 Which He Felt To Be An Effort To Her, "My Room Is Not Very Orderly, But 
 Perhaps You Will Not Mind?" 
   
 She Wore A Simple Cotton Blouse, The Sleeves Of Which Were A Little 
 Rumpled As If They Had Been Rolled Up Above Her Elbows, And Her Skirt Of 
 Some Ugly Brown Stuff Was Shabby And Partly Frayed About The Edges--But 
 When She Looked At Him With Her Sincere Blue Eyes, He Forgot The 
 Disorder Of Her Dress In The Touching Pathos Of Her Gallant Little 
 Figure. She Was Very Pretty, He Saw, In A Fragile Yet Resolute Way--Like 
 A Child That Is Possessed Of A Will Of Iron--And Because Of Her 
 Prettiness He Found Himself Resenting Her Literary Failures With An 
 Acute Personal Resentment. The Tenderness Of His Sympathy Seemed To 
 Increase Rather Than Diminish His Hopeless Love For Laura, And While He 
 Gazed At Christina's Flower-Like Eyes And Smooth Brown Hair, Which Shone 
 Like Satin, There Stole Over Him A Poetic Melancholy That Was Altogether 
 Pleasant It Was As If He Had Suddenly Discovered A Companion In His 
 Unhappiness, And He Thought All At Once That It Would Be Charming To 
 Pour The Sorrows Of His Love Into The Pretty Ears Hidden So Quaintly 
 Under The Smooth Brown Hair. Love, At The Moment, Appeared To Him 
 Chiefly As Something To Be Talked About--An Emotion Which One Might Turn 
 Effectively Into The Spoken Phrase. 
   
 She Drew Back Into The Room And He Followed Her While His Sympathetic 
 Glance Dwelt Upon The Sleeping Couch Under Its Daytime Covering Of 
 Cretonne, Upon The Small Gas Stove On Which A Kettle Boiled, Upon The 
 Cupboard, The Dressing Table, The Desk At Which She Wrote, And The Torn 
 And Mended Curtains Before The Single Window. Though She Neither 
 Apologised Nor Showed In Her Manner The Faintest Embarrassment, He Felt 
 Instinctively That Her Fierce Maidenly Pride Was Putting Her To Torture. 
   
 "I Came With A Message From My Mother," He Hastened To Explain As He 
 Stood Beside Her On The Little Strip Of Carpet Before The Gas Stove, 
 "She Sends Me To Beg That You Will Dine With Us This Evening As A 
 Particular Favour To Her. She Is So Much Alone, You Know, That A Young 
 Visitor Is Just What She Needs." 
   
 Christina Continued To Regard Him, As She Had Done From The First, With 
 Her Sincere, Unsmiling Eyes, But He Saw A Flush Rise Slowly To Her Face 
 In A Wave Of Colour, Turning The Faint Pink In Her Cheeks To Crimson. 
   
 "I Am Very Much Obliged To Her," She Said, In Her Fresh Attractive 
 Voice, "But I Am Just In The Middle Of A Story And I Cannot Break Off 
 Just Now. I Write," She Added Positively, "Every Evening." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 3 Pg 119 
 As She Finished She Picked Up Some Closely Written Sheets From The Desk 
 And Held Them Loosely In Her Hand, Enforcing By A Gesture The 
 Unalterableness Of Her Decision. "I Hope You Will Give Her My Love--My 
 Dear Love," She Said Presently, With Girlish Sweetness, "And Tell Her 
 How Sorry I Am That It Is Impossible." 
   
 "You Are Writing Stories, Then--Still?" He Asked, Lingering In The Face 
 Of Her Evident Desire To Be Rid Of Him. 
   
 "Oh, Yes, I Write All The Time--Every Day." 
   
 "But Do You Find A Market For So Many?" 
   
 She Shook Her Head: "The Beginning Is Always Hard--Have You Never Read 
 The Lives Of The Poets? But When One Gives Up Everything Else--When One 
 Has Devoted One's Whole Life--" 
   
 Knowing What He Did Of Her Mistaken Ambition, Her Fruitless Sacrifices, 
 The Thing Appeared To Him As A Terrible And Useless Tragedy. He Saw The 
 Thinness Of Her Figure, The Faint Lines Which Her Tireless Purpose Had 
 Written Upon Her Face--And He Felt That It Was On The Tip Of His Tongue 
 To Beg Her To Give It Up--To Reason With Her In The Tone Of A 
 Philosopher And With The Experience Of The Author Of An Accepted Play. 
 But Presently When He Spoke, He Found That His Uttered Words Were Not Of 
 The High And Ethical Character He Had Planned. 
   
 "She Will Be Very Much Disappointed, I Know," He Said At Last; And 
 Though He Told Himself That A Great Deal Of Good Might Be Done By A 
 Little Perfectly Plain Speaking, Still He Did Not Know How To Speak It 
 Nor Exactly What It Would Be. 
   
 "Thank Her For Me--I--I Should Love To See Her Oftener If I Had The 
 Time--If It Were Possible," Said Christina. And Then He Went To The Door 
 Because He Could Think Of No Excuse Sufficient To Keep Him Standing 
 Another Minute Upon The Hearthrug. 
   
 "I Hope You Will Remember," He Said From The Threshold, "That We Are 
 Always Down Stairs--At Least My Mother Is--And Ready To Serve You At Any 
 Moment In Any Way We Can." 
   
 The Assurance Appeared To Make Little Impression Upon Her, But She 
 Smiled Politely, And Then Closing The Door After Him, Sat Down To Eat 
 Her Dinner Of Cold Bread And Corned Meat. 
   
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 4 Pg 120 
 Treats Of The Attraction Of Opposites 
   
   
 As Soon As Trent Had Left The Room Laura Felt That The Silence Became 
 Oppressive And Constrained. For The First Time In Her Life She Found 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 4 Pg 121 
 Herself Overwhelmed With Timidity--With A Fear Of The Too Obvious 
 Word--And This Timidity Annoyed Her Because She Was Aware That She No 
 Longer Possessed The Strength With Which To Struggle Against It. That It 
 Was Imperative For Her To Lighten The Situation By A Trivial Remark, She 
 Saw Clearly, Yet She Could Think Of Nothing To Say Which Did Not Sound 
 Foolish And Even Insincere When She Repeated It In Her Thoughts. Had She 
 Dared To Follow Her Usual Impulse And Be Uncompromisingly Honest, She 
 Would Have Said, Perhaps: "I Am Silent Because I Am Afraid To Speak And 
 Yet I Do Not Know Why I Am Afraid, Nor What It Is That I Fear." In Her 
 Own Mind She Was Hardly More Lucid Than This, And The Mystery Of Her 
 Heart Was As Inscrutable To Herself As It Was To Kemper. 
   
 Then, Presently, A Rush Of Anger--Of Hot Resentment--Put Courage Into 
 Her Determination, And Raising Her Head, With An Impatient Gesture, She 
 Looked Indifferently Into His Face. He Was Still Sitting In The Square 
 Of Sunlight, Which Had Almost Faded Away, And As She Turned Toward Him, 
 He Met Her Gaze With His Intimate And Charming Smile. Though His Words 
 Were Casual Usually And Uttered In A Tone Of Genial Raillery, This 
 Smile, Whenever She Met It, Seemed To Give The Lie To Every Trifling 
 Phrase That He Had Spoken. "What Is The Use Of All This Ridiculous 
 Fencing When You Fill My Thoughts And Each Minute Of The Day I Think 
 Only Of You," Said His Look. So Vivid Was The Impression She Received 
 Now, That She Felt Instantly That He Had Caressed Her In His 
 Imagination. Her Heart Beat Quickly, While She Rose To Her Feet With An 
 Indignant Impulse. 
   
 "What Is It?" He Asked And She Knew From His Voice That He Was Still 
 Smiling. "What Is The Matter?" 
   
 Picking Up His Typewritten Manuscript, She Returned With It To Her 
 Chair, Drawing, As She Sat Down, A Little Farther Away. 
   
 "I Merely Wanted To Look Over This," She Returned, "Mr. Trent 
 Interrupted Me In My Reading." 
   
 "Then You've Something To Thank Him For," He Remarked Gayly, And Added 
 In The Same Tone, "I Noticed That He Is In Love With You--And I Am 
 Beginning To Be Jealous." 
   
 For An Instant She Looked At Him In Surprise; Then She Remembered His 
 Affected Scorn Of What He Called "Social Cowardice"--His Natural Or 
 Assumed Frankness--And She Shook Her Head With A Laugh Of Protest. 
   
 "He In Love! Well, Yes, He's In Love With His Imagination. He's Too 
 Young For Anything More Definite Than That." 
   
 "A Man Is Never Too Young To Fall In Love," He Retorted, "I Had It At 
 Least Six Times Before I Was Twenty-One." 
   
 The Laughter Was Still On Her Lips. "You Speak As If It Were The 
 Measles." 
   
 "It Is--Or Worse, For When You've Pulled Through A Bad Attack Of The 
 Measles You May Safely Count Yourself Immune. With Love--" He Shrugged 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 4 Pg 122 
 His Shoulders. 
   
 "Do You Mean," She Asked Lightly, "That One Can Keep It Up Like 
 That--Forever." 
   
 He Shook His Head. 
   
 "Oh, I Think A Case Is Rare," He Replied, "After Seventy-Five. One 
 Usually Dies By Then." 
   
 "And Is There Never--With A Man, I Mean--Really One?" 
   
 "Oh, Lord, Yes, There's Always One--At A Time." 
   
 His Laughing Eyes Were Probing Her, And As She Met Them, Questioningly, 
 She Found It Impossible To Tell Whether He Was Merely Jesting Or In 
 Deadly Earnest. With The Doubt She Felt A Sharp Prick Of Curiosity, And 
 With It She Realised That In This Uncertainty--This Flashing Suggestion 
 Of All Possibilities Or Of Nothing--Dwelt The Singular Attraction That 
 He Had For Her--And For Others. Was He Only Superficial, After All? Or 
 Did These Tantalising Contradictions Serve To Conceal The Hidden Depths 
 Beneath? Had She For An Instant Taken Him Entirely At His Word Value, 
 She Knew That Her Interest In Him Would Have Quickly Passed--But The 
 Force Which Dominated Him, The Lurking Seriousness Which Seemed Always 
 Behind His Laughter, The Very Largeness Of The Candour He 
 Displayed--These Things Kept Her Forever Expectant And Forever 
 Interested. 
   
 "I Hate You When You Are Like This," She Exclaimed, Almost Indignantly. 
   
 "A Woman Always Hates A Man When He Tells Her The Truth," He Retorted. 
 "She Has A Taste For Sweets And Prefers Falsehood." 
   
 "It May Be The Truth As You Have Seen It," She Answered, "But That After 
 All Is A Very Small Part Of The Whole." 
   
 "It's Big Enough At Least To Be Unpleasant." 
   
 "Well, It's Your Personal Idea Of The Truth, All The Same," She 
 Insisted, "And You Can't Make It Universal. It Isn't Gerty's For 
 Instance." 
   
 "You Think Not?" He Made A Face Of Playful Astonishment. "Well, How 
 About Its Hitting Off Our Friend Perry?" 
   
 "Perry!" She Replied Disdainfully. "Do You Know If He Weren't So Simple, 
 I'd Detest Him." 
   
 "But Why?" His Eyebrows Were Still Elevated. 
   
 "Because He Thinks Of Nothing Under The Sun But The Sensations Of His 
 Great Big Body." 
   
 "Well, That May Not Be Magnificent," He Paraphrased Gayly, "But It Is 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 4 Pg 123 
 Man." 
   
 "Then, Thank Heaven, It Isn't Woman!" She Exclaimed. 
   
 "Do You Mean To Tell Me," He Leaned Forward In His Chair And She Was 
 Conscious Suddenly That He Was Very Close To Her--Closer, In Spite Of 
 The Intervening Space, Than Any Man Had Ever Been In Her Life Before, 
 "Do You Honestly Mean To Tell Me That Women Are Different?" 
   
 The Expression Of His Face Altered As It Always Did Before An 
 Approaching Change In His Mood, And She Saw In It Something Of The 
 Satiety--The Moral Weariness--Which Is The Nemesis Of The Soul That Is 
 Led By Pleasure. It Was At This Moment That She Felt An Exquisite 
 Confidence In The Man Himself--In The Man Hidden Behind The Cynicism, 
 The Affectation, The Utter Vanity Of Words. 
   
 "Oh, They Can't Devote Themselves To Their Own Sensations When They Have 
 To Think So Much Of Other People's," She Responded Merrily; And She Felt 
 Again The Strange Impulse Of Retreat, The Prompting To Fly Before The 
 Earnestness That Appeared In His Voice. While He Was Flippant, Her 
 Intuitions Told Her That She Might Be Serious, But When The Banter 
 Passed From His Tone, She Turned To It Instinctively As To A Defence. 
   
 "But Those That I Have Known"--He Stopped And Looked At Her As If He 
 Weighed With An Experienced Eye The Exact Effect Of His Words. 
   
 She Laughed, But It Was A Laugh Of Irritation Rather Than Humour. 
 "Perhaps You Did Not Select Your Examples Very Wisely," She Remarked. 
   
 Her Look Arrested Him As He Was About To Reply, And He Spoke Evidently 
 Upon The Impulse Of The Moment. "Did Gerty Tell You About Madame Alta?" 
 He Enquired. 
   
 She Shook Her Head With An Evasion Of The Question, "I Don't Remember 
 That It Was Gerty." 
   
 "But You Have Heard Of Her?" 
   
 "I've _Heard_ Her," She Answered. "It Is A Very Beautiful Voice." 
   
 He Frowned With A Nervous Irritation, And She Saw From His Impatient 
 Movements That He Was Under The Influence Of A Disagreeable Excitement. 
   
 "Well, I Was Once In Love With Her," He Said Bluntly. 
   
 She Made An Indifferent Gesture. 
   
 "And Now I Hate Her," He Added With A Sharp Intonation. 
   
 "Is That The Ordinary End Of Your Romances?" She Questioned Without 
 Interest. 
   
 "It Wasn't Romance," He Replied Bitterly; "It Was Hell." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 4 Pg 124 
 Again She Caught The Note Of Satiety In His Voice, And It Stirred Her To 
 A Feeling Of Sympathy Which She Despised In Herself. 
   
 "At Least You Worked Out Your Own Damnation," She Returned Coolly. 
   
 "One Usually Does," He Admitted. "That's The Infernal Part Of It. But 
 I'm Out Of It Now," He Pursued With An Egoism Which Rejoiced In Its Own 
 Strength. "I'm Out Of It Now With A Whole Skin And I Hope To Keep Decent 
 Even If I Don't Get To Heaven. You Might Not Think It," He Concluded 
 Gravely, "But I'm At Bottom As Religious A Chap As Old John Knox." 
   
 "You May Be," She Observed Without Enthusiasm, "But It's The Kind Of 
 Religion Which Impresses Me Not At All." 
   
 "Well, It Might Have Been Better," He Said, "But I Never Had A Chance. 
 I've Known Such Devilish Women All My Life." 
   
 Humour Shone In Her Eyes, Making Her Whole Face Darkly Brilliant With 
 Expression. "Do You Know That You Show A Decided Family Resemblance To 
 Adam," She Observed. 
   
 "It Does Sound That Way," He Laughed, "But There's Some Hard Sense In 
 It, After All. A Woman Has A Tremendous Effect On A Man's Life--I Mean 
 The Woman He Really Likes." 
   
 "Wouldn't It Be Safer To Say The 'Women'?" She Suggested. 
   
 "Nonsense. I Was Only Joking. There Is Always One Who Is More Than The 
 Others--Any Man Will Tell You That." 
   
 "I Suppose Any Man Will--Even Perry Bridewell." 
   
 "Why Not Perry?" He Demanded. "You Can't Imagine How He Used To Bore The 
 Life Out Of Me About Gerty--But Gerty, You Know," He Added In A Burst Of 
 Confidence Which Impressed Her As Almost Childlike, "Isn't Exactly The 
 Kind Of Woman To A--A Lift A Fellow." 
   
 Before His Growing Earnestness She Resorted Quickly To The Defence Of 
 Flippancy. "Nor Is Perry, I Suppose, Exactly The Kind Of Man That Is 
 Lifted," She Observed, With A Laugh. 
   
 He Looked At Her A Moment With A Smile Which Had Even Then An Edge Of 
 His Characteristic Genial Irony. "You Are The Sort Of Woman Who Could Do 
 That," He Said Abruptly. 
   
 "Could Lift Perry? Now, God Forbid!" She Retorted Gayly. 
   
 "Oh, Perry Be Hanged!" He Exclaimed, With The Candid Ill-Humour Which, 
 Strangely Enough, Had A Peculiar Attraction For Her. "If I Had Known You 
 Fifteen Years Ago I Might Be A Good Deal Nearer Heaven Than I Am 
 To-Day." 
   
 The Charm Of His Earnestness Was Very Great, And She Felt That The 
 Sudden Sensation Of Faintness Which Came Over Her Must Be Visible In Her 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 4 Pg 125 
 Fluttering Eyelids And In Her Trembling Hands. 
   
 "I Haven't Faith In A Salvation That Must Be Worked Out By Somebody 
 Else," She Said, In A Voice She Made Cold By An Effort To Render It 
 Merely Careless. 
   
 An Instant Before He Had Told Himself With Emphasis That He Would Go No 
 Further, But The Chill Remoteness From Which She Looked At Him Stirred 
 Him To An Emotion That Was Not Unlike A Jealous Anger. She Seemed To Him 
 Then More Brightly Distant, More Sweetly Inaccessible Than She Had Done 
 At Their First Meeting. 
   
 "Not Even When It Is A Salvation Through Love?" He Asked Impulsively, 
 And At The Thought That She Was Possibly Less Indifferent Than She 
 Appeared To Be, He Felt His Desire Of Her Mount Swiftly To His Head. 
   
 Her Hand Went To Her Bosom To Keep Down The Wild Beating Of Her Heart, 
 But The Face With Which She Regarded Him Was Like The Face Of A Statue. 
 "No--Because I Doubt The Possibility Of Such A Thing," She Said. 
   
 "The Possibility Of My Loving You Or Of Your Saving Me?" 
   
 "The Possibility Of Both." 
   
 "How Little You Know Of Me," He Exclaimed, And His Voice Sounded Hurt As 
 If He Were Wounded By Her Disbelief. 
   
 She Raised Her Eyes And Looked At Him, And For Several Seconds They Sat 
 In Silence With Only The Little Space Between Them. 
   
 "It Is Very Well," She Said Presently, "That I Believe Nothing That You 
 Say To Me--Or It Might Be Hard To Divide The Truth From The Untruth." 
   
 "I Never Told You An Untruth In My Life," He Protested Angrily. 
   
 "Doesn't A Man Always Tell Them To A Woman?" She Enquired. 
   
 For An Instant He Hesitated; Then He Spoke Daringly, Spurred On By Her 
 Indifferent Aspect. "He Doesn't When--He Loves Her." 
   
 "When He Loves Her More Than Ever," She Returned Quietly, As If His 
 Remark Held For Her Merely An Historic Interest, "Perry Bridewell Loves 
 Gerty, I Suppose, And Yet He Lies To Her Every Day He Lives." 
   
 "That's Because She Likes It," He Commented, With A Return Of Raillery. 
   
 "She Doesn't Like It--No Woman Does. As For Me I Want The Truth Even If 
 It Kills Me." 
   
 "It Wouldn't Kill You," He Answered, And The Tenderness In His Voice 
 Made Her Feel Suddenly That She Had Never Known What Love Could Be, "It 
 Would Give You Life." Then His Tone Changed Quickly And The Old Pleasant 
 Humour Leaped To His Eyes, "And Whatever Comes I Promise Never To Lie To 
 You," He Added. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 4 Pg 126 
   
 She Shook Her Head. "I Didn't Ask It," She Rejoined, With A Sharp 
 Breath. 
   
 "If You Had," He Laughed, "I Wouldn't Have Promised. That's A Part Of 
 The General Contrariness Of Men--They Like To Give What They Are Not 
 Asked For." 
   
 "Well, I'll Never Ask Anything Of You," She Said, Smiling. 
   
 "Is That Because You Want To Get Everything?" He Enquired Gayly. 
   
 A Pale Flush Rose To Her Forehead, And The Glow Heightened The Singular 
 Illumination Which Dwelt In Her Face. "Would The Best That You Could 
 Give Be More Than A Little?" 
   
 "It Would Be More Than A Woman Ever Got On Earth." 
   
 "Well, I'm Not Sure That I Would Accept Your Valuation," She Remarked, 
 With An Effort To Keep Up The Light Tone Of Banter. 
   
 "Then Make Your Own," He Answered, As He Rose From His Chair, But His 
 Eyes And The Strong Pressure Of His Hand On Hers Said More Than This. 
   
 "When I've Read Through The Manuscript I'll Talk To You About It," She 
 Observed, As He Was Leaving "If You Really Want Them Published, Though, 
 They Must Be Considerably Altered." 
   
 "Oh, Do It Yourself," He Returned, With An Embarrassed Eagerness. "Do 
 Anything You Please--Put In The Literary Stuff And All That." 
   
 He Spoke With An Entire Unconsciousness Of The Amount Of Work He Asked 
 Of Her, And She Liked Him The Better For The Readiness With Which He 
 Took For Granted That She Possessed The Patience As Well As The Will To 
 Serve Him. 
   
 "Well, We'll Talk About It Later," She Said, And Then For The First Time 
 During The Conversation She Raised Upon Him, In All Its Mystery Of 
 Suggestion, That Subtle Fascination Of Look Which He Felt At The Instant 
 To Be Her Transcendent If Solitary Beauty. Through The Afternoon He Had 
 Waited Patiently For This Remembered Smile--Had Laid Traps For It, Had 
 Sought In Vain To Capture It Unawares, And Had She Been A Worldly 
 Coquette Bent Upon Conquest, She Could Not Have Used Her Weapons With A 
 Finer Or More Decisive Effect. After More Than Two Hours In Which Her 
 Remoteness Had Both Disappointed And Irritated Him, He Went Away At Last 
 With Her Face At Its Most Radiant Moment Stamped Upon His Memory. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 5 Pg 127 
   
 Shows The Dangers As Well As The Pleasures Of The Chase 
   
   
 When Kemper Looked At His Watch On Laura's Steps, He Found That He Had 
 Time Only To Pay A Promised Call On Gerty Bridewell Before He Must Hurry 
 Home To Get Into His Dinner Clothes. In His Pocket, Carelessly Thrust 
 There As He Left His Rooms, Was A Note From Gerty Begging Him To Drop In 
 Upon Her For A Bit Of Twilight Gossip; And Though The Request Was Made 
 With Her Accustomed Lightness, He Knew Instinctively That She Had Sought 
 Him Less For Diversion Than For Advice, And That Her Reckless Pen Had 
 Been Guided By Some Hidden Agitation. When He Thought Of Her It Was With 
 A Sympathy Hardly Justified By The Outward Brilliance Of Her 
 Life--Wealth, Beauty, Power, All The Things Which He Would Have Called 
 Desirable Were Hers, And The Vague Compassion She Awoke In Him Appeared 
 To Him The Result Of A Simple Trick Of Pathos Which She Knew How To 
 Assume At Times. To Be Sorry For Gerty Was Absurd, He Had Always Looked 
 Upon A Hunger For Married Romance As A Morbid And Unhealthy Passion, And 
 That A Woman Who Possessed A Generous Husband Should Demand A Faithful 
 One As Well Seemed To Him The Freak Of An Unreasonable And Exacting 
 Temper. "Men Were Not Born Monogamous"--It Was A Favourite Cynicism Of 
 His, For He Was Inclined To Throw Upon Nature The Full Burden Of Her 
 Responsibility. 
   
 Then, As He Signalled A Cab At The Corner Of Fifth Avenue, And After 
 Seating Himself, Clasped His Gloved Hands Over The Crook Of His Walking 
 Stick, His Thoughts Returned, Impatient Of Distraction, To The 
 Disturbing Memory Of Laura. 
   
 He Had Gone Too Far, This He Admitted Promptly And Without 
 Consideration--Another Minute Of Her Bewildering Charm And He Felt, With 
 A Shiver, That He Might Have Blundered Irretrievably Into A Declaration 
 Of Love. What A Fool He Had Been, After All, And Where Was The Result Of 
 His Painfully Acquired Caution--Of His Varied Experiences With Many 
 Women? Before Entering Her Doors He Had Told Himself Emphatically That 
 The Thing Should Go No Further Than A Pleasant Friendship, And Yet An 
 Hour Later He Had Found His Thoughts Fairly Wallowing In Sentiment. To 
 Like A Woman And Not Make Love To Her--Was That Dream Of His Purer 
 Desires Still Beyond Him--Still In The Distant Region Of The Happier 
 Impossibilities? Marriage Had Few Allurements For Him--The Respect He 
 Felt For It As An Institution Was Equalled Only By The Disgust With 
 Which He Regarded It As A Personal Condition; And A Shudder Ran Through 
 Him Now As He Imagined Himself Tied To Any Woman Upon Earth For The 
 Remainder Of His Days. Without Being Unduly Proud In His Own Conceit, He 
 Was Clearly Aware That He Might Be Looked Upon Through Worldly Eyes As A 
 Desirable Match--As Fair Game For A Number Of Wary Marriageable Maidens; 
 And It Did Not Occur To Him That Even Laura Herself Might By Any Choice 
 Of Her Own, Still Stand Hopelessly Beyond His Reach. The Thing That 
 Troubled Him Was The Knowledge Of His Own Impetuous Emotions--With The 
 Shield Of Madame Alta Withdrawn Was It Not Possible That A Sudden 
 Passion Might Plunge Him Headlong Even Into The Abyss Of Marriage? 
   
 "What A Consummate, What An Unteachable Ass I Am," He Thought As He 
 Stared Moodily At The Passing Cabs, "And The Odd Part Of It Is That The 
 Newest Attraction Always Brings With It A Fatal Belief In Its Own 
 Permanence. I Have Been Madly In Love A Dozen Times Since I Left College 
 And Yet It Seems Impossible To Me That What I Now Feel Has Ever Had A 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 5 Pg 128 
 Beginning Or Can Ever Have An End. By Jove, I Could Almost Swear That 
 I've Never Gone Through This Before." Then He Remembered Suddenly One Of 
 Laura's Most Characteristic Movements--The Swift Turn Of Her Profile As 
 She Averted Her Face--And He Tried To Imagine The Quickened Sensation 
 With Which He Might Have Stooped And Kissed The Little Violet Shadow On 
 Her Neck. "Pshaw!" He Exclaimed With Angry Determination, "Does A Man 
 Never Get Too Old For Such Rubbish? Am I No Better Than One Of The 
 Dotards Who Hold On To Passion After They Have Lost Their Teeth?" But In 
 Spite Of His Contemptuous Cynicism It Seemed To Him That He Was More In 
 Earnest Than He Had Ever Been In His Life Before. There Had Been Nothing 
 So Grave--Nothing So Destructive As This In The Impulse Which Had Driven 
 Him To Madame Alta. 
   
 Gerty Was Awaiting Him Alone In Her Sitting-Room Upstairs, And As He 
 Entered, She Stretched Out Her Hands With A Gesture Of Reproachful 
 Eagerness. 
   
 "You're So Late That I've Barely A Half Hour Before Dressing," She Said. 
   
 "Why, In Heaven's Name, Didn't You Write Me Sooner?" He Enquired, As He 
 Threw Himself Into A Chair Beside The Couch On Which She Lay Half Buried 
 Amid Cushions Of Pale Green Satin, "It Was A Mere Accident That I Had 
 This Spare Time On My Hands. Where's Perry?" 
   
 She Shook Her Head With The Piquant Disdain He Knew So Well. "Amusing 
 Himself Doubtless," She Replied, Adding With One Of Her Uncontrollable 
 Flashes Of Impulse, "Do You, By The Way, I Wonder, Ever Happen To See 
 Ada Lawley Now?" 
   
 The Question Startled Him, And He Sat For A Minute Staring Under Bent 
 Brows At Her Indignant Loveliness; Though She Had Shrieked Out Her 
 Secret In The Tongues Of Men And Of Angels, She Could Have Added Nothing 
 Further To His Knowledge. The Wonderful Child Quality Which Still 
 Survived In Her Beneath All Her Shallow Worldliness Dawned Suddenly In 
 Her Wide-Open, Angry Eyes, And He Saw Clearly At Last The Hidden Canker 
 Which Was Eating At Her Impatient Heart. So This Was What It Meant, And 
 This Was Why She Had Reminded Him At Times Of A Pierced Butterfly That 
 Hides A Mortal Anguish Beneath The Beauty Of Its Quivering Wings? 
   
 "Oh, She Isn't Exactly The Kind To Blush Unseen, You Know," He Responded 
 Lightly. 
   
 "But What Is Her Attraction? I Can't Fathom It," Persisted Gerty, With A 
 Burning Curiosity. "Is It Possible That Men Think Her Handsome?" 
   
 He Laughed Softly At Her Impatience, And Then Leaning Back In His Chair, 
 Took Up Her Question In A Quizzical Tone. "Is She Handsome? Well, That 
 Depends, I Suppose, Upon One's Natural Or Acquired Taste. Some People 
 Like Caviar--Some Don't." 
   
 Though She Choked Down Her Eagerness, He Saw It Still Fluttering In Her 
 Beautiful White Throat. "Then I May Presume That She Is Caviar To The 
 Respectable?" She Said With A Relapse Into Her Biting Sarcasm. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 5 Pg 129 
 He Made A Gesture Of Alarmed Protest: "You Are To Presume Nothing--It Is 
 Never Wise To Presume Against A Woman." 
   
 "Then I Won't If You'll Tell Me," She Returned, "If You'll Tell Me Quite 
 Honestly And Sincerely All That You Think." 
   
 Before The Mockery In His Eyes She Fell Back With A Sigh Of 
 Disappointment, But He Answered The Challenge Presently In What She Had 
 Once Described As His "Paradoxical Humour." 
   
 "Oh, Well, My Views Have All Been Distant Ones," He Said, "But I Should 
 Judge Her To Be--Since You Ask Me--A Lady Who Insists Upon A Remarkable 
 Natural Beauty With A Decidedly Artificial Emphasis." 
   
 He Paused For A Moment In Order To Enjoy The Flavour Of His Epigram; But 
 Gerty Was Too Much In Earnest To Waste Her Animated Attention Upon 
 Words. 
   
 "Oh, Of Course She Makes Up," She Retorted, "They All Do That--Men Like 
 It." 
   
 His Puzzling Smile Dwelt On Her For An Instant. "Well, I'd Rather A 
 Woman Would Be Downright Bad Any Day," He Said, "It Shows Less." 
   
 "But Is She Bad?" Asked Gerty, Almost Panting In Her Pursuit Of 
 Information. "That's What I Want To Know--Of Course She's Artificial On 
 The Face Of It." 
   
 "On The Face Of _Her_, You Mean," He Corrected, And Concluded Promptly, 
 "But I've Never Said Anything Against A Woman In My Life And It's Too 
 Late To Begin Just As I'm Getting Bald. Doesn't It Suffice That The Lady 
 Has Kept Her Pipe Tuned To The General Melody?" 
   
 "You Mean She's Careful?" 
   
 "I Mean Nothing--Do You?" 
   
 With A Determined Movement She Sprang Into A Sitting Position, And 
 Drawing The Cushions Beneath Her Arm, Rested Her Elbow, Bare Under The 
 Flowing Sleeve, Upon The Luxurious Pile Of Down. He Saw The Dent Made By 
 Her Figure In The Green Satin Covers, And It Gave Him A Sensation Of 
 Pleasure While He Watched It Fade Out Slowly. 
   
 "I--Oh, I Mean A Great Deal," She Responded In Her Reckless Voice, "I'm 
 As Clear, I've Always Said, As Running Water, And What You Mistake For 
 Flippancy Is Merely My Philosophy." 
   
 "A Philosophy!" He Laughed, "Then You've Gone Too Deep For Me." 
   
 "Oh, It Isn't Deep--It's Only This," She Rejoined Gayly, "He Laughs Best 
 Who Laughs Most." 
   
 "And Not Who Laughs Last?" 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 5 Pg 130 
 She Shook Her Head As She Played Nervously With The Lace Upon Her 
 Sleeve. "No, Because The Last Laugh Is Apt To Be A Death Rattle." 
   
 "You Give Me The Shivers," He Protested, With A Mock Shudder, "Do You 
 Know You Are Always Clever When You Are Jealous?" 
   
 "But I Am Not Jealous," She Retorted Indignantly; "There's Nobody On 
 Earth That's Worth It--And Besides I'm Too Happy. I'm As Happy As The 
 Very Happiest Human Being You Know. Who's That?" 
   
 He Thought Attentively For A Moment: "By Jove, I Believe It's Roger 
 Adams," He Replied, Amazed At His Discovery. 
   
 For A While Gerty Leaned Back Upon Her Pillows And Considered The 
 Question With Closed Eyes. "I Think You're Right," She Admitted At Last, 
 "But Why? Why? What On Earth Has He Ever Got From Life?" 
   
 "He Has Got A Wife," He Retorted, With His Genial Irony. 
   
 "Well, I Suppose He Congratulates Himself That He Hasn't Two," Was Her 
 Flippant Rejoinder. 
   
 Kemper Laughed Shortly. "I'm Not Sure That She Doesn't Equal A Good Half 
 Dozen." 
   
 "And Yet He _Is_ Happy," Said Gerty Thoughtfully. "I Don't Know Why And 
 I Doubt If He Knows Either--But I Truly And Honestly Believe He's The 
 Happiest Man I've Ever Met. Perhaps," She Concluded With A Quick Return 
 To Her Shallow Wit, "It's Because He Doesn't Divide His Waking Hours 
 Between Dressmakers And Bridge Whist." 
   
 "But Why Do You If It Bores You So," Protested Kemper, "I'd Be Hanged 
 Before I'd Do It In Your Place." 
   
 The Little Half Angry, Half Weary Frown Drew Her Eyebrows Together, And 
 She Sat For A Minute Restlessly Tapping Her Slippered Foot Upon The 
 Floor. "Oh, Why Do Women Lie And Cheat And Back-Bite And Strangle The 
 Little Souls Within Them--To Please Men. Your Amusements Are Built On 
 Our Long Boredom." 
   
 Was It Merely The Trick Of Pathos Again, He Wondered, Or Did The 
 Weariness In Her Voice Sound As True As Sorrow? Was She, Indeed, As 
 Laura So Ardently Believed, Capable Of Larger Means, Of Finer Issues, 
 And Was Her Very Audacity Of Speech But A Kind Of Wild Mourning For The 
 Soul That She Had Killed? A Month Ago He Would Not Have Asked Himself 
 The Question, But His Feeling For Laura Had Brought With It, Though 
 Unconsciously, A Deeper Feeling For Life. 
   
 "All The Same I Wouldn't Bore Myself If I Were You," He Returned, "And I 
 Don't Think Frankly Men Are Worth It." 
   
 She Laughed With An Impatient Jerk Of Her Head. "Oh, It's Easy To 
 Moralise," She Remarked, "But I Have Enough Of That, You Know, From 
 Laura." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 5 Pg 131 
   
 "From Laura? Then She Is With Me?" 
   
 "She Thinks So, But What Does She Know Of Life--She Has Never Lived. 
 Why, She Isn't Even In The World With Us, You See." A Tender Little 
 Laugh Escaped Her. "I've Even Seen Her," She Added Gayly, "Read Plotinus 
 At Her Dressmaker's. She Says He Helps Her To Stand The Trying On." 
   
 The Picture Amused Him, And He Allowed His Fancy To Play About It For A 
 Moment. "I Can't Conceive Of Her Surrendering To The Vanities," He Said 
 At Last. 
   
 "You Can't?" Gerty's Tone Had Softened, Though She Still Spoke Merrily. 
 "Well, I Call No Woman Safe Until She's Dead." 
   
 His Imagination, Always Eager In Pursuit Of The Elusive Possibility, 
 Sprang Suddenly In The Train Of Her Suggestion, And He Felt The Sting Of 
 A Dangerous Pleasure In His Blood. 
   
 "Do You Mean That It Is Only Her Outward Circumstances, Her Worldly 
 Ignorance, That Has Kept Her So Wonderfully Indifferent?" He Asked. 
   
 "So She Is Indifferent?" Enquired Gerty With A Smile. 
   
 "To Me--Yes." 
   
 "Oh, I Didn't Know That--I Suspected--" Her Pause Was Tantalising, And 
 She Drew It Out With An Enjoyment That Was Almost Wicked. 
   
 "You Suspected--" He Repeated The Words With The Nervous Irritation 
 Which Always Seized Him In Moments Of Excitement. 
   
 "I Honestly Believed," She Gave It To Him With Barely Suppressed 
 Amusement, "That She Really Disliked You." 
   
 His Curiosity Changed Suddenly To Anger, And He Remembered, While He 
 Choked Back An Impulsive Exclamation, The Rage For Mastery He Had Once 
 Felt When He Found A Horse Whose Temper Had More Than Matched His Own. 
 "Did She Tell You So?" He Demanded Hotly. 
   
 "Oh, Dear, No--She Wouldn't For The World." 
   
 "Then You're Wrong," He Said With Dogged Resolution; "I Can Make Her 
 Like Me Or Not Just As I Choose." 
   
 "You Can?" She Looked Lovely But Incredulous. 
   
 "Why Do You Doubt It?" 
   
 "Because--Oh, Because You Are Too Different. Do You Know--And This Is As 
 Secret As The Grave--If I Thought Laura Really Cared For You It Would 
 Drive Me To Despair. But She Won't--She Couldn't--You Aren't Half--You 
 Aren't One Hundredth Part Good Enough, You Know." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 5 Pg 132 
 In Spite Of His Smile She Saw That There Was A Tinge Of Annoyance In The 
 Look He Fixed Upon Her. "By Jove, I Thought You Rather Liked Me!" He 
 Exclaimed. 
   
 "I Do--I Love You--I Always Have." She Stretched Out Her Hand Until The 
 Tips Of Her Fingers Rested Upon His Arm. "You Are Quite And Entirely 
 Good Enough For Me, My Dear, But I'm Not Laura, And Strange As It May 
 Seem I Honestly Care A Little More For Her Than For Myself. So If You 
 Are Really Obliged To Fall In Love Again, Suppose You Let It Be With 
 Me?" 
   
 "With You?" He Met Her Charming Eyes With His Ironic Smile. "Oh, I 
 Couldn't--I Was Brought Up On Your Kind, And Perfect As You Are, You 
 Would Only Give Me The Tiresome, Familiar Society Affair. There Isn't 
 Any Mystery About You. I Know Your Secret." 
   
 "Well, At Least You Didn't Learn It From Madame Alta," She Retorted. 
   
 "From Madame Alta! Pshaw! She Was Never Anything But A Vocal 
 Instrument." 
   
 "Do You Remember The Way She Sang This?" Asked Gerty; And Springing To 
 Her Feet She Fell Into An Exaggerated Mimicry Of The Prima Donna's Pose, 
 While She Trilled Out A Languishing Passage From "Faust." "I Always 
 Laughed When She Got To That Scene," She Added, Coming Back To The 
 Couch, "Because When She Grew Sentimental She Reminded Me Of A Love-Sick 
 Sheep." 
   
 "Then Why Do You Resurrect Her Ghost?" He Demanded. "So Far As I Am 
 Concerned She Might Have Lived In The Last Century." 
   
 "And Yet How Mad You Used To Be About Her." 
   
 "'Mad'--That's Just The Word. I Was." He Drew Out His Watch, Glanced At 
 It, And Rose To His Feet With An Ejaculation Of Dismay, "Why, You've 
 Actually Made Me Forget That We Aren't Living In Eternity," He Said. 
 "I'll Be Awfully Late For Dinner And It's Every Bit Your Fault." 
   
 "But Think Of Me," Gasped Gerty, Already Moving In The Direction Of Her 
 Bedroom, "I Dine At Ninety-First Street, And I Must Get Into A Gown That 
 Laces In The Back." She Darted Out With A Bird-Like Flutter; And Running 
 Quickly Down The Staircase, He Hurried From The House And Into A Passing 
 Cab. During The Short Drive To His Rooms His Thoughts Were Exclusively 
 Engrossed With The Necessity Of Making A Rapid Change And Framing A 
 Suitable Apology For His Hostess. The Annoyance Of The Rush Served More 
 Effectually To Banish Laura Than Any Amount Of Determined Opposition 
 Would Have Done. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 6 Pg 133 
 The Finer Vision 
   
   
 So Far As Connie Was Concerned The Trip South Had Been, To All Outward 
 Appearance At Least, Entirely Successful. Adams Had Watched Her Bloom 
 Back Into Something Of Her Girlish Prettiness, And Day By Day, In The 
 Quiet Little Florida Village To Which They Had Gone, The Lines Of 
 Nervous Exhaustion Had Faded Slowly From Her Face. For The First Two 
 Weeks She Had Been Content To Lie Motionless In The Balmy Air Beneath 
 The Pines, While She Had Yielded Herself To The Silence With A 
 Resignation Almost Pathetic In Its Childish Helplessness. But With Her 
 Returning Vigour The Old Ache For Excitement Awoke Within Her, And To 
 Stifle Her Craving For The Drug Which Adams Had Denied Her, She Had 
 Turned At Last To The Immoderate Use Of Wine. So, Hopelessly But With 
 Unfailing Courage, He Had Brought Her Again To New York Where He Had 
 Placed Her In The Charge Of A Specialist In Obscure Diseases Of The 
 Nerves. 
   
 Except For The Hours Which He Spent In His Office, He Hardly Left Her 
 Side For A Minute Day Or Night, And The Strain Of The Close Watching, 
 The Sleepless Responsibility, Had Produced In Him That Quivering 
 Sensitiveness Which Made His Self-Control A Bodily As Well As A Mental 
 Effort. Yet Through It All He Had Never Relaxed In The Fervour Of His 
 Compassion--Had Never Paused Even To Question If The Battle Were Not 
 Useless--If Connie Herself Were Worth The Sacrifice--Until, Almost To 
 His Surprise, There Had Come At Last A Result Which, In The Beginning, 
 He Had Neither Expected Nor Desired. A Closer Reconciliation With Life, 
 A Stronger Indifference To The Mere Outward Show Of Possession, A Deeper 
 Consciousness Of The Reality That Lay Beyond, Above And Beneath The 
 Manifold Illusions--These Things Had Become A Part Of His Mental 
 Attitude; And With This Widening Vision He Had Felt The Flow In Himself 
 Of That Vast, Universal Pity Which Has In It More Than The Sweetness, 
 And Something Of The Anguish Of Mortal Love. In Looking At Connie He Saw 
 Not Her Alone, But All Humanity--Saw The Little Griefs And The Little 
 Joys Of Living Creatures As They Were Reflected In The Mirror Of Her 
 Small Bared Soul. Though He Had Schooled Himself For Sacrifice He Found 
 Presently That He Had Entertained Unawares The Angel Of Peace--For It 
 Was During These Terrible Weeks That The Happiness At Which Gerty 
 Bridewell Had Wondered Possessed His Heart. 
   
 On The Afternoon Of Trent's Visit, Adams Left His Office A Little 
 Earlier Than Usual, For He Had Promised Connie That He Would Take Her To 
 See A New Ballet At Her Favourite Music Hall. When He Reached His House 
 She Was Already Dressed, And While He Changed His Clothes In His 
 Dressing-Room, She Fluttered Restlessly About The Upper Floor, Looking 
 Remarkably Fresh And Pretty In A Gown Of Delicate Blossom Pink. From A 
 Little Distance The Faint Discolour Of Her Skin, The Withered Lines 
 About Her Mouth And Temples Were Lost In A General Impression Of Rosy 
 Fairness; And As He Watched Her Hurried Movements, Through The Door Of 
 Her Bedroom, Adams Found It Almost Impossible To Associate This 
 Sparkling Beauty With The Half-Frenzied Creature He Had Nursed Two Weeks 
 Ago. One Of Her "Spells Of Joy," As She Called Them Was Evidently Upon 
 Her; And Even As He Accepted Thankfully The Startling Change In Her 
 Appearance, There Shot Into His Mind An Acute Suspicion As To The 
 Immediate Cause. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 6 Pg 134 
   
 "Connie," He Said, Standing In Front Of Her With His Hair Brush In His 
 Hand, "Will You Give Me Your Word Of Honour That You Have Taken Nothing 
 To-Day Except Your Proper Medicine?" 
   
 A Quick Resentment Showed In Her Eyes, But She Veiled It A Moment 
 Afterward By A Cunning Expression Of Injured Innocence. "Why, How Could 
 I?" She Asked, In A Hurt Voice, "The Nurse Was With Me." 
   
 It Was True, He Knew--The Nurse Had Been With Her All Day, And Yet As He 
 Looked More Closely At Her Animated Face And Brilliant Eyes The 
 Suspicion Hardened To Absolute Conviction In His Mind. The Change From 
 The Fragile Weakness Of The Morning To This Palpitating Eagerness Could 
 Mean Only The One Thing, He Knew--Connie Had Found Some Secret Way To 
 Gratify Her Craving And The Inevitable Reaction Would Set In Before Many 
 Hours. 
   
 Turning Away Again He Finished His Dressing To The Accompaniment Of Her 
 High-Pitched Ceaseless Prattle. Her Conversation Was Empty And Almost 
 Inconsequent, Filled With Rambling Descriptions Of The Newest Gowns, 
 With Broken Bits Of Intimate Personal Gossip, But The Very Rush Of Words 
 Which Came From Her Served To Create An Atmosphere Of Merriment At 
 Dinner. A Little Later At The Music Hall She Insisted Upon Talking To 
 Adams In Exaggerated Whispers, Until The Pointless Jokes She Made About 
 The Arms Or The Legs Of The Dancers, Sent Her Into Convulsions Of 
 Noiseless Hysterical Laughter. Through It All Adams Sat Patiently 
 Wondering Whether He Suffered More From The Boredom Of The Ballet Or 
 From The Neuralgia Caused By A Draught Which Blew Directly On The Back 
 Of His Neck. That The Show Amused Connie Was Sufficient Reason For 
 Sticking It Out Until The End, But There Were Moments During The Long 
 Evening, When He Felt, As He Sat With His Blank Gaze Fixed Upon The 
 Glancing Red Legs On The Stage, That Every Stifled Yawn Was But An 
 Unuttered Exclamation Of Profanity. 
   
 "Now Really And Truly Was It Worth It?" He Asked, With A Laugh, When 
 They Stood Again At Their Own Door. 
   
 "But Didn't You Think It Lovely?" Enquired Connie, Irritably, As She 
 Entered The Hall And Paused A Moment Under The Electric Light. The 
 Excitement Had Faded From Her Face, Leaving It Parched And Wan As From A 
 Burned Out Fire, And The Sinister Blue Shadows Had Leaped Out In The 
 Hollows Beneath Her Eyes. 
   
 "I Think You Were," He Answered Merrily, Following Her As She Turned 
 Away And Went Slowly Up The Staircase. 
   
 A Smile At The Compliment Flickered For An Instant Upon Her Lips; Then 
 As She Reached Her Bedroom, Her Strength Failed Her Utterly, And With A 
 Little Moaning Cry She Swayed Forward And Fell In A Huddled Pink Heap 
 Upon The Floor. As He Lifted Her She Begged Piteously For 
 Wine--Brandy--For Anything Which Would Drive Away The Terrible 
 Faintness. 
   
 "It Is Like Falling Into A Gulf," She Cried, "I Am Slipping Away And I 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 6 Pg 135 
 Can't Hold Myself--" 
   
 He Measured A Dose Of Cognac And Gave It To Her With A Little Water, But 
 When, After Swallowing It Eagerly, She Begged For More, He Shook His 
 Head And Began Undressing Her As He Would Have Undressed A Child. A 
 Touch At The Bell, He Knew, Would Bring Her Maid, But A Powerful 
 Delicacy Constrained Him As He Was About To Ring; These Were Scenes 
 Whose Very Hideousness Made Them Sacred, And With Connie's Distracted 
 Raving In His Ears, He Became Suddenly Thankful For The Absolute 
 Loneliness, For The Empty House Around Him. As She Lay Upon The Bed 
 Where He Had Placed Her, Looking, He Thought Even Then, Like A Crushed 
 Blossom In Her Gown Of Pale Pink Chiffon, He Bent Over Her In An Anguish 
 Of Pity Which Oppressed Him Like A Physical Weight. The Very Hatred In 
 Her Eyes As She Looked Up At Him Made The Burden Of His Sympathy The 
 Heavier To Bear. Had She Loved Him It Might Have Been Easier For Her, 
 But He Knew Now That In Her Sanest Days She Felt No Stronger Sentiment 
 For Him Than Tolerant Gratitude. And During Her Frantic Nights The 
 Violence Of Her Detestation Was But An Added Torture. There Were Times 
 Even, And This Was So Now, When She Sought By Bodily Force To Gain 
 Possession Of The Drug Which She Had Hidden Under The Carpet Or Beneath 
 The Pillows Of The Couch, And In Order To Control Her Struggles, He Was 
 Obliged To Resort To His Greater Physical Strength. After This She 
 Looked Up And Cursed Him With A Wonderful Florid, Almost Oriental 
 Splendour Of Language, While Throwing Off His Coat, He Brushed From Him 
 The Hanging Shreds Of The Torn Pink Chiffon Gown. 
   
 At Seven O'clock In The Morning When The Nurse Came To Relieve Him, He 
 Was Still Sitting, As He Had Sat All Night, In A Chair Beside Connie's 
 Bed. 
   
 "So She Has Had One Of Her Bad Attacks, I Feared It," Said The Nurse, 
 With A Sympathetic Glance Directed Less At Connie Than At Her Husband. 
   
 "Yes, It Was Bad," Repeated Adams Quietly; And Then Rising To His Feet 
 He Staggered Like A Drunken Man Into His Bedroom Across The Hall. Still 
 Wearing His Evening Clothes He Flung Himself Heavily Upon The Sofa And 
 Fell At Once Into The Profound Sleep Of Acute Bodily Exhaustion. Two 
 Hours Later When He Awoke To Take The Coffee Which The Kindly Nurse 
 Brought To Him, He Found That His Slumber, Instead Of Refreshing Him, 
 Had Left Him Sunk In A Sluggish Melancholy With A Clogged And Inactive 
 Brain. 
   
 "She Is Very Quiet Now," Said The Woman, A Tall, Strong Person Of Middle 
 Age, "And Strangely Enough The Spell Has Hardly Weakened Her At All--She 
 Has Had Her Breakfast And Speaks Of Going Out For A Little Shopping 
 After Luncheon." 
   
 "Well, That's Good News!" Exclaimed Adams Heartily, As He Hastily 
 Swallowed His Black Coffee. Then, Holding Out His Cup To Be Refilled, He 
 Shook His Head With The Winning Humorous Smile Which Was His Solitary 
 Beauty. "This Coffee Will Have To Write Two Pages In My Magazine," He 
 Said, "So Pour Abundantly, If You Please." 
   
 Sitting There In His Dishevelled Evening Clothes, With His Thin, Sallow 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 6 Pg 136 
 Face Under His Rumpled Hair, He Made Hardly An Impressive Figure Even 
 When Viewed In The Effulgent Light Of Romance As A Devoted Husband. 
 There Was Nothing Of The Heroic In His Appearance; And Yet As The Nurse 
 Looked Down Upon Him She Felt Something Of The Curious Attraction He Had 
 For Men Like Arnold Kemper Or Perry Bridewell--Men Whose Innate 
 Principles Of Life Differed So Widely From His Own. It Was Impossible To 
 Build A Sentimental Fiction About Him, She Thought--He Had No Place 
 Among The Broad Shouldered, Athletic Gentlemen Who Bewitched Her In The 
 Pages Of The Modern Novel--But She Recognised, For The First Time, As 
 She Stood Gravely Regarding Him, That There Could Be A Love Founded Upon 
 Other Attributes Than These. To Be Loved As He Loved Connie Seemed To 
 Her At The Instant A Very Beautiful And Perfect Thing. 
   
 "I Think You Have Suffered More From It Than Your Wife Has," She 
 Observed, As She Replaced The Cup Upon The Tray. 
   
 Adams Broke Into His Whimsical Laugh. "You Don't Judge Fair," He 
 Retorted, "Wait Until I'm Washed And In My Right Clothes Again. If 
 There's Anything On Earth That Turns A Man Into A Corpse, It Is An 
 Evening Suit By Daylight." 
   
 Then, As She Went Out With The Tray, He Endeavoured, While He Changed 
 His Clothes, To Pull Himself, By An Effort Of Will, Into Proper Shape To 
 Meet The Day's Work Before Him. 
   
 An Hour Afterward, As He Walked Through The Morning Sunlight To His 
 Office, He Found That His Unusual Melancholy Had Vanished Before The 
 First Breath Of Fresh Air. A Sense Of Detachment--Of World-Loneliness 
 Came Over Him As He Looked At The Passing Crowd Of Strangers, But There 
 Was No Sadness In The Feeling, For He Felt Within Himself The Source As 
 Well As The Renewal Of His Peace. He Had Never Regarded Himself As What 
 Is Called A Religious Man--It Was More Than Ten Years Since He Had 
 Entered A Church Or Heard A Sermon--Yet In This Very Relinquishment Of 
 Self, Was There Not Something Of The Vital Principle, Of The Quickening 
 Germ Of All Great Religions? Though He Had Never Said In His Thoughts "I 
 Believe This" Or "I Hold By This Creed Or That Commandment," His Nature 
 Was Essentially One In Which The Intellect Must Be Supreme Either For 
 Good Or For Evil; And In His Soul, Which Had Been For So Long The 
 Battlefield Of A Spiritual Warfare, There Had Dawned At Last That 
 Cloudless Sunrise Of Faith In Which All Lesser Creeds Are Swallowed Up 
 And Lost. If He Had Ever Attempted To Put His Religious Belief Into 
 Words, He Would Probably Have Said With His Unfailing Humour That It 
 "Sufficed To Love His Neighbour And To Let His God Alone." 
   
 Now, As He Passed Rapidly Through The Humming Streets, His Thoughts Were 
 So Anxiously Engrossed By Connie's Condition That, When His Name Was 
 Uttered Presently At His Elbow, He Started And Looked Up Like One 
 Awakening Uneasily From A Dream. The Next Moment The Air Swam Before Him 
 And He Felt His Blood Rush In A Torrent From His Heart, For The Voice 
 Was Laura's, And He Discovered When He Turned That She Was Looking Up 
 Eagerly Into His Face. 
   
 "Nothing Short Of A Meditation On The Seven Heavens Can Excuse Such 
 Absorption Of Mind," She Said. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 6 Pg 137 
 "You Came Like A Spirit Without My Suspecting That You Were Near," He 
 Answered, Smiling. 
   
 She Laughed Softly, Giving Him Her Full Face As She Looked Up With Her 
 Unfathomable Eyes And Tremulous Red Mouth. At The First Glance He 
 Noticed A Change In Her--An Awakening He Would Have Called It--And For A 
 Minute He Lost Himself In A Vague Surmise As To The Cause. Then All 
 Other Consciousness Was Swept Away By Pure Delight In The Mere Physical 
 Fact Of Her Presence. For The Instant, While They Walked Together 
 Through The Same Sunshine Over The Same Pavement, She Was As Much His 
 Own As If They Stood With Each Other Upon A Deserted Star. 
   
 "It Has Been So Long Since I Really Saw You," She Said, After A Moment's 
 Pause, "I Wondered, At First, If You Were Ill, But Had That Been So I 
 Was Sure You Would Have Written Me." 
   
 Even Her Voice, He Thought, Had Altered; It Was Fuller, Deeper, More 
 Exquisitely Vibrant, As If Some Wonderful Experience Had Enriched It. 
   
 "Connie Was Ill, Not I," He Answered Quietly. "I Took Her South For A 
 Fortnight, And Since Getting Back I've Hardly Been Able To Go Anywhere 
 Except To The Office." 
   
 She Glanced At Him With A Sympathy In Which He Detected A Slight 
 Surprise--For So Long As Connie Had Been Well And Happy He Had Rarely 
 Mentioned Her Name Even To His Closest Friends. 
   
 "I Hope, At Least, That She Is Better By Now," Responded Laura With 
 Conventional Courtesy. 
   
 "Oh, Yes, Very Much Better," He Replied; "But Tell Me Of Yourself--I 
 Want To Hear Of You. Is There Other Verse?" 
   
 For A Minute She Looked Away To The Rapidly Moving Vehicles In The 
 Street; Then Turning Quickly Toward Him, She Spoke With One Of The 
 Impulsive Gestures He Had Always Found So Charming And So 
 Characteristic. 
   
 "There Is No Verse--There Will Never Be Any More," She Said. "Shall I 
 Tell You A Secret?" 
   
 He Bent His Head. "A Dozen If You Like." 
   
 "Well, There's Only One--It's This: I Wasn't Born To Be A Poet. It Was 
 All A Big Mistake, And I've Found It Out In Plenty Of Time To Stop. I'd 
 Rather Do Other Things, You Know; I'd Rather Live." 
   
 "Live," He Repeated Curiously; And The Incidents Of His Own Life Flashed 
 Quickly, One By One, Across His Mind. Marriage, Birth, Death, The 
 Illusion Of Desire, The Disenchantment Of Possession; To Place One's 
 Faith In The External Object And To Stake One's Happiness On The 
 Accident Of Events--Did These Things Constitute Living For Such As She? 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 6 Pg 138 
 "When You Say 'Life' Do You Not Mean Action?" He Asked Slowly. 
   
 "Oh, I Want To Be, To Know, To Feel," She Replied Almost Impatiently. "I 
 Want To Go Through Everything, To Turn Every Page, To Experience All 
 That Can Be Experienced Upon The Earth." 
   
 A Smile Was In His Eyes As He Shook His Head. "And When You Have 
 Accomplished All These Interesting Things," He Said, "You Will Have 
 Gained From Them--What? The Lesson, Learned Perhaps In Great Sorrow, 
 That The Outward Events In Life Are Of No Greater Significance Than The 
 Falling Of The Rain On The Growing Corn. Nothing That Can Happen Or That 
 Cannot Happen To One Matters Very Much In The History Of One's 
 Experience, And The Biggest Incident That Ever Came Since The Beginning 
 Of The World Never Brought Happiness In Itself Alone. It May Be," He 
 Added, With A Tenderness Which He Made No Effort To Keep From His Voice, 
 "That You Will Arrive Finally At The Knowledge That All Life Is 
 Forfeiture In One Way Or Another, And That The Biggest Thing In It Is 
 Sometimes To Go Without." 
   
 His Tone Was Not Sad--The Cheerful Sound Of It Was What Impressed Her 
 Most, And When She Looked Up At Him She Was Almost Surprised By The 
 Smiling Earnestness In His Face. 
   
 "Do You Mean That This Is What You Have Learned?" She Asked. 
   
 Her Seriousness Sent Him Off Into His Pleasant Laugh. "Whatever I Have 
 Learned It Has Not Been Ingratitude For A Meeting Like This," He 
 Responded Gayly. "It Is One Of My Unexpected Joys." 
   
 "And Yet It's A Joy That You Take Small Advantage Of," She Remarked. 
 "I'm Almost Always At Home And I'm Very Often Wishing That You Would 
 Come. As A Last Test, Will You Dine With Me To-Morrow Night?" 
   
 While She Spoke, For The Briefest Flicker Of Her Eyelashes, She Saw Him 
 Hesitate; Then He Shook His Head. 
   
 "I Fear I Can't," He Replied Regretfully, "The Nurse Goes Home, You See, 
 And There's No One Left With Connie. When She's Well Again I'll Come 
 Gladly If You'll Let Me." 
   
 Her Face Flushed A Little. "I'm Sorry I Asked You," She Said; "I Ought 
 To Have Thought--To Have Known." 
   
 He Felt The Wrench Within Him As If He Had Torn Out A Living Nerve, For 
 It Was The End Between Them And He Had Meant That It Should Be So. Life 
 Would Have No Compromises With Illusions, He Knew--Not Even With The 
 Last And The Most Beautiful Of Desires. 
   
 "On The Other Hand Your Wish Made Me Very Happy," He Returned. 
   
 She Had Stopped When They Reached A Corner, And He Realised, With A 
 Pang, That The Chance Meeting Was At An End. As She Stood There In The 
 Pale Sunshine, His Eyes Hung Upon Her Face With An Intensity Which 
 Seemed To Hold In It Something Of The Tragedy Of A Last Parting. At The 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 6 Pg 139 
 Moment He Told Himself That So Far As It Lay In His Power He Would 
 Henceforth Separate His Life From Hers; And As He Made The Resolution He 
 Knew That He Would Carry Her Memory Like A White Flame In His Heart 
 Forever. 
   
 An Instant Afterward He Went From Her With A Smile; And As She Turned To 
 Look After Him, Moved By A Sudden Impulse, She Felt A Vague Stir Of Pity 
 For The Gaunt Figure Passing So Rapidly Along The Crowded Street. While 
 She Watched Him She Remembered That There Were Worn Places On The Coat 
 He Wore, And With One Of The Curious Eccentricities Of Sentiment, This 
 Trivial Detail Served To Surround Him With A Peculiar Pathos. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 7 Pg 140 
 In Which Failure Is Crowned By Failure 
   
   
 At One O'clock, When Adams Left His Office To Go Home To Luncheon--A 
 Custom Which He Had Not Allowed Himself To Neglect Since Connie's 
 Illness--He Found Mr. Wilberforce Just About To Enter The Building From 
 The Front On Union Square. 
   
 "Ah, I've Caught You As I Meant To," Exclaimed The Older Man, With The 
 Cordial Enthusiasm Which Adams Had Always Found So Delightful. "It's 
 Been So Long A Time Since I Had A Talk With You That I Hope You'll Come 
 Out Somewhere To Lunch?" 
   
 "I Only Wish I Could Manage It," Replied Adams, "But I Must Look In For 
 A Minute On Mrs. Adams--She's Been Ill, You Know." 
   
 He Saw The Surprise Reflected In His Companion's Face As He Had Seen It 
 A Little Earlier In Laura's; And At The Same Instant He Felt A Sensation 
 Of Annoyance Because Of His Inability To Act Upon His Impulse Of 
 Hospitality. He Would Have Liked To Take Mr. Wilberforce Home With Him; 
 But Remembering The Probable Quality Of The Luncheon Which Awaited Him, 
 He Repressed The Inclination. 
   
 "Is That So? I'm Sorry To Hear It," Remarked The Other In The 
 Conventional Tone In Which Adams' Friends Always Spoke Of Connie. "Well, 
 I'll Walk A Block Or Two With You In Your Direction," He Added As They 
 Turned Toward Broadway. "Laura Told Me, By The Way, That She Was So 
 Fortunate As To Have A Glimpse Of You This Morning." 
   
 Adams Nodded And Then Looked Quickly Away From The Other's Searching 
 Eyes. "Yes, We Met Rather Early In The Street," He Responded; "She Seems 
 To Me To Be Looking Very Well, And Yet She's Altered, Somehow--I Can't 
 Say Exactly How Or Where." 
   
 "Then You've Noticed It," Returned Mr. Wilberforce, With A Sigh, And He 
 Asked Almost Immediately: "Does She Appear To You To Be Happier Than She 
 Was?" 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 7 Pg 141 
   
 "Happier? Well, Perhaps, But I Hardly Analysed The Impression She 
 Produced. There Was A Change In Her, That Was All I Saw." 
   
 "Did She Speak To You, I Wonder, Of Her Book?" 
   
 Adams Laughed Softly. "She Spoke Of It To Say That She Was Tired Of It," 
 He Answered, "But That Is Only The Inevitable Reaction Of Youth--It's A 
 Part Of The Universal Rhythm Of Thought, Nothing More." 
   
 Mr. Wilberforce Shook His Head A Little Doubtfully. "I Wish I Could Feel 
 So Confident," He Returned, While A Quick Impatience--Almost A Contempt 
 Awoke In Adams' Mind. Was It Possible That This Man Beside Him, With His 
 White Hairs, His Blanched Skin, His Benign Old-World Sentiments, Was, 
 Like Trent, A Mere Worshipper Of The Literary Impulse In Its Outward 
 Accomplishment? Did He Love The Poet In The Woman Rather Than The Woman 
 In The Poet? As Adams Turned To Look At Him, He Thought, Not Without A 
 Certain Grim Humour, That He Beheld Another Victim To The Vice Of 
 Sentimentality; And In His Mental Grouping He Placed His Companion Among 
 Those Who, Like Connie, Were In Bondage To The Images Of Their 
 Imaginations. 
   
 "And Yet Even If She Should Cease To Write Poems She Will Always Live 
 One," He Added Lightly. 
   
 "Yes, She Will Still Be Herself," Agreed Mr. Wilberforce, But His Words 
 Carried No Conviction Of Comfort; And When He Turned At The Corner To 
 Take His Car, It Was With The Air Of A Man Oppressed By The Weight Of 
 Years. 
   
 When Adams Reached Home He Found Connie, Dressed In Her Blue Velvet With 
 The Little Twinkling Aigrette, On The Point Of Starting For An Afternoon 
 Drive With Her Nurse In The Park. The Events Of The Night Had Been 
 Entirely Effaced From Her Mind By The Newer Interests Of The Day; And As 
 He Looked At Her In Amazement, It Seemed To Him That She Bore A Greater 
 Resemblance To The Rosy Girl He Had First Loved Than She Had Done For 
 Many Weary And Heart-Sick Months. When He Left Her, Presently, To Go 
 Back To His Office, It Was With A Feeling Of Hopefulness Which Entered 
 Like An Infusion Of New Blood Into His Veins. The Relapse Might Have 
 Been, After All, Less Serious Than He Had At First Believed, And 
 Connie's Cure Might Become Soon Not Only A Beautiful Dream, But An 
 Accomplished Good. He Thought Of The Sacrifices He Had Made For It--Not 
 Begrudgingly, But With A Generous Thankfulness That He Had Been 
 Permitted To Pay The Cost--Thought Of The Sleepless Nights, The 
 Neglected Work, The Nervous Exhaustion Which Had Followed On The Broken 
 Laws Of Health. At The Moment He Regretted None Of These Things, Because 
 The End, Which He Already Saw Foreshadowed In His Mental Vision, Seemed 
 To Him To Be Only The Crowning Of His Last Few Weeks. Even The Bodily 
 And Moral Redemption Of Connie Appeared No Longer Difficult In The 
 Illumination Of His Mood; For His Compassion, In Absorbing All That Was 
 Vital In His Nature, Seemed Possessed Suddenly Of The Effectiveness Of A 
 Dynamic Force. 
   
 "Already She Is Better," He Thought, Hopefully; "I See It In Her 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 7 Pg 142 
 Face--In Her Hands Even, And When She Is Entirely Cured The Craving For 
 Excitement Will Leave Her And We Shall Be At Peace Again. Peace Will Be 
 Very Like Happiness," He Said To Himself, And Then, With The Framing Of 
 The Sentence, He Stopped In His Walk And Smiled. "Peace Is Happiness," 
 He Added After A Moment, "For Certainly Pleasure Is Not." With The Words 
 He Remembered The Bitter Misery Of Connie Who Had Lived For Joy 
 Alone--The Utter Disenchantment Of Arnold Kemper, Who Had Made Gratified 
 Impulse The Fulfilling Of His Law Of Life. Back And Forth Swung The 
 Oscillation Between Fugitive Desire And Outward Possession--Between The 
 Craving Of Emptiness And The Satiety Of Fulfilment--And Yet Where Was 
 The Happiness Of Those Who Lived For Happiness Alone? Where Was Even The 
 Mere Animal Contentment? "Is It Only When One Says To Fate 'Take 
 This--And This As Well--Take Everything And Leave Me Nothing. I Can Do 
 Without'--That One Really Comes Into The Fulness Of One's Inheritance Of 
 Joy? Was This What Christ Meant When He Said To His Disciples 'Seek Ye 
 First The Kingdom Of God And His Righteousness, And All These Things 
 Shall Be Added Unto You?' In Renunciation Was There, After All, Not The 
 Loss Of One's Individual Self, But The Gain Of An Abundance Of Life." 
   
 The Afternoon Passed Almost Before He Was Aware Of It, And When He 
 Finished His Work And Drew On His Overcoat, He Saw, As He Glanced 
 Through His Office Window, That It Was Already Dusk. As He Reached The 
 Entrance To The Elevator, He Found Perry Bridewell Awaiting Him Inside, 
 And He Kept, With An Effort, His Too Evident Surprise From Showing In 
 His Face. 
   
 "Why, This Is A Treat That Doesn't Happen Often!" He Exclaimed With 
 Heartiness. 
   
 "I Was Passing And Found You Were Still Here, So I Dropped In To Walk Up 
 With You," Explained Perry, But There Was A Note In His Voice Which 
 Caused The Other To Glance At Him Quickly With A Start. 
   
 "Are You Ill, Old Man?" Asked Adams, For Perry Appeared At His First 
 Look To Have Gone Deadly White. "Is There Anything That I Can Do? Would 
 You Like To Come Up And Talk Things Over?" 
   
 Perry Shook His Head With A Smile Which Cast A Sickly Light Over His 
 Large, Handsome Face. "Oh, I'm Perfectly Well," He Responded, "I Need To 
 Stretch My Legs A Bit, That's All." 
   
 "You Do Look As If You Wanted Exercise," Commented Adams, As They Left 
 The Building; "Too Much Terrapin Has Put Your Liver Wrong, I Guess." 
   
 At The Corner, They Passed A News-Stand, And As Adams Stopped For His 
 Evening Paper, He Noticed Again The Nervous Agony Which Afflicted Perry 
 During The Brief Delay. 
   
 "Look Here, What's Up, Now?" He Enquired, Holding His Paper In His Hand 
 When They Started On Again, "Are You In Any Trouble And Can I Help To 
 Get You Out? I'll Do Anything You Like Except Play The Gallant, And I 
 Only Draw The Line At That Because Of My Temperamental Disability. So, 
 Something _Is_ Wrong?" He Added Gayly, "For You Haven't Even Observed 
 The Pretty Woman Ahead There In The Pea-Green Bonnet." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 7 Pg 143 
   
 "Oh, I'm Not In Any Mess Just Now," Replied Perry, With A Big, 
 Affectionate Shake Like That Of A Wet Newfoundland Dog. 
   
 Adams Threw A Keener Glance At Him. "No Scrape About A Woman, Then?" He 
 Asked, With The Tolerant Sympathy Which Had Made Him So Beloved By His 
 Own Sex. 
   
 "Oh, Lord, No," Ejaculated Perry, With A Fervour Too Convincing To Be 
 Assumed. 
   
 "And You Haven't Lost In Wall Street?" 
   
 "On The Other Hand I Made A Jolly Deal." 
   
 "Well, I Give It Up," Remarked Adams Cheerfully; Then As He Spoke, The 
 Glare From An Electric Light Fell Full Upon The Headlines Of The Folded 
 Paper In His Hand, And He Came To A Halt So Sudden That Perry, Falling 
 Back To Keep Step With Him, Felt Himself Spinning Like A Wound Up Top. 
   
 "My God!" Said Adams, In A Voice So Low That It Barely Reached Perry's 
 Ears. An Instant Later A Quick Animal Passion--The Passion Of The 
 Enraged Male--Entered Into His Tone And He Walked Quickly Across The 
 Pavement To The Sheltering Dusk Of A Cross Street. "May God Damn Him For 
 This!" He Cried In A Hoarse Whisper. 
   
 Following Rapidly In His Footsteps, Perry Caught Up Behind Him, And Made 
 An Impulsive, Nerveless Clutch At The Unfolded Paper. "I Knew You'd See 
 It; So I Wanted To Be Along With You," He Said In A Voice Like That Of A 
 Tragic Schoolboy. 
   
 Adams Turned To Him Immediately, With A Restraint Which Had Succeeded 
 His First Quivering Exclamation. "So You Knew That Brady's Wife Meant 
 To Sue For A Divorce?" He Asked. 
   
 Perry Bowed His Head--In The Supreme Crisis Of Experience He Had Always 
 Found The Simple Truth To Be Invested With The Dignity Of An Elaborate 
 Lie. "I Had Heard It Rumoured," Was What He Said. 
   
 "And That My Wife--" 
   
 "I'll Swear I Never Believed It," Broke In Perry, With A Violent 
 Assurance. 
   
 From The Emotion In His Voice One Would Have Supposed Him, Rather Than 
 Adams, To Be The Injured Husband; And The Fact Was That He Probably 
 Suffered More At The Instant Than He Had Ever Done In The Whole Course 
 Of His Comfortable Life. 
   
 "Well, I Suppose I Ought To Be Very Much Obliged To You," Replied Adams, 
 With An Agonised Irony To The Injustice Of Which Perry Was Perfectly 
 Indifferent, "But I Can't See That It Matters Much So Long As The Thing 
 Is True." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 7 Pg 144 
 "But It's A Lie," Protested Perry With Energy. "I Mean The Whole Damned 
 Business." 
   
 "What Isn't?" Demanded Adams Bitterly, As He Stuffed The Crumpled Paper 
 Into The Pocket Of His Coat. Then, Stopping Again As They Reached A 
 Crossing, He Held Out His Hand And Enclosed Perry's In A Cordial Grip. 
   
 "I'm Very Grateful To You," He Said; "But If You Don't Mind, I Think 
 I'll Walk About A Bit Alone. I've Got To Think Things Over." He 
 Hesitated A Moment And Then Added Quietly, "I Know You'll Stand By Me 
 Whatever Comes?" 
   
 "Stand By You!" Gasped Perry, And The Sincere Response Of His Whole 
 Impressionable Nature Brought Two Large, Round Tear Drops To His Eyes; 
 "By Jove! I'd Stand It For You!" 
   
 For An Instant Adams Looked At Him In Silence, While His Familiar Smile 
 Flickered About His Mouth. Then He Reached Out His Hand For Another 
 Grip, Before He Turned Away And Walked Rapidly Into The Dim Light Of The 
 Cross Street. 
   
 "I Must Walk About And Think Things Out A Bit," He Found Himself Saying 
 Presently In His Thoughts; "There's A Tangle Somewhere--I Can't Pull It 
 Out." 
   
 Stopping Under A Light He Drew The Newspaper From His Pocket, But As He 
 Unfolded It, One Of Connie's Wild Letters To Brady Flashed Before His 
 Eyes; And Crushing The Open Sheet In His Hand, He Flung It From Him Out 
 Into The Gutter. The Darkness Afforded What Seemed To Him A Physical 
 Shelter For His Rage, And As He Turned Toward It, He Felt His First 
 Blind Instinct For Violent Action Give Place To A Kind Of Emotional 
 Chaos, In Which He Could Barely Hear The Thunder Of His Own Thoughts. He 
 Knew Neither What He Believed Nor What He Suffered; His Power To Will 
 And His Power To Think Were Alike Suspended, And He Was Conscious Only 
 Of A Curious Deadness Of Sensation, Amid Which His Ironic Devil, 
 Standing Apart, Asked With Surprise Why He Did Not Suffer More--Why His 
 Anger Was Not The Greater, His Restraint The Less? His Philosophy, At 
 The Moment, Had Turned To Quicksand Beneath His Feet; And It Was This 
 Utter Failure Of Himself Which Forced Upon Him The Anguish Of 
 Readjustment, The Frenzied Striving After A Clearer Mental Vision. As He 
 Hurried Breathlessly Along The Narrow, Dimly Lighted Street Into Which 
 He Had Turned, He Felt Instinctively That He Was Groping Blindly For 
 Some Way Back Into His Former Illumination, For Some Finer Knowledge Of 
 Spirit, Which At Present He Did Not Appear To Possess. Not To Act Upon 
 Brute Impulse, But To Listen In Agony Until He Heard The Voice Of Reason 
 Above The Storm Of His Passion--Until He Heard The Soul Speaking Beyond 
 The Senses--This Was The One Urgent Need He Felt Himself To Be Aware 
 Of--The One Intelligent Purpose That Remained With Him Through His 
 Flight. 
   
 "No--I Have Failed And It Is All Over," Was The First Distinct Thought 
 That He Framed. "By Her Own Act She Has Put The Last Barrier Between Us. 
 She Is My Wife No Longer, For, Through Herself, She Has Brought Disgrace 
 Upon Us Both." Again He Remembered The Sacrifices He Had Made For Her, 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 7 Pg 145 
 Not With The Generous Rejoicing Of The Morning, But With A Fierce 
 Bitterness Which Was Like A Bodily Hurt. "She Is No Longer My Wife," He 
 Repeated; "Nor Am I Her Husband--For By Her Own Sin She Has Made Me 
 Free." Yet The Word Carried No Conviction To His Conscience, And He 
 Knew, In Spite Of His Assurance, That Nothing Had Happened Since 
 Yesterday To Change The Relations Between Connie And Himself--That If He 
 Had Pitied Her Then There Was Only The Double Reason Why He Should Pity 
 Her Now. Had This Added Wrong Made Her Less Helpless? Had It Put Moral 
 Fibre Into Her Heart? "All This Had Happened Yesterday--Had Happened 
 Even Six Months Ago, Yet Last Night I Sat By Her Bed--I Was Filled With 
 Sympathy--And Was It Only Because I Was In Ignorance Then Of Something 
 Which I Know Now? Yesterday I Sacrificed For Her Both My Rest And My 
 Work, But Was She Worthier Of Pity At That Hour Than She Is At This. She 
 Has Not Changed Since, Nor Has The Thing Which I Have Just Discovered; 
 It Is Only I Who Am Different Because It Is I Alone Who Have Come Into 
 Knowledge Of The Evil." 
   
 He Thought Of The Hideousness Of It All--Of The Punishment That Awaited 
 Her, Of Her Convulsed Face, Of Her Violent Gestures, And Even Of The 
 Pale Pink Chiffon Gown, Which Made Her Resemble A Crushed Blossom As She 
 Lay Upon The Bed. That Was Only Last Night, And Yet In The Reality Of 
 Experience A Thousand Years Had Intervened In His Soul Since Then. 
   
 The Next Instant He Remembered Again, With A Throb Of Exhilaration That 
 He Was Free. By Her Own Act She Had Given Him Back His Freedom--She Had 
 Returned Him To His Life And To His Work. As For Her If She Chose To 
 Fall Back Into Her Old Bondage, Who Was There In Heaven Or On Earth That 
 Could Hold Him To Account? Every Law That Had Been Made By Man Since The 
 Beginning Of Law Was Upon His Side; And Every Law Declared To Him That 
 He Was Free. Free! The Word Went Like The Intoxication Of Joy To His 
 Head; Then, Even While The Exhilaration Lasted, He Shivered And Came 
 Abruptly To A Halt. 
   
 From The Light Of The Crossing A Woman Had Come Close To Him And Touched 
 Him Upon The Arm, Making Her Immemorial Appeal With A Sickening Coquetry 
 In Her Terrible Eyes. She Was, Doubtless, But The Ordinary Creature Of 
 Her Class, Yet Coming As She Did Upon The Brief Rapture Of His Recovered 
 Liberty, She Appeared As A Visible Answer To The Question He Had Asked 
 His Soul. He Shook His Head And Walked On A Few Steps; Then Coming Back 
 Again He Gave Her The Money That Was In His Pocket. 
   
 "Is This The Message?" He Put To Himself As He Turned Away. "Is This 
 The Message, Or Is It Only The Ugly Hallucination Of My Nerves?" With An 
 Effort He Sought To Shake The Image From Him, But In Spite Of His Closed 
 Mind It Still Seemed To Him That He Saw Connie's Future Looking Back At 
 Him From The Woman's Terrible Eyes. "And Yet What Have I To Do With That 
 Woman Or She With Connie?" He Demanded. "I Have So Far As I Am Aware 
 Never Injured Either In My Life, Nor By Any Act Of Mine Have I Helped To 
 Make My Wife What She Is To-Day--One With That Creature In The Street 
 And With Her Kind. The Law Acquits Me. Religion Acquits Me. My Own 
 Conscience Acquits Me More Than All." But The Argument Was Vain And 
 Empty So Long As He Saw Connie's Future Revealed To Him Through The Eyes 
 Of The Harlot He Had Left At The Crossing. The Helplessness Of 
 Ignorance, Of The Will That Desired To Will The Good, Came Over Him At 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 7 Pg 146 
 The Moment And He Could Have Cried Aloud In His Terror Because His Soul 
 Had Reached The Boundaries Between Its Angel And Its Devil. In His 
 Decision He Appeared To Himself To Stand Absolutely Solitary And 
 Detached--Put Away From All Help From Humanity Or From Human Creeds. The 
 Law Courts Told Him Nothing, Nor Did Religion--Then, At The Instant Of 
 His Sharpest Despair Of Knowledge, There Came Back To Him, As In A 
 Vision Of Light, The Scene Two Thousand Years Ago In Bethany At The 
 House Of Simon The Leper. The People Passing About Him In The Street 
 Became Suddenly But Shadows, Even The Noise Of The Cars No Longer Broke 
 In Confusion Upon His Ears; And In The Midst Of The Silence In Which He 
 Stood, He Heard The Voice As Simon Had Heard It Then: "I Have Somewhat 
 To Say Unto Thee." 
   
 A Moment Afterward The Vision Was Gone, And He Looked Round Him Dazed By 
 The Flashing Of The Lights. "What Does It Matter About My Life Which Is 
 Almost Over?" He Asked. "I Will Help Connie, So Far As I Have Strength, 
 To Bear Her Sin Against Me--And As For The Rest It Is Nothing To Me Any 
 More." Then, As The Resolution Took Shape In His Mind, He Was Conscious 
 Of A Feeling Of Restfulness, Of A Relief So Profound That It Pervaded 
 Him To The Smallest Fibre Of His Being. The Whole Situation Had Changed 
 At The Instant; His Offended Honour Was No Longer Offended, Nor Was His 
 Righteous Anger Still Righteous. Though The Naked Truth Must Face Him In 
 All Its Brutishness, He Knew, From The Feeling Within Him, That By An 
 Act Of Thought, Which Was Not An Act, He Had Drawn The Sting Of The 
 Poisoned Arrow From His Wound. Not Only Had The Bitterness Passed From 
 His Shame, But There Had Come, With The Relinquishment Of The Idea Of 
 Personal Wrong, A Swift Rush Of Exaltation, Like A Strong Wind, Through 
 His Soul. Almost Unconsciously He Had Yielded His Will Into The Hands Of 
 God, And Immediately, As In The Prophecy "All These Things Had Been 
 Added" Unto The Rest. 
   
 Turning At Once He Walked Rapidly In The Direction Of His House, While A 
 Clock In A Tower Across The Way Pointed To The Stroke Of Nine O'clock. 
 The Bodily Exertion Had Begun To Wear Upon Him During The Last Few 
 Minutes. His Feet Ached And There Was A Bruised Feeling In All His 
 Muscles. When He Came At Last To His Own Door The Sensation Of Fatigue 
 Had Blotted Out The Acuteness Of His Perceptions. 
   
 The Lights Were Blazing In The Hall; There Was Evidently An Unusual 
 Commotion Among The Servants; And As He Entered, Connie's Nurse Came To 
 Meet Him With A White And Startled Face. 
   
 "Have You Seen Mrs. Adams?" She Asked Hastily. "She Separated From Me In 
 A Shop And Though I Searched For Her For Hours, I Could Not Find Her." 
   
 For A Breathless Pause He Stared At Her In Bewildered Horror; Then His 
 Eyes Fell Upon A Note Lying Conspicuously On The Hall Table, And He Took 
 It Up And Tore It Open Before He Answered. The Words On The Paper Were 
 Few, And After Reading Them, He Folded The Sheet Again And Replaced It 
 In The Envelope. For An Instant Longer He Still Hesitated, Swallowing 
 Down The Sensation Of Dryness In His Throat. 
   
 "She Will Not Come Back To-Night," He Said Quietly At Last; "She Has 
 Gone Away For A Few Days." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 7 Pg 147 
   
 Then Turning From The Vacant Curiosity In The Assembled Faces, He Went 
 Into His Study And Shut Himself Alone In The Room In Which The Memory Of 
 His Dead Child Still Lived. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 8 Pg 148 
 "The Small Old Path" 
   
   
 "Her Letters Of Course Gave Her Away," Observed Gerty Thoughtfully, As 
 She Smoothed Her Long Glove Over Her Arm And Looked At Laura With The 
 Brilliant Cynicism Which Belonged To Her Conspicuous Loveliness, "Arnold 
 Says It Is Always The Woman's Letters, And I'm Sure He Ought To Know." 
   
 "Why Ought He To Know?" Asked Laura, Turning With An Impatient Movement 
 From The Desk At Which She Sat. Her Gaze Hung On The Soft White Creases 
 Of Kid That Encircled Gerty's Arm, But There Was An Abstraction In Her 
 Look Which Put Her Friend At A Chilling Distance. 
   
 Gerty Laughed. "Oh, I Mean He's A Man Of The World And They Always Know 
 Things." 
   
 For An Instant Laura Did Not Respond, And During The Brief Silence Her 
 Eyes Were Lifted From Gerty's Arm To Gerty's Face. "I Sometimes Think 
 His Worldliness Is Only A Big Bluff," She Said At Last. 
   
 "Well, I Wouldn't Trust His Bluff Too Much, That's All," Retorted Gerty. 
   
 A Smothered Indignation Showed For A Moment In Laura's Glance. "But How 
 Do You Know So Much About Him?" She Demanded. 
   
 "I?--Oh, I've Had My Fancy For Him, Who Hasn't? He's Like One Of Those 
 Eclair Vanille One Gets At Sherry's--They Look Substantial Enough On 
 The Surface, But When One Sticks In The Fork There's Nothing There But 
 Froth. He's Really Quite All Right, You Know, So Long As You Don't Stick 
 In The Fork." 
   
 "But I Thought You Liked Him!" Protested Laura, Pushing Back Her Chair 
 And Rising Angrily To Her Feet. 
   
 "I Do--I Love Him--But That's For Myself, Darling, Not For You." 
   
 "Do You Mean Me To Think," Persisted Laura In A Voice That Was Tense 
 With Horrified Amazement, "That You Are Jealous Of _Me_?" 
   
 A Long Pause Followed Her Words, For Gerty, Instead Of Replying To The 
 Question Had Turned To The Window And Was Staring Out Upon The Bared 
 Trees In Gramercy Park. The Quiet Of It For The Moment Was Almost Like 
 The Quiet Of The Country, And The Two Women Who Loved Each Other Seemed 
 Suddenly Divided By Miles Of Silent Misunderstanding. Then, With A 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 8 Pg 149 
 Resolute Movement, Gerty Looked Full Into Laura's Face, While The Light 
 Flashed Upon A Mist Of Tears That Hung Over Her Reproachful Eyes. 
   
 "Oh, Laura, Laura!" She Said Softly. 
   
 With A Cry Of Remorse Laura Threw Herself Upon Her Knees Beside The 
 Window, Kissing The Gloved Hands In Gerty's Lap. 
   
 But Gerty Had Wiped Her Tears Away And Sat Smiling Her Little Worldly 
 Smile Of Knowledge. "I Am Jealous Of You, But Not In The Way You Meant," 
 She Answered. "I Am Jealous For Myself, For The One Little Bit Of Me 
 That Is Really Alive--The Part Of Myself That Is In You. I Am Afraid To 
 Go Over Again With You The Old Road That I Went Over With Myself--The 
 Old Wanting, Wanting, Wanting That Ends In Nothing." 
   
 "But Why Should I Go Over It?" Asked Laura, From Her Knees, And The 
 Flush In Her Face Coloured All Her Manner With A Fine Deception. 
   
 Gerty's Mocking Gayety Rang Back Into Her Voice. "You Might As Well Ask 
 Me Why I Am Still Fool Enough To Be In Love With Perry," She Returned 
 With Her Flippant Laugh, "It's A Part Of What Arnold Calls 'The Damnable 
 Contradiction Of Life.' You Might As Well Ask Connie Adams Why She Was 
 Born Bad?" 
   
 "Was She--And How Do You Know It?" Demanded Laura. 
   
 "I Don't Know." Gerty's Shrug Was Exquisitely Indifferent. "But It's 
 More Charitable, I Fancy, To Suppose So. Have You Seen Roger, By The 
 Bye?" 
   
 Laura Shook Her Head. "I Would Rather Not. There Is Nothing One Could 
 Say." 
   
 "Oh, I Don't Know--One Might Congratulate Him On His Liberation, And 
 That's Something. I Dare Say He'll Have To Get A Divorce Now, Though 
 Perry Says He Hates Them." 
   
 "Then I Don't Believe He'll Do It, He Doesn't Live By The Ordinary 
 Ethics Of The Rest Of Us, You Know. Will She Marry Brady, Do You Think?" 
   
 "Marry Brady? My Blessed Innocent, Brady Wouldn't Marry Her. He Has 
 About As Much Moral Responsibility As A Fig Tree That Puts Forth 
 Thistles--And Besides Who Could Blame Him? She's Half Crazy Already From 
 Cocaine, And No Man On Earth Could Stand Her For A Month." 
   
 No Man On Earth! Laura Leaned Back In Her Chair, Closing Her Eyes, For 
 She Remembered The Figure Of Roger Adams As He Moved Away From Her 
 Through The Sunlight In The Crowded Street. She Saw His Worn Clothes, 
 His Resolute Walk, And The Patience Which Belonged To The Infinite 
 Stillness In His Face; And, For One Breathless Moment, She Seemed To 
 Feel The Approach Of The Spirit Which Worked Silently Amid The Humming 
 Material Things That Made Up Life. 
   
 Gerty Had Risen And Was Fastening Her White Furs At Her Throat. "I Must 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 8 Pg 150 
 Go To Camille's," She Said, "For She Has Just Got In Some New French 
 Gowns And She Has Promised To Give Me The First Look. Of Course, One 
 Can't Really Trust Her," She Added Suspiciously, "And I Shouldn't Be In 
 The Least Surprised To Find That She'd Let Ada Lawley Get Ahead Of Me. 
 It Is Simply Marvellous How That Woman Always Manages To Produce A 
 Striking Effect. She Was At The Opera Last Night In Peacock Blue When 
 Every Other Woman Was Wearing That Dead, Lustreless White. Do You Know I 
 Sometimes Wonder If I Follow The Fashion Almost Too Closely." 
   
 "You Could Never Look Like Any One Else So It Doesn't Matter." 
   
 "And Yet I Spend Two-Thirds Of My Time Trying To Extinguish The Little 
 Individuality I Possess," Laughed Gerty, As She Turned Upon The 
 Threshold. "I Wear The Same Wave In My Hair, The Same Colour In My Gown, 
 The Same Length To My Gloves. Oh, You Fortunate Dear, Thank Heaven You 
 Have Never Kept A Fashion!" 
   
 She Went Out With Her Softened Merriment, While Laura, Throwing Herself 
 Into The Chair Beside The Window, Looked Down Upon The Carriage Which 
 Was Waiting Before The Door. After A Moment She Saw Gerty Come Out And 
 Cross The Sidewalk, Lifting Her Velvet Skirt Until She Showed A 
 Beautifully Shod Foot And A Glimpse Of Black Embroidered Stocking. She 
 Gave A Few Careless Directions To The Footman Who Arranged Her Rugs, And 
 Then As The Carriage Door Closed, She Leaned Out With Her Brilliant 
 Smile And Waved Her Hand To Laura At The Window Above. The Winter 
 Sunlight Seemed To Pass Away With Her When At Last She Turned The 
 Corner. 
   
 With A Sigh Laura's Thoughts Followed The Carriage, Envying The Beauty 
 And The Fashion Of Her Friend For The First Time In Her Life. A Strange 
 Fascination Enveloped The World In Which Gerty Lived, And The Old 
 Familiar Atmosphere Through Which She Herself Had Moved So Tranquilly 
 Was Troubled Suddenly As If By An Approaching Storm. The Things Which 
 She Had Once Loved Now Showed Stale And Profitless To Her Eyes, While 
 Those External Objects Of Fortune, To Which She Had Always Believed 
 Herself To Be Indifferent, Were Endowed At The Moment With An 
 Extraordinary And Unreal Value. It Was As If Her Whole Nature Had 
 Undergone Some Powerful Physical Convulsion, Which Had Altered Not Only 
 Her Outward Sensibilities But The Obscure Temperamental Forces Which 
 Controlled In Her The Laws Of Attraction And Repulsion. What She Had 
 Liked Yesterday She Was Frankly Wearied Of To-Day. What She Had Formerly 
 Hated She Now Found To Be Full Of A Mysterious Charm. Books Bored Her, 
 And Her Mind, In Spite Of Her Effort At Restraint, Dwelt Longingly Upon 
 The Trivial Details Which Made Up Gerty's Life--Upon Those Bodily 
 Adornments On Which Her Friend Had Staked Her Chance Of Married 
 Happiness. The Endless Round Of Dressmakers, Shops, And Feverish 
 Emulation Appeared Strangely Full Of Interest; And Her Own Quiet Life 
 Showed To Her As Utterly Destitute Of That Illusory Colour Of Romance 
 Which She Found In Her Vision Of Gerty's And Of Every Other Existence 
 Except Her Own. She Beheld Her Friend Moving In A Whirl Of Colour, 
 Through Perpetual Laughter, And The Picture Fascinated Her, Though She 
 Knew That In The Naked Reality Of Things Gerty Was Far More Unhappy Than 
 She Herself. Yet Gerty's Unhappiness Appeared To Her To Be Distinguished 
 By The Element Of Poetry In Which Her Own Was Lacking. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 8 Pg 151 
   
 A Terrible _Ennui_ Possessed Her, The Restless Desire For A Change That 
 Would Obliterate Not Only The Circumstances In Which She Was Placed, But 
 Even The Personal Fact Of Her Own Identity. She Wanted An Experience So 
 Fresh That It Would Be Like A New Birth--A Resurrection--And Yet She 
 Could Tell Neither What This Experience Would Be Nor Why She Wanted It. 
 All That She Was Clearly Aware Of Was That Her Surroundings, Her Family, 
 Her Friends, The Small Daily Events Of Her Life And Her Own 
 Dissatisfaction, Had Become Stale And Repugnant To Her Mood, And She 
 Thought Of The Day Before Her As Of A Gray Waste Of Utterly Intolerable 
 Hours. 
   
 "Nothing Will Happen In It That Has Not Happened Every Twenty-Four Hours 
 Since I Was Born," She Said; "It Is Always The Same--Everything Is The 
 Same, And It Is This Monotony That Seems To Me Insupportable. As I Sit 
 Here At This Window I Feel It To Be Impossible That I Should Ever Drag 
 Myself Through The Remainder Of This Afternoon, And Through The Evening 
 Which Will Be Like Every Other Evening That I Have Spent. Aunt Rosa 
 Will Repeat Her Exhaustless Jokes, Aunt Angela Will Make Her Old 
 Complaints, Uncle Percival Will Begin To Play Upon His Flute." And These 
 Things When She Thought Of Them--The Stories Of Mrs. Payne, The Despair 
 Of Angela, The Piping Of Uncle Percival's Flute--Appeared To Her To 
 Exact A Power Of Moral Endurance Which She Felt Herself No Longer To 
 Possess. A Disgust More Terrible Than Grief Seized Upon Her--A Revolt 
 From The Commonplace Which She Knew To Be Worse Than Tragedy. 
   
 Then In The Midst Of Her Depression She Remembered That On The Following 
 Afternoon She Would See Arnold Kemper, And The Hours Appeared Instantly 
 To Open Into The Light. The End Of Everything Was There Just Twenty-Four 
 Hours Ahead, And She Felt, Like A Physical Agony, The Necessity To 
 Stifle The Consciousness Of Time, To Kill The Minutes, One By One, As 
 They Crept Slowly Into Sight. She Thought Of The Meeting In This Very 
 Room, Of The Gown That She Would Wear, Of The Words That She Would 
 Speak, Of The Curious Exquisite Mixture Of Attraction And Repulsion, Of 
 The Ardent Tenderness She Would Find In His Look. This Tenderness, She 
 Felt, Was The Solitary Expression Of The Real Man--Of The Man Whom Gerty 
 Had Never Known, Whom Madame Alta Had Not So Much As Glimpsed; And The 
 Assurance Produced In Her A Secret Rapture Which Was All The Sweeter For 
 Being Exclusively Her Own. She Wondered Where He Was At The Instant--How 
 He Would Pass The Hours Which Dragged So Heavily For Her--And The 
 Interest Which Had Vanished So Strangely From Her Own Existence Attached 
 Itself Immediately To His. The People He Knew, The Club He Went To, 
 Even The Motor Cars He Drove, Were Surrounded In Her Thoughts With A 
 Fresh And Vivid Charm. Apart From This There Was No Longer Any 
 Charm--Hardly Any Animation About The Life She Led. A Single Idea Had 
 Enlarged Itself At The Cost Of All The Others, And She Had A Sense Of 
 Standing Amid A Desert Waste, In The Drab Miles Of Which A Solitary 
 Palm-Tree Flourished. 
   
 "And Yet Why Should I Hunger For His Presence And What Is There In It 
 When It Comes That Is Worth This Wanting?" She Asked In Dismay Of Her 
 Own Longing. "When I Am Away From Him I Think Of Nothing Except Of The 
 Hour When I Shall See Him Again, And Yet When The Meeting Comes I Am Not 
 Happy And He Is Always A Little Different From What I Hoped That He 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 8 Pg 152 
 Would Be. I Have No Particular Satisfaction When I See Him, But When He 
 Goes The Longing And The Dream Begin Again And I Build Up Other Ideals 
 Of Him Which He Will Destroy The First Time That We Come Together. Is It 
 Because I Have Never Really Got To The Thing That He Is Eternally--To 
 The Soul Of Him--That He Creates In Me This Agony Of Expectancy And Of 
 Disappointment? When I Meet Him To-Morrow May It Not Happen That For The 
 First Time He Will Fulfill All The Ideals Of Him That I Have Made?" 
   
 And It Seemed To Her Almost Impossible That She Should Wait The 
 Twenty-Four Intervening Hours Before Making Her Final Discovery--That 
 She Should Exist A Day And A Night In Utter Vacancy While The Ultimate 
 Moment Still Beckoned Her From To-Morrow. Would Time Never Pass? Was 
 There No Way Of Strangling It Before It Came To Birth? She Picked Up Her 
 Favourite Books From Her Desk--Spinoza, Shelley, "The Imitation Of 
 Christ"--But The Throbbing Vitality In Her Own Breast Caused The Printed 
 Pages To Turn Chill And Lifeless. 
   
 A Mirror Was Placed Over The Mantel And She Looked Closely Into It, 
 Meeting Her Profound Gaze And The Poetic Charm Which Hung Like An 
 Atmosphere About Her Delicate Figure. She Felt At The Instant That She 
 Would Have Given Her Life--Her Soul Even And Its Infinite 
 Possibilities--For An Exterior Of Gerty's Brilliant Beauty. The 
 Blackness Of Her Hair, The Prominence Of Her Brow, The Faint Amber 
 Pallor Of Her Skin, Provoked Her Into A Sensation Of Anger; And She 
 Turned Away With An Emotion That Was Almost One Of Bitterness. A Minute 
 Later It Seemed To Her That The Afternoon Would Pass More Quickly If She 
 Spent It Out Of Doors, And As She Slipped Into Her Walking Clothes She 
 Thought With Relief Of The Crowded Streets And Of The Noises That Would 
 Drown The Consciousness Of Her Own Thoughts. When Angela Called To Her 
 As She Passed Along The Hall It Was With A Movement Of Irritation That 
 She Turned The Handle Of The Door And Entered The Invalid's Room, Where 
 The Pale Winter Sunshine Fell Over The Tall White Candles And Uncarpeted 
 Floor. 
   
 Mrs. Payne, In Her Black Velvet And Old Rose Point, Sat By The Window 
 Reading Aloud In Her Shrill Voice Extracts From A Society Paper Which 
 She Had Brought For The Purpose Of Entertaining Her Sister. In The 
 Conventual Atmosphere In Which Angela Lived The Biting Scandals And 
 Malicious Gossip Of The Worldly Old Woman Always Produced Upon Laura An 
 Impression Of Mere Vulgar Insincerity. To Have Lived Over Seventy Years 
 And Still To Find One's Chief Interest In The Social Indiscretions Of 
 One's Neighbours Was A Fact Which Would Have Been Pathetic Had It Been 
 Less Ridiculous. Tottering Reluctantly To Her Grave, In The Centre Of A 
 Universe Filled With A Million Mysteries Of Dead And Living Suns, She 
 Was Absorbed To The Exclusion Of All Larger Matters In The Question As 
 To Whether Or Not "Tom Marbury Had Compromised Mrs. Billy Pearce?" 
   
 "As If It Mattered," Sighed Angela From Her Couch. "As If It Really 
 Mattered To Me In The Least." 
   
 Mrs. Payne Fixed Upon Her A Painted Pair Of Eyes Set In Lustreless 
 Vacancy Between Two Flashing Diamond Earrings. "That's Because You Live 
 So Out Of The World, My Dear," She Observed, "That You Have Ceased To 
 Feel Any Longer A Rational Interest In Life." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 8 Pg 153 
   
 "But Is Life All Somebody's Impropriety?" Enquired Angela, With The 
 Meekness Of A Child. 
   
 "It Is That--Or Charities," Returned Mrs. Payne. "You May Take Your 
 Choice Between The Two. It Was Only After I Failed To Interest You In 
 Our Day Nursery That I Turned To The Social News." 
   
 "But You Haven't Tried The Sports," Suggested Laura, With A Laugh, While 
 She Felt The Presence Of Her Aunts To Have Become An Intolerable Burden. 
   
 Mrs. Payne Raised Her Blackened Eyebrows, And Sat Smoothing Out The 
 Crumpled Paper With Her Claw-Like Jewelled Fingers. It Seemed To Laura 
 That She Wore Her Body To-Day As If It Were A Tattered, Yet 
 Industriously Mended Garment For Which Her Indomitable Spirit Would Soon 
 Have No Further Use. Everything About Her Was Youthful Except The Flesh 
 Which Wrapped Her, And That Was Hideously, Was Grotesquely Ancient. Yet 
 She Had Once Been Both A Beauty And A Belle, Famed For Her Quick 
 Affairs And Her Careful Indiscretions; And As Laura Watched Her She Saw 
 In This Living Decay But The Inevitable End And Weariness Of Pleasure. 
 Of Her Many Lovers, Which Remained To Her To-Day? With The Multiplied 
 Sensations Of Her Youth What Had Her Loveless Age To Do? She Had Hardly 
 Laid Up Even A Sweetness Of Memories, Or Why Did She Feast Upon 
 Uncovered Scandals As A Vulture Upon Carrion? 
   
 "What Poor Dear Angela Needs Is An Object In Life--A Passion," Remarked 
 Mrs. Payne, Picking Up Her Gold-Rimmed Eye Glasses Which Hung On A 
 Little Jewelled Chain From Her Bosom. "I Used To Say That When I Got Too 
 Old For An Emotion I Wanted To Be Chloroformed, But I Found, Thank 
 Heaven, That With Care One's Emotions May Last One Pretty Well To One's 
 Eightieth Year. When Men Fail One Cards Are Left, And After Cards, I 
 Daresay, There Would Come Gossip. It Is For This Reason," She Pursued 
 With Conviction, "That I Am Trying To Persuade Angela To Take Up A 
 Little Bridge." 
   
 "A Little Bridge!" Gasped Laura, And From Sheer Amazement She Sat Down 
 On The Foot Of Angela's Couch. 
   
 "I Was Considering The Moral Support Of It, Of Course," Resumed Mrs. 
 Payne. "First Of All I Would Advise Some Inspiring Religious Conviction, 
 But As Religion Does Not Appeal To Her, I Suggested Bridge." 
   
 "It Might As Well Be White Rabbits, I Don't See The Difference," 
 Protested Angela, Rolling Over Upon Her Side With A Despairing Movement 
 Of Fatigue. 
   
 "The Difference, My Dear, Is That White Rabbits Are Dirty Little 
 Beasts," Observed The Elder Woman. 
   
 Angela Lay Back Upon Her Sofa And Regarded Her Sister With A Smile Sharp 
 And Cold As The Edge Of A Knife. "I Wonder Why You Were More Fortunate 
 Than I, Rosa," She Said, After A Pause, "For In My Heart I Was Always A 
 Better Woman." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 8 Pg 154 
 Mrs. Payne Laughed Her Hard Little Mirthless Laugh, And Stretched Out 
 Her Withered Hand With A Melodramatic Gesture. "But I Was Never A Fool, 
 My Dear," Was Her Retort, "And There Are Few Women Of Whom It Can Be 
 Said With Truth That They Were Never At Any Time, From The Beginning To 
 The End Of Their Career, A Fool. Nobody Is A Fool Always, But There Are 
 Very Few People Who Escape It Throughout Their Lives." 
   
 "Oh, I Was," Sighed Angela Submissively, "I Know It, But I Was 
 Punished." 
   
 "It Is The One Thing For Which We Can Count Quite Certainly Upon Being 
 Punished In This Life," Remarked Mrs. Payne, With A Kind Of Moral 
 Satisfaction, As Of One Who Was Ranged Upon The Side Of Worldliness If 
 Not Of Righteousness. "Other Sins Are For Eternity, I Suppose, But I 
 Have Never Yet Seen A Fool Escape The Deserts Of His Folly. It Is The 
 One Reason Which Has Always Made Me Believe So Firmly In An Overruling 
 Providence. Are You Going Out, My Child?" She Asked, As Laura Rose. 
   
 "I Am Stifling For Want Of Air," Replied The Girl, Shrinking Away From 
 The Unnatural Flash Of Her Aunt's Eyes. "I'll Read To Aunt Angela When I 
 Come In, But Just Now I Must Get Out." Then As Mrs. Payne Still Sought 
 To Detain Her, She Broke Away And Ran Rapidly Down Into The Street. 
   
 But She Was No Sooner Out Of Doors Than It Seemed To Her That She Ought 
 To Have Stayed In Her Room--That The Minutes Would Have Passed More 
 Swiftly In Unbroken Quiet. Her Senses Were Absorbed In The Single Desire 
 To Have The Day Over--To Begin To-Morrow; And It Seemed To Her That When 
 Once The Night Was Gone, She Would Be Able To Collect Her Thoughts With 
 Clearness, That The Morning Would Bring Some Lucid Explanation Of The 
 Disturbance That She Felt To-Day. Then It Occurred To Her That She Would 
 Follow Gerty's Example And Seek A Distraction In The Shops, And She Took 
 A Cab And Drove To Her Milliner's, Where She Tried On A Number Of 
 Absurdly Impossible Hats. She Bought One At Last, To Realise Immediately 
 As She Left The Shop That She Would Never Persuade Herself To Wear It 
 Because She Felt That It Gave Her An Air Of Gerty's "Smartness" Which 
 Sat Like An Impertinence Upon Her Own Individual Charm. Glancing At Her 
 Watch She Found That Only Two Hours Had Gone Since She Left The House, 
 And Turning Up The Street She Walked On With A Step Which Seemed 
 Striving To Match In Energy Her Rapid Thoughts. 
   
 "You Have Effaced Every Other Impression Of My Life," He Had Said To Her 
 Yesterday; And As She Repeated The Words She Remembered The Quiver Of 
 His Mouth Under His Short Brown Moustache, The Playful Irony Of The 
 Smile That Had Met Her Own. Had He Meant More Or Less Than The Spoken 
 Phrase? Was The Strength Of His Handclasp Sincere? Or Was The Caressing 
 Sound Of His Voice A Lie, As Gerty Believed? Was He, In Truth, Fighting 
 Under All The Shams Of Life For The Liberation Of His Soul? Or Was There 
 Only The Emptiness Of Sense Within Him, After All? She Felt His Burning 
 Look Again, And Flinched At The Memory. "Every Glance, Every Gesture, 
 Every Word Speaks To Me Of Things Which He Cannot Utter, Which Are 
 Unutterable," And Yet Even With The Assurance She Felt As If She Were 
 Living In An Obscure And Painful Dream--As If The Element Of Unreality 
 Were A Part Of His Smile, Of His Voice, Of The Feverish Longing From 
 Which She Told Herself That She Would Presently Awake. It Was As If She 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 8 Pg 155 
 Moved An Illusion Among Illusions, And Yet Felt The Unreal Quality Of 
 Herself And Of The Things Outside. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 9 Pg 156 
 The Triumph Of The Ego 
   
   
 He Came Punctually At Three O'clock On The Following Afternoon, And Even 
 As He Entered The Room, She Was Conscious Of A Slight Disappointment 
 Because, In Some Perfectly Indefinable Way, He Was Different From What 
 She Had Hoped That He Would Be. 
   
 "This Is The First Peaceful Moment I Have Had For Twenty-Four Hours," He 
 Remarked, As He Flung Himself Into A Chair Before The Small Wood Fire; 
 "A Man I Knew Was Inconsiderate Enough To Die And Make Me The Guardian 
 Of His Son, And I've Had To Overhaul The Chap's Property Almost Before 
 The Funeral Was Over." 
   
 A Frown Of Nervous Irritation Wrinkled His Forehead, But As He Turned To 
 Her It Faded Quickly Before The Kindling Animation In His Look. "By 
 Jove, I've Thought Of You Every Single Minute Since I Was Here," He 
 Pursued. "What A Persistent Way You Have Of Interfering With A Fellow's 
 Peace Of Mind. I've Known Nothing Like It In My Life." 
   
 "I Hope At Least I Didn't Damage The Property," She Observed, And Almost 
 With The Words She Wondered Why She Had Longed So Passionately Yesterday 
 For His Presence. Now That He Had Come She Felt Neither The Delight Of 
 Realised Expectation Nor The Final Peace Of Renouncement. 
   
 "Well, It Wasn't Your Fault If You Didn't," He Replied, Leaning His Head 
 Against The Chair-Back And Looking At Her With His Intimate And Charming 
 Smile. "I Had To Fight Hard Enough To Keep You Out Even Of The Stocks. 
 Was I As Much In Your Way, I Wonder?" 
   
 She Shook Her Head. "In My Way? I Wouldn't Allow It. Why Should I?" 
   
 "Why, Indeed?" His Genial Irony Was In His Glance And He Held Her Gaze 
 Until She Felt The Warm Blood Mount Swiftly To Her Forehead. "Why, 
 Indeed Unless You Wanted To?" He Laughed. 
   
 His Eyes Moved To The Window, And She Followed The Large, Slightly 
 Coarsened Features Of His Profile And The Fullness Of His Jaw Which Lent 
 A Suggestion Of Brutality To His Averted Face. Was It Possible That She 
 Found An Attraction In Mere Animal Vitality? She Wondered; Then His 
 Caressing Glance Was Turned Upon Her, And She Forgot To Ask Herself The 
 Useless Question. 
   
 "So I Must Presume, Then, That I Haven't Disturbed You?" He Enquired 
 Gayly. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 9 Pg 157 
 Her Eyes Lingered Upon Him For A Moment Before She Answered. "Oh, No, It 
 Wasn't You, It Was Gerty," She Replied. 
   
 He Drew Nearer Until The Arm Of His Chair Touched Her Own. "I Thought At 
 Least That My Character Was Safe With Gerty," He Exclaimed, Not Without 
 The Annoyance Of An Easily Aroused Vanity. 
   
 "I Don't Know What You'd Think About The Danger," She Returned With 
 Seriousness, "But I Simply Hate The Kind Of Things She Told Me." 
   
 His Frown Returned With Gathered Energy. "Is That So? What Were They?" 
   
 "Oh, I Don't Know--Nothing Definite--But About Women Generally." 
   
 "Women! Pshaw! You're The Only Woman. There Isn't Any Other On The 
 Earth." 
   
 Her Hand Lay On The Arm Of Her Chair, And He Reached Out And Grasped Her 
 Wrist, Not Gently, But With A Violent Pressure. "I'll Swear There Isn't 
 Another Woman In Existence," He Exclaimed. 
   
 An Electric Current Started From His Fingers Through The Length Of Her 
 Arm; She Felt It Burning Into Her Flesh As It Travelled Quickly From Her 
 Wrist To Her Heart. For One Breathless Moment She Was Conscious Of His 
 Presence As Of A Powerful Physical Force, And The Sensation Came To Her 
 That She Was Being Lifted From Her Feet And Swept Blindly Out Into 
 Space. Then, Drawing Slightly Away, She Released Herself From His Grasp. 
   
 "I Give You Fair Warning That If You Repeat That For The Third Time, I 
 Shall Believe It," She Retorted Coolly. 
   
 "I'm Trying To Make You," He Returned In A Strained Voice. "Why Are You 
 Such A Sceptic, I Wonder," He Added As He Fell Back Into His Chair. 
 "Can't You Tell The Real Thing When You Come Across It?" 
   
 "The Real Thing?" Her Words Were Almost A Whisper. 
   
 "Are You So Used To Shams That You Don't Recognise A Man's Love When You 
 See It?" 
   
 She Leaned Toward Him, Her Black Brows Drawn Together With The Sombre 
 Questioning Look Which Had Always Fascinated Him By Its Strangeness. 
 Beyond The Look, What Was There? He Asked With An Intense And Eager 
 Curiosity. What Passionate Surprises Existed In Her? What Secret 
 Suggestions Of A Still Undiscovered Charm? The Wonder Of Her Temperament 
 Rose Before Him, Exquisite, Remote, Alluring, And He Felt The Appeal She 
 Made Thrill Like The Spirit Of Adventure Through His Blood. Again He 
 Stretched Out His Hand, But With A Frown He Drew It Back Before It 
 Touched Her. 
   
 "Can't You See That I Love You?" He Said With An Angry Hoarseness. 
   
 His Face, His Voice, The Gesture Of His Outstretched Hand Startled Her 
 Into A Quick Feeling Of Terror, And She Shrank Back With A Childlike 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 9 Pg 158 
 Movement Of Alarm. Where Was Her Dream, She Demanded With An Instinctive 
 Repulsion, If This Was The Only Living Reality Of Love? Then His Face 
 Changed Abruptly Beneath Her Look, And As The Strong Tenderness Of His 
 Smile Enveloped Her, She Was Conscious Of A Sudden Ecstasy Of Peace. 
   
 "Did I Frighten You?" He Asked, Smiling. 
   
 She Shook Her Head, Resting Her Fingers For An Instant Upon His Hand. "I 
 Don't Believe You Could Frighten Me If You Tried," She Answered. 
   
 He Raised His Eyebrows With His Characteristic Blithe Interrogation, 
 "Well, I Shouldn't Like To Try, That's All." 
   
 "I Give You Leave--My Courage Is My Shield." 
   
 "But I Don't Want To Frighten You." His Voice Was Softer Than She Had 
 Ever Heard It. "We Aren't Afraid Of Those We Love, You Know." 
   
 "Why Should I Love You?" She Enquired Gayly. 
   
 His Pleasant Irony Was In His Laugh. "Because You Can't Help 
 Yourself--You're Obliged To--It's Your Fate." 
   
 She Frowned Slightly. "I Have No Fate Except The One I Make For Myself." 
   
 He Bent Toward Her And This Time His Hand Closed With Determination Upon 
 Hers. "Well, You May Make Me What You Please," He Said. 
   
 Her Hand Fluttered Like An Imprisoned Bird In His Grasp, But He Held It 
 With A Pressure Which Sent The Blood Tingling Sharply To The Ends Of Her 
 Fingers. His Strength Hurt Her And Yet She Found A Curious Pleasure In 
 The Very Acuteness Of Her Sensations. 
   
 "There's No Use Fighting," He Said With A Short Laugh, "We Can't Help 
 Ourselves. You'll Have To Marry Me, So You May As Well Give In." 
   
 His Tone Was Mocking, But She Felt His Tenderness As She Had Felt It A 
 Moment Before, Resistless And Enveloping. As She Smiled Up At Him, He 
 Bent Quickly Forward And Kissed Her Brow And Eyes And Mouth, Then 
 Lifting Her Chin He Kissed, Also, The Soft Fulness Of Her Throat. When 
 She Put Up Her Hands In Protest, He Crushed Them Back Upon Her Bosom By 
 The Strength Of His Lips. 
   
 She Closed Her Eyes, Yielding For One Breathless Instant To The Passion 
 Of His Embrace. Her Dream And Her Longing Melted Swiftly Into 
 Realisation, And She Told Herself That The Agony Of Joy Was Sharper Than 
 That Of Grief. This Was Like Nothing That She Had Imagined, And She Felt 
 An Impulse To Fly Back Into The Uncertainty That She Had Left--To Gain 
 Time In Which To Prepare For The Happiness Which She Told Herself Was 
 Hers. Yet Was It Happiness? Her Soul Trembled As If From Some Almost 
 Imperceptible Shock Of Disillusionment, And She Knew Again The Sense Of 
 Unreality Which Had Come To Her In The Street On The Day Before. Again 
 She Felt That She Was In The Midst Of A Singularly Vivid Dream From 
 Which She Would Presently Awake To Life--And This Dream Seemed The 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 9 Pg 159 
 Result Of Her Dual Nature, As If Even Her Emotions Belonged Less To Her 
 Real Existence Than To An Unconscious Projection Of Thought. 
   
 The Impulse To Escape Re-Awoke In Her, And Yet She Was Clearly Aware 
 That She Would No Sooner Fly From Him Than Her Insatiable Longing Would 
 Drive Her Back Anew. His Attraction Appeared Strangely The Greater As 
 She Withdrew The Further From His Actual Presence, And She Knew That If 
 He Were Absent From Her For A Day The Uncertainty That He Aroused Would 
 Become Intolerable. "Does The Soul That I See In Him--The Soul Of Which 
 Mine Is But The Reflection--Really Exist, Or Have I Created An Image Out 
 Of Mere Emptiness?" She Asked; And Even With The Thought It Seemed To 
 Her That She Saw A New Seriousness--A Profounder Meaning In His Face. 
 Gerty Had Never Touched The Hidden Springs, Nor Had Any Other Woman 
 Except Herself, And The Knowledge Of This Gave Her An Ecstatic 
 Consciousness Of Power. 
   
 When She Raised Her Eyes She Saw That He Had Fallen Back Into His Chair 
 And Was Watching Her Intently With A Puzzled And Ardent Look. 
   
 "You Won't Keep Me Hanging On For An Eternity," He Said, With The 
 Nervous Contraction Of His Forehead She Knew So Well. "If We Must Go To 
 The Scaffold, Let's Go At Once." 
   
 "To The Scaffold?" She Smiled At Him For The Purpose Of Prolonging The 
 Thrill Of The Uncertainty. 
   
 "Oh, I Hate Marriage, You Know," He Returned Impatiently, "There's Not 
 Another Woman On Earth Who Could Get Me Into It." 
   
 She Nodded. "Well, That Is To Be Hoped If Not Believed." 
   
 He Made An Impulsive Movement Toward Her. "Believe It Or Not, So Long As 
 You Marry Me," He Exclaimed. 
   
 His Flippancy Grated Upon Her, And She Turned From His Words To The 
 Elusive Earnestness Which Mocked At Her From His Face. If She Might Only 
 Arrest And Hold This Earnestness, Then Surely She Might Reach The Depths 
 Of His Nature And Be At Peace. 
   
 "It Never Seemed Possible To Me That I Should Marry A Man Who Has Had 
 Another Wife," She Said, With An Emotion Which Was Almost A Regret For 
 The Old Ideal Of Conduct From Which She Had Slipped Away. 
   
 "A Wife! Nonsense!" She Saw The Indignant Flash Of His Eyes And The 
 Nervous Quiver Of The Hand With Which He Pulled At His Short Moustache. 
 Though He Did Not Touch Her She Felt Instinctively That His Personality 
 Had Been Put Forth To Overmaster Her. "She Was Nothing But A Schoolboy's 
 Folly, And I've Forgotten That I Ever Knew Her. She's Safely Married 
 Again Now, So For Heaven's Sake, Don't Be Foolish!" 
   
 "And How Do You Know That In Ten Years You Will Not Have Forgotten Me?" 
 She Asked. 
   
 For A Brief Pause He Did Not Reply; Then He Bent Toward Her And She Hung 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 9 Pg 160 
 For A Rapturous Instant Upon The Passionate Denial In His Face. The Look 
 That She Loved And Dreaded Was In His Eyes, And She Struggled Blindly In 
 Her Own Helplessness Before It. He Was So Close To Her That It Seemed As 
 If The Breath Were Leaving Her Body In The Intensity Of The Atmosphere 
 She Breathed. 
   
 "Forget You, My Own Sweetheart!" He Exclaimed, And The Trivial Words 
 Were Almost An Offence Against The Emotional Dignity Of The Moment. 
   
 She Rose To Her Feet, Stretching Out Her Hand Until She Stood As If 
 Keeping Him At A Distance By The Mere Fragile Tips Of Her Fingers. 
   
 "If I Love You, I Shall Love You Very, Very Much," She Said. 
   
 With A Laugh He Bent His Lips Against Her Hand. "You'll Never Love Me 
 Half So Much As I Love You, You Bit Of Thistledown," He Answered. 
   
 "It Will Be Either A Great Happiness Or A Greater Misery," She Went On, 
 Hesitating, Retreating, As She Withdrew Her Hands And Pressed Them Upon 
 Her Bosom. 
   
 "There's No Misery Any More--It Is The Beginning Of Life," He Rejoined. 
   
 She Laughed Softly, A Little Tender, Yielding Laugh; Then At The Very 
 Instant When He Would Have Caught Her In His Arms, She Slipped Quickly 
 Back Until Her Desk Came Between Them. 
   
 "You Must Give Me Time--I Must Think Before I Let Myself Care Too Much," 
 She Said. 
   
 In The End She Gave Him Her Promise And He Went From Her With A Rare And 
 Vivid Feeling Of Exhilaration. For The Time He Told Himself That He 
 Wanted Her More Than He Remembered Ever To Have Wanted Anything In His 
 Whole Life; And His Sated Emotion Of A Man Of Pleasure, Responded With 
 All The Lost Intensity Of Youth. Was It Credible That He Was Already 
 Middle-Aged--Was Already Growing A Little Bald? He Demanded, With A 
 Genuine Delight In The Discovery That His Senses Were Still Alive. 
   
 On His Way Up To His Rooms, He Dropped, By Habit, Into His Club, And 
 After A Word Or Two With Several Men Whom He Seldom Met, He Crossed Over 
 To Join Perry Bridewell, Who Sat In An Exhausted Attitude In A Leather 
 Chair Beside The Window. Outside A Stream Of Carriages, Containing 
 Richly Dressed Women Moved Up Fifth Avenue, Dividing As It Approached 
 The Mounted Police At The Corner, And Perry, As Kemper Went Up To Him, 
 Was Following With A Dulled Fish-Like Glance The Pronounced Figure Of A 
 Lady Who Held The Reins Over A Handsome Pair Of Bays. 
   
 "That's A Fine Figure Of A Woman--Look At Her Hips," He Observed, With 
 Relish, As Kemper Stopped Beside Him. 
   
 "I Saw Her Yesterday. Gerty Says She's Terrific Form," Commented Kemper, 
 Gazing To Where The Object Of Their Admiration Vanished In A Crush Of 
 Vehicles. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 9 Pg 161 
 "Oh, They Always Say That Of A Woman With Any Figure To Speak Of," 
 Remarked Perry. "Unless She's As Flat As An Ironing Board, Somebody Is 
 Sure To Say She's Vulgar. For My Part I Like Shape," He Concluded With 
 Emphasis. 
   
 A Vision Of Gerty's Slender, Almost Boyish Figure, With Its Daring 
 Carriage, Rose Before Kemper, And He Bit Back The Cynical Laugh Upon His 
 Lips. Did One Require, After All, A Certain Restraint In Life, A 
 Cultured Abstinence Before One Could Really Appreciate The Finer Flavour 
 Of The Aesthetic Taste? His Old Aversion To Marriage Returned To Him As 
 He Looked At Perry, Sunk In His Domestic Satiety, And His Exhilaration 
 Of A Moment Ago Gave Place To A Corresponding Degree Of Depression. He 
 Had Done The Irrevocable Thing, And, As Usual, It Was No Sooner 
 Irrevocable Than The Joyous Seduction Of It Fled From His Fancy. 
 Marriage Was Utterly Repugnant To Him, And Yet He Knew Not Only That 
 There Was No Withdrawing From His Position, But That He Would Not Wish 
 To Withdraw Himself If He Had The Power. The Instant That The 
 Possibility Of Losing Laura Occurred To Him, He Felt Again The Full, 
 Resurgent Wave Of His Desire. He Wanted Her, And If To Marry Her Was The 
 One Way To Possess Her, Then--The Devil Take It--Marry Her He Would! 
   
 A Tinted Note Was Brought To Perry Bridewell, Who, After Reading It, Sat 
 Twirling It Between His Fingers With A Bored And Discontented Look On 
 His Handsome Florid Face. 
   
 "Take My Advice, And When You Get Clear Of An Affair, Keep Out," He 
 Remarked, In A Disgusted Voice. "By Jove, I'm Sometimes Tempted To Wish 
 That I Were As Cold Blooded As Old Adams." 
   
 "Old Adams?" Kemper Repeated The Name, With A Quickened Interest. "Well, 
 I'd Hardly Envy Him His Experience With The Sex," He Exclaimed. 
   
 "You Would If You Saw Him--He Simply Never Thinks About A Woman So Far 
 As I Know, And At Least He's Well Enough Rid Of His Wife, At Last. She's 
 On Brady's Hands, Thank Heaven!" 
   
 Kemper Shrugged His Shoulders. "It Serves Her Right, I Suppose, But I 
 Shouldn't Care To Be On Brady's Hands, That's All." 
   
 "Oh, He'll Chuck Her Presently, You'll See." 
   
 "And Afterward--" Kemper Was Leaning Over Perry While He Critically 
 Examined A Pretty Woman Who Was Passing Under The Window. 
   
 "There's No Afterward," Laughed Perry; "You Know How Such Women End." 
   
 As He Glanced At The Note Again, The Bored And Discontented Look Came 
 Back Upon His Face, And He Tore The Envelope Carelessly Across And Flung 
 It With A Jerk Into The Waste Basket. 
   
 "Pshaw! It's All A Confounded Nuisance--The Whole Business Of Sex," He 
 Remarked As He Rose To His Feet. Then While The Disgust Still Lingered 
 In His Expression, A Servant Entered And Handed Him A Second Note 
 Written Upon The Same Faintly Tinted Paper. Immediately As If By Magic 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 9 Pg 162 
 His Face Was Transfigured By The Animated Satisfaction Of The Conqueror, 
 And Instinctively His Hand Wandered To The Ends Of His Fair Moustache, 
 To Which He Added An Eloquent Upward Twirl. From The Condition Of A Mere 
 Sullen And Dejected Animal--He Sprang Instantly Into The Victorious 
 Swagger Of The Complacent Male. 
   
 "Sorry, But I'm In An Awful Hurry," He Remarked In His Usual Hearty 
 Voice. "Look Me Up Later In The Evening And We'll Have A Game Of 
 Billiards." 
   
 He Went Out, Still Twirling The Fine Ends Of His Moustache, And Kemper 
 Followed, After A Short Delay, To Where His Newest French Motor Car Was 
 Waiting Before The Door. 
   
 A Little Later As He Moved Slowly Amid The Crush Of Vehicles In Fifth 
 Avenue, It Occurred To Him That Since Perry Was So Agreeably Engaged, He 
 Might Himself Come In For A Share Of Gerty's Society, And Stopping 
 Before Her Door, He Sent Up A Request That She Would Come With Him For A 
 Short Quick Run Up Riverside. Next To Laura Herself He Felt That He 
 Preferred Gerty Because He Knew That She Would Enter Into A Lively 
 Banter Upon The Subject That Filled His Thoughts, And His Emotion Was So 
 Fresh That There Was A Piquant Charm In Her Sprightly Allusion To The 
 Mere Fact Of Its Existence. When She Came Down At The End Of A Few 
 Minutes, Wearing Her Long Tan Motoring Coat And A Fluttering White 
 Chiffon Veil, He Felt A Quick Impatience Of The First Casual Phrases 
 With Which She Leaned Back In The Car And Settled Her Hanging Draperies 
 About Her. 
   
 "Go As Fast As You Like," He Said To The Chauffeur, And Then Reaching 
 Into His Pocket, He Drew Out His Glasses And Offered Her A Pair. 
   
 She Shook Her Head, With An Indignant Gesture Of Refusal. "If I Perish I 
 Perish, But I Won't Perish Hideously!" She Exclaimed. 
   
 With A Laugh He Slipped The Elastic Over His Cap. "What A Bore It Must 
 Be Always To Keep Beautiful," He Remarked. "You Can't Imagine The 
 Positive Delight There Is In The Freedom Of Ugliness." 
   
 "I Dare Say." She Had Turned Her Head To Look At A Passing Carriage, And 
 He Saw The Lovely Delicacy Of Her Profile Through The Blown Transparent 
 Folds Of Her Veil. "I Shall Know It Some Day," She Added Presently, "For 
 After I've Safely Passed My Fiftieth Birthday, I Mean Never To Look Into 
 A Glass Again. Then I'll Break My Mirrors And Be Really Happy." 
   
 "No, You Won't, My Dear Cousin," He Rejoined, "For You'll Continue To 
 See Yourself In Perry's Eyes." 
   
 He Watched With A Sensation Of Pleasure The Graceful Shrug Of Her 
 Shoulders Under Her Shapeless Coat. 
   
 "Oh, There's No Chance Of That," She Assured Him; "He Is Always In Them 
 Himself?" 
   
 The Vague Curiosity In His Thoughts Took Form Suddenly In Words. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 9 Pg 163 
 "Where's He Now, By The Way, Do You Know?" 
   
 Her Musical, Empty Laugh Was As Perfect As The Indifferent Glance She 
 Gave Him. "Enjoying Himself, I Hope," She Answered. "He Hung Around Me 
 Until I Sent Him Out In The Sheer Desperation Of Weariness." 
   
 Though Her Lashes Did Not Quiver, He Knew Not Only That She Lied, But 
 That She Was Perfectly Aware Of The Assurance And Extent Of His 
 Knowledge. The Hopeless Gallantry Of Her Deception Appealed To The 
 Fighting Spirit In His Blood, And He Found Himself Wondering Foolishly 
 If Laura Could Have Played With So High An Air The Part Of A Neglected 
 Wife. To A Man Of His Peculiarly Eager Temperament There Existed A 
 Curious Fascination In The Idea Of Pushing To Its Limit Of Endurance An 
 Unalterable Constancy. Would Laura Have Uttered Her Futile Lies With So 
 Exquisite An Insolence? Or Would She Have Acted In Tears The Patient 
 Griselda In Her Closet? The Virtue Of Truthfulness Was The One He Had 
 Most Nearly Associated With Her, And It Seemed To Him Impossible That 
 She Should Stoop To Shield Herself Behind A Falsehood. Yet He Could Not 
 Dispel His Curiosity As To How She Would Act In Circumstances Which He 
 Felt To Be Impossible And Purely Imaginary. 
   
 He Wanted To Speak Of Her To Gerty, But A Restraint That Was Almost 
 Embarrassment Kept Him Silent, And Gerty Herself Could Not Be Induced To 
 Abandon Her Flippant Satirical Tone. So Laura Was Not Mentioned Between 
 Them; And He Felt When At Last He Brought Gerty To Her Door Again That, 
 On The Whole, The Drive Had Been A Disappointment. He Had Meant To Seek 
 Her Sympathy With His Love For Her Friend, And Instead He Had Been Met 
 By A Fine, Exquisite Edge Of Cutting Humour. For Once He Had Felt The 
 Need To Be Wholly In Earnest, And Gerty Had Taken Nothing Seriously, 
 Least Of All The Hint Which He Had Dropped Concerning The Ultimate 
 Stability Of His Emotion. If She Had Got Her Heartache From His Sex, He 
 Saw Clearly That She Meant To Have Her Laugh On It As Well; And The Only 
 Remark From Which She Had Let Fall Even Momentarily Her Gay Derision Was 
 In Answer To Some Phrase Of His In Which Had Occurred The Name Of Roger 
 Adams. 
   
 "Roger Adams!" She Had Echoed With A Fleeting Earnestness, "Do You Know 
 I've Always Had A Fancy That He Is Meant For Laura In Another Life." 
   
 "In Another Life?" He Questioned Merrily. 
   
 "Oh, Things Went Crosswise Here, You See," She Answered, "But Somewhere 
 Else, Who Knows? They May All Be Straightened Out." 
   
 The Question Of Laura's Possible Fate In "Another Life" Failed Somehow 
 To Disturb Him Seriously; But As He Drove Presently Down The Darkening 
 Street, Under The High Electric Lights, He Found Himself Wondering 
 Vaguely Why Gerty Had So Persistently Associated Her Friend With Roger 
 Adams. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 10 Pg 164 
   
 In Which Adams Comes Into His Inheritance 
   
   
 Five Minutes Had Hardly Passed After Laura Was Alone Before The Servant 
 Brought Up The Name Of Roger Adams, And An Instant Later He Was Holding 
 Her Hand In His Cordial Grasp. At His Appearance She Had For A Moment A 
 Sense Of The Returning Reality Of Things--The Vigour Of His Hand Clasp, 
 The Strong, Kindly Look Of His Face, The Winning, Protective Tenderness 
 Of His Smile, These Gave Her An Impression Of Belonging To The Permanent 
 Instead Of To The Merely Evanescent Part Of Life. When He Sat Down In 
 The Big Leather Chair From Which Kemper Had Risen, And Removing His 
 Glasses, Fixed Upon Her The Attentive Gaze Of His Narrow, Short-Sighted 
 Eyes, She Felt Immediately The First Sensation Of Peace That She Had 
 Known For Many Weeks. His Hand, Long, Heavily Veined, Muscular, And Yet 
 Finely Sensitive, Lay Outstretched Upon The Mahogany Lid Of Her Desk, 
 And She Found Herself Presently Contrasting It With The Square, Brown, 
 Roughly Shaped Hand Of Kemper. Her Senses, Her Brain, Her Heart Were 
 Still Full Of Her Lover, Yet She Was Able To Feel Through Some Strange 
 Enfranchisement Of Her Dual Nature, That There Was A Mental Directness, 
 An Impassioned Morality About The Man She Did Not Love In Which The Man 
 She Loved Was Entirely Lacking. But The Knowledge Of This Curiously 
 Enough, Served To Increase Rather Than To Diminish The Persistent 
 Quantity Of Her Emotion, And The Few Minutes During Which Kemper Had 
 Been Absent From Her Had Sufficed To Exaggerate His Image To A Statue 
 That Was Heroic In Its Proportions. It Was As If Her Heart--She Was 
 Still Lucid Enough To Think In A Figure Of Speech--Were An Altar 
 Dedicated To The Perpetual Flame Before A Deity Who Had Already Showed 
 Himself To Be Both Terrible And Obscure. 
   
 Now As She Sat Looking, With Her Rapt Gaze, At The Man Before Her, She 
 Was Thinking How Absolutely And Without Reservation Was Her Surrender To 
 Those Particular Qualities Which Roger Adams Did Not Represent. Here, At 
 This Approaching Crisis In Her Experience, It Might Have Been Supposed 
 That Her Sense Of Humour Would Have Lent Something Of Its Brilliance As 
 A Safeguard, But The Weakness Of Her Temperament Lay In The Very Fact 
 That Her Humour Entered Only Into Those Situations Where It Could 
 Ornament Without Modifying The Actual Conditions Of Thought--That She 
 Devoted To Her Passion For Kemper, As To The Other Merely Temporary 
 Phenomena Of The Senses, A Large Intensity Of Outlook Which Only The 
 Eternal Could Support With Dignity. 
   
 Her Gaze Dropped Back From The Heights, And He Felt That She Became Less 
 Elusive And More Human. 
   
 "I've Thought Of You So Often And So Much," She Remarked With Her Smile 
 Of Cordial Sweetness. 
   
 "Not So Often As I've Thought Of You." He Laid, As He Spoke, A Folded 
 Paper Upon The Desk, "There's An English Review Of The Poems. It's 
 Rather Good So I Thought You Might Care To See It." 
   
 She Unfolded The Paper; Then Pushed It From Her With An Indifferent 
 Gesture. "It Seems So Long Ago I Can Hardly Believe I Wrote Them," She 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 10 Pg 165 
 Returned, Conscious As She Uttered The Mere Ordinary Words Of A Subdued 
 Yet Singularly Vivid Excitement, Which Seemed The Softer Mental Radiance 
 Left By An Illumination Which Was Past. 
   
 "I Wonder Why It Should Seem Long To You," Said Adams Slowly. "I 
 Remember You Used To Complain That One Was Obliged To Fly Through Phases 
 Of Thought In Order To Test Them All." 
   
 "I'm Not Sure That I Want To Test Them All Now," She Replied. "When One 
 Gets To A Good Place One Would Better Stop And Rest." 
   
 "Then You Are In A Good Place?" He Asked, Looking At Her Intently From 
 His Short-Sighted Eyes, Which Appeared To Contract And Narrow Since He 
 Had Taken Off His Glasses. 
   
 "I Don't Know," She Evaded The Question With A Smile, "But If I Am, I 
 Warn You, I Shall Stand Still And Rest." 
   
 He Laughed Softly. "I Dare Say You're Right, If There's Such A State As 
 Rest On The Earth," He Answered. 
   
 The Cheerful Sound Of His Voice Brought The Tears Suddenly To Her Eyes, 
 And She Remembered A Man Whom She Had Once Seen In A Hospital, Smiling 
 After A Frightful Accident Through Which He Had Passed. 
   
 "Are You Yourself So Tired?" She Asked. 
   
 "I?" He Shook His Head. "Oh, I Was Using The Glittering Generalities 
 Again." 
   
 "And Yet You Seldom Take Even The Smallest Of Vacations," She Insisted. 
   
 "One Doesn't Need It When One Is Broken In As I Am. There's A Joy In 
 Getting One's Work Behind One That The Luxury Of Idleness Does Not 
 Know." 
   
 "All The Same I Wish You'd Stop Awhile." Then She Gave Him One Of Her 
 Long, Thoughtful Looks And Spoke With The Beautiful, Vibrant Note In Her 
 Voice Which He Had Called Its "Creole Quality." "We Have Been Such Old, 
 Such Close, Such Dear Friends," She Went On, "That I Wonder If I May 
 Tell You How Profoundly--How Sincerely--" 
   
 She Faltered And He Took Up Her Unfinished Sentence With The Instinct To 
 Put Her Embarrassment At Ease. "I Knew It All Along, God Bless You," He 
 Said. "One Feels Such Things, I Think." 
   
 "One Ought To," She Responded. 
   
 "It's Been Hard," He Pursued Frankly; And She Was Struck By The Utter 
 Absence Of Picturesqueness, Of The Whining Tone Of The Victim In His 
 Treatment Of The Situation. There Was No Appeal To Her Sympathy In His 
 Manner, And He Impressed Her Suddenly As A Man Who Had Come Into 
 Possession Of A Power Over The Results Of Events If Not Over The Passage 
 Of Events Themselves. "It's Been Harder, Perhaps, Than I Can Say--Poor 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 10 Pg 166 
 Girl," He Added Quickly. 
   
 With A Start She Sat Erect In Her Chair. "And You Can Stop To Think Of 
 Her?" She Demanded. 
   
 The Hand Lying On The Arm Of His Chair Closed And Unclosed Itself 
 Slowly, Without Effort. "Can't You?" He Asked Abruptly. 
   
 "Not Sincerely, Not Naturally," She Answered. "I Think Of You." 
   
 She Saw A Spasm Of Pain Pass Suddenly Into His Face, A Too Ardent 
 Leaping, As It Were, Of The Blood. 
   
 "You Would Understand Things Better," He Said Presently, After A Pause 
 In Which She Felt That She Had Witnessed A Quick, Sharp Struggle, "If 
 You Had Ever Watched The Slow Moral Poisoning Of Cocaine--Or Had Ever 
 Been," He Added With A Harsh, Grating Sound In His Usually Quiet Voice, 
 "At The Mercy Of Such A Damned Brute As Brady." 
   
 His Sudden Rage Shook Her Like A Strong Wind, And She Liked Him The 
 Better For His Relapse Into An Elemental Passion In The Cause Of 
 Righteousness. 
   
 "I'm Glad You Cursed Him," She Remarked Simply. "I Like It!" 
   
 He Smiled A Little Grimly. "So Do I." 
   
 "And Yet How Terrible It Is," She Said, With An Effort To Work Herself 
 Into A Sentiment Of Pity For Connie Which She Did Not Feel. "It Makes 
 The Whole World Look Full Of Horror." 
   
 "Well, It's A Comfort To Think I Never Argued That It Wasn't A Hard 
 Road," He Returned, With The Whimsical Humour Which Seemed Only To 
 Deepen Her Sense Of Tragedy. "I've Merely Maintained That The Only 
 Excuse For Living Is To Make It A Little Easier." 
   
 He Rose As He Spoke And Held Out His Hand With A Smile. "So Long As 
 You're Happy, Don't Bother To Think Of Me," He Said; "But If There Ever 
 Comes A Time When You Need A Sword-Arm, Let Me Know." 
   
 Would She Ever Find That She Had Need Of Him? He Asked Himself Presently 
 As He Walked Rapidly Homeward Through The Streets. Was It In The 
 Remotest Probability Of Events That He Should Ever Know The Delight Of 
 Putting Forth His Full Strength In Her Service? Like A Beautiful Dream 
 The Thought Stayed By Him For Many Minutes, And His Mind Dwelt Upon It 
 As Upon Some Rare, Cherished Vision That Lies Always Behind The Actual 
 Energies Of Life. He Thought Of Her Dark, Eloquent Eyes, Of The 
 Imaginative Spirit In Her Look, And Of That Peculiar Blending Of 
 Strength With Sweetness Which He Had Found In No Woman Except Herself. 
 It Was A Part Of The Power She Exercised That In Thinking Of Her The 
 Physical Images Appeared Always To Express A Quality That Was Not In 
 Themselves Alone. 
   
 Then, Because He Must Let Her Go Forever, He Set Himself Patiently To 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 10 Pg 167 
 Detach Her Presence From His Memory. To Think Of Her Had Become, He 
 Knew, The Luxury Of Weakness, And In Order To Test His Strength For 
 Renouncement, He Brought His Mind Deliberately To Bear Upon The 
 Immediate Necessity Before Him. It Was Useless To Say To Himself That He 
 Could As Soon Give Up His Dream As His Desire. The Endurance Of His 
 Will, He Realised, Was Equal To Whatever Sacrifice He Was Called Upon To 
 Make And Live. 
   
 "I Can Do Without--Take This--Take All And Leave Me Nothing," He Had 
 Said In The Hour Of His Deepest Misery; And With The Knowledge Of His 
 Strength To Renounce All That Which Lay Outside Himself Had Come Also 
 The Knowledge Of His Power To Possess Whatever Was Within His Soul. Life 
 Was Forfeiture And He Had Given Up The World That He Might Gain Himself. 
 Since The Night When He Had Distractedly Sought God Through The City, He 
 Had Become Gradually Aware That He Moved In The Midst Of A Large 
 Unspeakable Peace, For In Willing As God Willed He Had Entered, He 
 Found, Into A Happiness Which Was Independent And Almost Oblivious Of 
 The External Tragedy In Which He Lived. Neither Sickness Nor Poverty, 
 Nor The Shame Of Connie's Sin, Nor The Weakness Of His Own Flesh, Had 
 Power To Separate Him From The Wisdom Which Had Come To Him Under The 
 Eyes Of The Harlot At The Crossing. In Seeking The Essential Thing He 
 Had Wandered For Years In A Circle Which Had Led Him Back At Last To His 
 Own Soul. Beyond This, He Saw There Was Little Further To Be Lost And 
 Nothing To Be Learned. "Give Me More Light, My God!" He Had Prayed In 
 Agony Of Spirit; And The Answer Had Come In A Mental Illumination Which 
 Had Made The Crooked Places Plain And The Obscure Meanings Clear. At 
 Last He Was Happy, For At Last He Had Learned That The Man Who Loses All 
 Else And Has God Possesses Everything. 
   
 His Loneliness--Surely There Was Never A Man More Alone Since The 
 Beginning Of Time--Had Failed Suddenly To Disquiet Him; And As He Looked 
 From His Remote Vision Upon The People About Him, There Flowed Through 
 His Mind That Ultimate Essence Of Knowledge Which Enables A Man To 
 Recognise Himself When He Encounters The Stranger In The Street. 
   
 Several Weeks Later He Heard From Gerty Bridewell Of Laura's Engagement 
 To Arnold Kemper. He Had Dropped In To See Perry One Afternoon Upon An 
 Insignificant Piece Of Business, And Gerty In Her Husband's Absence, Had 
 Insisted Upon Receiving His Call. 
   
 "I'll Reward You With A Bit Of News," She Said, With A Nervous And 
 Troubled Gesture. "Laura Will Be Married In The Autumn." 
   
 "Married?" He Looked At Her A Little Blankly, For After Having Armoured 
 Himself To Meet An Expected Blow, He Was Almost Surprised To Find That 
 He Was Not Insensible To The Shook. "Married! And To Whom?" 
   
 "To Arnold, Of Course. Didn't You Suspect That It Would Happen?" 
   
 He Shook His Head. "Of All Men He's The Last I'd Ever Have Thought Of." 
 With The Words A Vision Of Kemper Rose Before Him, Robust, Virile, 
 Sensual, With His Dominant Egoism And His Pleasant Affectations, Half 
 Hero And Half Libertine. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 10 Pg 168 
 "Well, Of All Men He's Probably The Only One That Could Have Done It," 
 Replied Gerty; "He's Positively Wild About Her, There's Some Comfort To 
 Be Got From That--And Laura--" 
   
 "And Laura?" He Repeated The Name For She Had Broken Off Quickly After 
 Having Uttered It. 
   
 "Oh, Laura Is Very Much In Love, It Seems. I Don't Believe She Herself 
 Knows Exactly Why--But Then One Never Does." 
   
 "Well, Let's Wish Them Happiness With All Our Hearts," He Said, And 
 Added A Little Wistfully, "If It Could Only Come By Wishing." 
   
 "Ah, If It Could!" Was Gerty's Plaintive Echo; Then Her Voice Dropped 
 Into A Sigh Of Perplexity, And She Leaned Toward Him In A Flattering 
 Confidential Manner. "Do You Know There Are Some Men Who Are Cads Only 
 In Their Relations To Women," She Observed; "Leave Out That Element From 
 Their Make-Up And They're All Round First-Rate Fellows." 
   
 "I Dare Say You're Right," He Answered, And Thought Of Perry Bridewell, 
 "But Why Do You Select This Instant," He Added Humorously, "To Formulate 
 Your Philosophy Of Sex?" 
   
 Her Earnestness Fled And She Leaned Back In Her Chair Laughing. "Oh, I 
 Don't Know--Perhaps--Because One Doesn't Like To Lose An Aphorism Even 
 If It Pops Into One's Head At The Wrong Time." 
   
 Then As He Rose To Go She Pressed His Hand With A Grip That Was Almost 
 Boyish. "How I Wish You Liked Me Half As Much As I Like You," She Said. 
   
 "I Do--I Shall Always," He Responded In His Whimsical Manner. "There's 
 Absolutely No Limit To My Liking--Only I Know It Would Be The Surest Way 
 To Bore You To Death." 
   
 She Laughed A Little Wearily. "It Would Be So Nice To Be Really Liked," 
 She Pursued. "Nobody Likes Me. A Good Many Have Loved Me In One Way Or 
 Another, But I Want To Be Just Liked." 
   
 He Saw The Pathetic Little Frown Gather Between Her Brows, And In Spite 
 Of The Pain In His Own Heart, He Felt A Profound And Pitiful Sympathy. 
 "Well, We'll Make A Compact Upon It," He Declared, Holding Her Hand For 
 An Instant In His Hearty Grasp. "I Promise To Like You Until You Tell Me 
 Frankly That You're Bored." 
   
 The Eager Child Quality He Seldom Saw Was In Her Look And She Was About 
 To Make Some Impulsive Answer To His Words, When There Was The Sound Of 
 A Heavy Step Outside The Door And They Heard The Next Instant Perry's 
 Hilarious Voice. 
   
 "Well, I'm Jolly Glad You Kept Him, Gerty, But, By Jove, I Wonder How 
 You Hit It Off. He's Not Your Sort, You Know." 
   
 The Child Quality Vanished Instantly From Her Face, And Adams Watched 
 The Mocking Insolence Creep Back Upon Her Lips. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 10 Pg 169 
   
 "On The Other Hand We're Perfectly Agreed," She Said. "I Don't Confine 
 My Admiration To Your Type, You Know." 
   
 "You Don't, Eh? Well, That's A Good Joke!" Exclaimed Perry, With A Break 
 Into His Not Unpleasant, Though Sensual Laugh. As He Stood, Squaring His 
 Handsome Chest, In The Centre Of The Room, Adams Felt That The Mere 
 Animal Splendour Of The Man Had Never Been More Impressive. 
   
 "I Find To My Great Pleasure That Mrs. Bridewell And I Are Very Good 
 Friends," Remarked Adams, After A Moment In Which He Had Taken In 
 Perry's Full Magnificence With His Humorous Short-Sighted Gaze, "And She 
 Has Promised On The Strength Of It To Extend To Me The Favour Of Her 
 Protection. No, I Can't Stay Now," He Added, In Answer To Perry's 
 Protestations. "I'll See You Again To-Morrow--There's Really Not The 
 Faintest Need To Hurry." 
   
 And With A Feeling That He Was Stifling In The Over-Heated 
 Flower-Scented Rooms, He Went Quickly From The House Into The Street. 
   
 There Was No Reason Why The News Of Laura Should Disquiet Him--By No 
 Possible Twist Of His Imagination Could He Bring The Event Of Her 
 Marriage Into Any Direct Bearing On His Own Life, Yet As He Walked At 
 His Rapid, Nervous Pace Toward His Home In Thirty-Fifth Street, He Felt 
 A Burning Sore Like A Great Jagged Wound In His Breast. That Merely 
 Human Part Of Him, Which Was Mixed So Vitally Into The Intellectual 
 Fervour Of His Love, Suffered From The Loss Almost As If It Had Been 
 Some Fresh Physical Hurt. Was It Possible That His Avowal Of 
 Renunciation Had Sought To Keep Back Some Particular Treasure? Some 
 Darling Frailty? Or Was His Suffering At The Moment But The First 
 Involuntary Quiver Of The Nerves Which Would Pass Presently Leaving Him 
 At One With His Fate Again? "Was I Content To Give Her Up Only So Long 
 As She Belonged To No Other Man?" He Asked. "Could I Have Relinquished 
 Her Friendship So Easily Had I Known That Her Love Was Not For Me, But 
 For Kemper?" Again The Image Of Kemper Appeared To Him, Genial, 
 Impulsive, Sensual--And He Felt That If It Had Been Another And A 
 Different Man, He Could Have Borne The Loss Of Laura With A Finer 
 Courage. 
   
 Then The Unworthiness Of His Mental Attitude Forced Itself Upon His 
 Reflections, And He Realised That With His First Return To His Old State 
 Of Selfish Blindness, The Illumination That Had Shone In His Soul Was 
 Gradually Obscured. Could It Happen To Him That He Should Again Lose The 
 Light? Again Walk In Darkness? His Thoughts Were No Longer Clear With 
 That Crystalline Clearness Of The Day Before, And It Seemed To Him 
 Suddenly That The Key To All Wisdom, Which He Had Found So Lately, Had 
 Failed At The Critical Moment To Unlock The Fortified Doors. That 
 Temporary And Purely Human Reaction, Which Is The Inevitable Fleeting 
 Shadow Cast On The Mind By Any Spiritual Irradiation, Appeared In His 
 Present Mood To Contain Within Itself The Ultimate Abyss Of Failure. The 
 Single Instant When He Lost Hold On God Stretched Itself Into An 
 Eternity Of Nothingness Through His Soul. 
   
 He Had Walked Rapidly And Far, And Looking Up At His First Almost 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 10 Pg 170 
 Automatic Stop, He Found That He Had Not Only Passed By His Own House, 
 But That He Had Come As Far Down As The Corner Of Twentieth Street And 
 Broadway. The Afternoon Had Waned Before He Knew It, And The Streets 
 Were Now Filled With People Returning From Their Day's Work In Offices 
 Or In Shops. On One Side A Newsboy Was Offering Him The Evening Papers, 
 And On The Other A Man Had Thrust A Bunch Of Half-Faded Violets Into His 
 Face. 
   
 As He Stood Now, Hesitating For A Moment Beside The Crossing, He Became 
 Dimly Aware That He Had Passed Quickly From One State Of Consciousness 
 Into Another, From The Brief Period Of Dream Into The Briefer Transition 
 Which Precedes The Awakening--And That There Was A Distinct Gap Between 
 His Former And His Present Frame Of Mind. He _Was_ Awakening--This He 
 Realised As He Watched The Crowd Which Surged Rapidly By On Either 
 Side--And There Came To Him Almost With The Conviction A Vivid 
 Presentiment That The Full Return Of His Senses Would Bring At The Same 
 Time A Clearer And A Deeper Conception Of Life. His Short Unhappiness 
 Showed Suddenly As A Nightmare, And While He Looked At The Men And Women 
 Among Whom He Stood, He Felt That The Egoism Of His Love For Laura Had 
 Broadened Into A Generous Stream Of Humanity Which Filled The World. The 
 Personal Had Passed Suddenly Into The Universal; The Spirit Of Desire 
 Had Showed Itself To Be One With The Spirit Of Pity; And The Very Agony 
 Of The Rebellion Through Which He Had Come Appeared As He Looked Back 
 Upon It To Have Enriched His Consciousness Of The Tragedy In Other 
 Lives. To Live Close To Mankind, To Make A Little Easier The Old Worn 
 Road, To Stand Shoulder To Shoulder With The Labourer At His Toil, These 
 Were The Impulses Which Sprang Like A New Growth From His Past Selfish 
 Longing. "Let Me Feel Both The Joy And The Sorrow Among Which I Move," 
 Was The Prayer He Now Found Strength To Utter. 
   
 With Renewed Energy He Turned To Go Onward, When, As He Stepped Upon The 
 Crossing By Which He Stood, He Saw That A Woman At His Side Was Weeping 
 Softly, Without Noise, As She Walked. Something Of His Old Restraint, 
 His Old Embarrassment, Checked Him For A Moment; Then He Saw That She 
 Was Poor And Middle-Aged And Plainly Clad, And He Turned To Speak To 
 Her, Though Still With A Slight Hesitation. 
   
 "I Wish You Would Do Me The Kindness To Tell Me Your Trouble," He Said. 
   
 She Stopped Short In Her Walk And Looked Up With A Nervous Squint Of Her 
 Eyes, While The Undried Tears Were Still Visible On Her Large Mottled 
 Cheeks. As She Stood There, Timid And Silent, Before Him, He Saw That 
 The Basket Contained A Squirming Mass Of Gray Fur, And Stooping To Look 
 At It More Attentively, He Found That The Fur Belonged To A Number Of 
 Small Animals, Huddled Asleep On The Fragment Of A Red And White Plaid 
 Shawl. He Liked The Woman's Face And He Liked, Too, The Little Creatures 
 In The Basket; And More Than This He Felt The Great Need Of Helping As 
 The One Means To Bridge The Extreme Spiritual Isolation In Which He 
 Stood. To Give One's Self! Was Not This Final Surrender Of The Soul The 
 Beginning Of All Faith As Of All Love? 
   
 "I Believe That You Need Help," He Said, In The Winning Voice Which Had 
 Always Had A Strange Power To Open Out The Hearts Of Others, "And I Know 
 That I Need To Give It." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 10 Pg 171 
   
 In The Midst Of The Crude Noises Of The Street, Surrounded By The 
 Screaming Newsboys And The Clanging Cars, He Saw That She Paused For An 
 Instant To Cast A Quick, Frightened Glance About Her. 
   
 "If You'll Believe What I Say," She Replied, In A Voice Which Had Gained 
 The Assurance Of A Heartfelt Conviction, "I Was Just Praying For Help To 
 Come, But Somehow It Always Seems To Take One's Breath Clean Away When 
 There's An Answer. I've Been Trying To Sell Some Of The Little 
 Creatures," She Went On, "But They Don't Go Well To-Day And I Guess Jim 
 Won't Be Able To Hold Out Till I Get The Money For His Funeral." 
   
 "And Jim Is Your Husband?" He Asked Quietly. 
   
 "I Married Him More Than Thirty Years Ago," She Answered, Stooping To 
 Wipe Her Eyes With A Hard Rub On The Sleeve Of Her Jacket, "And He Was 
 Always A Good Worker Until This Sickness Came. I've Never Known Him To 
 Miss A Day's Work So Long As He Had His Health," She Added Proudly, "And 
 That, Too, When So Many Other Husbands Were Soaking Themselves In 
 Drink." 
   
 "And He's Ill Now?" Asked Adams, As She Paused. 
   
 "He's Been Dying Steadily For A Week, Sir," She Answered With The Simple 
 Directness Of The Grief Which Takes Account Only Of The Concrete Fact, 
 "And I've Been Working Day And Night To Make Up His Burial Money By The 
 Time He Needs It. If He'd Only Manage To Last A Day Or Two Longer I 
 Might Lay Up Enough To Keep Him Out Of The Paupers' Lot," She Finished 
 With A Kind Of Awful Cheerfulness. 
   
 It Was This Cheerfulness, He Found, Glimmering Like Some Weird 
 Death-Fire Over The Actual Horror, Which Made His Realisation Of The 
 Tragedy The More Poignant, And Lent Even A Certain Distinction To The 
 Poverty Which She Described. Here, Indeed, Was The Supreme Vulgarity Of 
 Suffering--And Before It His Own Personal Afflictions Appeared As 
 Unsubstantial As Shades. At Least He Had Had The Empty Dignity Of 
 Receiving His Sorrow With A Full Sense Of Its Importance, But With This 
 Woman The Very Presence Of Grief Was Crowded Out By The Brutal 
 Obligation To Meet The Material Demands Of Death. Death, Indeed, Had 
 Become But An Incident--A Side Issue Of The Event--And The Funeral Had 
 Usurped The Place And The Importance Of A Law Of Nature. 
   
 "Let Me Go Home With You--I Should Like It," He Said When They Had 
 Started To Walk On Again; And Then With An Instinctive Courtesy, He Took 
 The Basket From Her And Slipped It Over His Own Arm. A Little Later, 
 When Following Her Directions, They Entered A Surface Car For The West 
 Side, He Placed The Basket On His Knees And Sat Looking Down At The 
 Small Gray Kittens That Awaking Suddenly Began To Play Beneath His Eyes. 
 The Jostling Crowd About Him, The Substantial Panting Figure Of The 
 Woman Beside Him, And More Than All The Joyous Animal Movements Of The 
 Kittens In His Lap, Seemed Somehow To Return To Him That Intimate 
 Relation To Life Which He Had Lost. He No Longer Felt The Sensation Of 
 Detachment, Of Insecurity In His Surroundings; For His Own Individual 
 Existence Had Become In His Eyes But A Part Of The Enlarged Universal 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 10 Pg 172 
 Existence Of The Race. 
   
 As The Car Stopped The Woman Motioned To Him With An Imperative Gesture, 
 And Then As They Reached The Sidewalk, She Pointed To A Fruiterer's 
 Stand On The Outside Of A Tenement Near The Corner. 
   
 "It Is Just Above There--On The Third Floor," She Said, Threading Her 
 Way With A Large Determined Ease Through The Children Playing Upon The 
 Sidewalk. 
   
 When He Mounted Presently The Dimly Lighted Staircase Inside, It Seemed 
 To Adams That The Whole House, Close, Poorly-Lighted, Dust Laden As It 
 Was, Was Filled To The Echo With The Ceaseless Voices Of 
 Children--Laughing Voices, Crying Voices, Scolding Voices, Voices Lifted 
 As High In Joy As In Grief. So Strong Was His Impression Of The Number 
 Of The Little Inmates That He Was Almost Surprised When The Woman Pushed 
 Open A Door On The Third Landing And Led The Way Into A Room Which 
 Appeared Deserted Except For The Occupant Of The Clean White Bed By The 
 Window. 
   
 The Whole Place Was Scrupulously Neat, He Saw This At The First 
 Glance--Saw The Well Swept Floor, The Orderly Arrangement Of The Chairs, 
 The Spotless White Cambric Curtains Parted Above The Window Sill, On 
 Which A Red Geranium Bore A Single Blossom Out Of Season. Several Large 
 Gray Cats Arose At The Woman's Entrance And Came Crying To The Kittens 
 In The Basket; And She Motioned To Adams To Put The Little Creatures On 
 The Floor. Then Going To The Bed She Stooped Over The Man Who Lay 
 There--Outstretched And Perfectly Motionless As If Wrapped In A Profound 
 And Quiet Slumber. One Iron-Stained Misshapened Hand Lay On The Outside 
 Of The Coverlet And As Adams Looked At It, He Saw In It A Symbol Of The 
 Whole Tragedy Upon Which He Gazed. The Face Of The Sleeper Was Hidden 
 From Him, But So Expressive Was The Distorted, Toil-Hardened Hand, With 
 The Fingers Fallen A Little Open As If In Relief From A Recently Dropped 
 Tool, That The Voice Of The Woman Sounding In His Ears Merely Put Into 
 Words His Own Unspoken Knowledge. 
   
 "Ah, He's Gone," She Said. "He Promised Me He'd Hold Out If He Could, 
 But I Guess He Couldn't Manage It." 
   
 Then Standing There In The Bare, Cleanly Swept Room, Bright With The 
 Voices Of Children Which Floated In From The Staircase, Adams Was 
 Conscious, With A Consciousness More Vital And Penetrating Than He Had 
 Ever Felt Before, That The Place, The Universe And His Own Soul Were 
 Filled To Overflowing With The Infinite Presence Of God. 
   
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 11 Pg 173 
 On The Wings Of Life 
   
   
 It Was On The Morning After Gerty's Conversation With Adams That Laura 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 11 Pg 174 
 Carried The News Of Her Engagement To Uncle Percival. 
   
 "I've Something Really Interesting For You This Morning," She Began, 
 Taking His Withered Little Hand In Hers As She Sat Down On The High 
 Footstool Before His Chair. 
   
 His Wandering Blue Eyes Fixed Her For A Moment, Then, Turning 
 Restlessly, Travelled To His Flute Which Lay Silent On The Table On His 
 Elbow. 
   
 "Ah, But I'm Ahead Of You For Once," He Remarked With His Amiable 
 Toothless Smile, "There's A New Batch Of Rabbits In The Yard And I've 
 Already Seen 'Em. Don't Tell Rosa, My Dear," He Cautioned In A Whisper, 
 "Or She'll Be Sure To Drown 'Em Everyone." 
   
 Releasing His Hand From Her Clasp, He Reached For His Flute, And, With A 
 Pathetic Delight In The Presence Of His Enforced Listener, Raised The 
 Mouth Of The Instrument To His Lips. The Tune He Played Was "The Last 
 Rose Of Summer," And Laura Sat Patiently At His Side Until The End. With 
 The Final Note, Even As He Laid The Flute Lovingly Across His Knees, She 
 Saw That The Music Had Strengthened And Controlled His Enfeebled Mind. 
   
 "I Want To Tell You That I Shall Be Married In The Autumn, Dear Uncle 
 Percival," She Said With A Renewed Effort To Penetrate The Senile 
 Abstraction In Which He Lived. 
   
 "Married!" Repeated The Old Man, With An Indignant Surprise For Which 
 She Was Entirely Unprepared. "Married! Why, What On Earth Makes You Do A 
 Ridiculous Thing Like That? It's Out Of The Question," He Continued With 
 An Angry Vehemence, "It Is Utterly And Absurdly Out Of The Question." 
   
 For An Instant It Seemed To Laura That She Had Absolutely No Response To 
 Offer. 
   
 "But Almost Everyone Marries In The End, You Know," She Said At Last. 
   
 "I Have Lived Very Comfortably To Be Eighty-Five," Retorted Uncle 
 Percival, "And I Never Married." 
   
 "Oh, But You Never Fell In Love," Persisted Laura. 
   
 "In Love? Tush!" Protested The Old Man With Scorn, "And Why Should You? 
 I Have Never Felt The Need Of It." 
   
 "Well, I Don't Think One Can Help It Sometimes," Remonstrated Laura, A 
 Little Helplessly. "One Doesn't Always Want It, But It Comes Anyway." 
   
 "Then If I Didn't Want It I Wouldn't Let It Bother Me," Said Uncle 
 Percival, Adding Immediately. "What Does Rosa Think Of This State Of 
 Things, I Wonder--Rosa Is A Very Sensible Woman." 
   
 "Oh, She's Heartily Pleased--Everybody Is Pleased But You." 
   
 Uncle Percival Shook His Head In Stubborn Disapproval. "People Are 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 11 Pg 175 
 Always Pleased At The Mistakes Of Others," He Observed, "It's Human 
 Nature, I Suppose, And They Can't Help It, But I Tell You I've Seen A 
 Great Deal Too Much Of Love All My Life--And It's Better Left Alone, 
 It's Better Left Alone." 
   
 Rising Dejectedly, He Wandered Off To His Rabbits, While Laura, As Soon 
 As The Curtains At The Door Had Fallen Together Again Behind His 
 Shrunken Little Figure, Forgot Him With That Complete Forgetfulness Of 
 Trivial Details Which Is Possible Only To The Mind That Is In The 
 Possession Of An Absorbing Emotion. All Hesitation, All Uncertainty, All 
 Disappointment, Had Been Swept From Her Consciousness As If By A 
 Destroying And Purifying Flame; And For The Past Few Weeks She Had Lived 
 With That Passionate Swiftness Of Sensation Which Gives One An Ecstatic 
 Sense Of Rushing, Like A Winged Creature, Through Crawling Time. Life, 
 Indeed, Was Winged For Her At The Moment; Her Soul Flew; And She Felt 
 Her Happiness Beating Like A Caged Bird Within Her Breast. The Agony Of 
 The Imprisoned Creature Was There Also, For She Loved Blindly Without 
 Understanding Why She Loved--And Yet It Was This Hidden Mystery Of Her 
 Passion, This Divine Miracle Which Attended Its Conception, That Filled 
 The World About Her With The Invisible, Announcing Hosts Of Angels. She 
 Could Explain Nothing--Life, Death, Birth, The Ordinary Incidents Of 
 Every Day Were But So Many Signs And Portents Of 'The Unseen Wonders; 
 And Every Breath She Drew Seemed As Great A Miracle To Her As The 
 Raising Of Lazarus From The Tomb. 
   
 Closing Her Eyes She Thought Of The Afternoon Before When She Had Gone 
 Out With Her Lover In His Automobile. Life At The Instant Had Condensed 
 Itself Into A Flash Of Experience, And His Face As He Looked At Her Had 
 Been Clear And Strong As The Wind Which Rushed By Them. "Faster! Faster! 
 Let Us Go Faster!" She Had Begged, "Let Me Live This One Hour Flying," 
 And Even With The Words She Had Wondered If The Same Rapture Would Ever 
 Enter Into Her Love Again? Was It Possible To Touch The Highest Point Of 
 One's Being Twice In A Single Lifetime? Was It Given To Any Human 
 Creature To Repeat Perfection? And He? Would He Ever Know It Again? She 
 Questioned, With An Uncertainty Sharp As A Sword That Pierced Her 
 Through. Would She Ever Find In His Eyes A Look That Would Be Anything 
 But A Shadow Of The Look She Had Seen On The Day Before? Was Happiness, 
 After All, As Fluid A Quantity As The Emotion Which Gave It Birth? 
   
 Standing Beside The Table, She Leaned Her Cheek For A Moment Upon The 
 Roses In The Venetian Vase; And It Seemed To Her, As The Petals Brushed 
 Her Face, That She Felt Again His Eager Kisses Fall On Her Eyes And 
 Throat. The Memory Sent Her Blood Beating To Her Pulses; And She Saw His 
 Face In Her Thoughts As She Had Seen It On That Afternoon, Transfigured 
 And Intensified By The Peculiar Vividness Of Her Perceptions. 
   
 "There Has Been Nothing Like This In My Life Before," He Had Said In A 
 Passion Of Sincerity, "There Has Been Nothing In My Life But You From 
 The Beginning." The Irony Was Gone Then From His Voice; She Had Found No 
 Hint Of Even The Satirical Humour In His Eyes; And As She Remembered 
 This Now It Seemed To Her That She Had There For The First Time--For The 
 One And Only Moment Since She Had Known Him--Succeeded In Holding By Her 
 Touch That Deeper Chord Of His Nature For Which She Had Always Felt 
 Herself To Be Instinctively Groping. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 11 Pg 176 
   
 She Was Still Brooding Over The Rapture Of Yesterday, When The Door 
 Opened Quickly And Kemper Came In With The Eager Haste In Which He 
 Appeared To Live Every Instant Of His Life. At The First Glance She Saw 
 That The Ardour Of The Last Afternoon Was Still In His Eyes, And The 
 Next Moment She Found Herself Yielding To His Impatient Kisses. 
   
 "I Was Trying To Decide Whether I Love You More When You Are With Me Or 
 When You Are Away," She Said With A Joyful Laugh. 
   
 "Well, As For Me, I Love You Exactly A Hundred Times More When I See 
 You," He Retorted Gayly. 
   
 His Words Seemed, As She Repeated Them, An Affront To Her Insatiable 
 Desire For The Perfection Of Love. 
   
 "Then If You Never Saw Me Again You Would Be Able To Forget Me?" She 
 Asked A Little Wounded. 
   
 He Laughed Easily With A Quick Return To His Pleasant Banter, "I Hope 
 So. What's The Use Of Loving When Nothing Comes Of It?" 
   
 When Nothing Comes Of It! A Cloud Dimmed The Radiant Clearness Of Her 
 Morning; Then She Met The Strong Tenderness In His Eyes, And With An 
 Effort, She Thrust Her Disappointment Aside, As She Had Thrust It Aside 
 At Every Meeting Since The Beginning Of Her Love. 
   
 "I Have Always Wondered If Happiness Were As Happy As People Thought," 
 She Said Gravely, "And Now I Know, I Know." 
   
 "And Is It Really?" He Asked, With The Confident Smile Which Piqued Her 
 Even While It Fascinated. 
   
 For Answer She Lifted To Him "The Seraphic Look" Which He Had Never Seen 
 In Any Face But Hers; And As He Met Her Eyes It Appeared To Him That All 
 Other Women Whom He Had Loved Were But Tinted Shadows--That They Were 
 One And All Utterly Devoid Of The Mystery By Which Passion Lives. Here 
 In Her Face He Saw At Last The Charm And The Wonder Of Sex Made 
 Luminous; And While He Watched Her Emotion Quiver On Her Lips, He Began 
 To Ask Himself If This Were Not The Assurance In His Own Heart Of A 
 Feeling That Might Endure For Life? Would This, Too, Change And Perish 
 As His Impulses Had Changed And Perished Until To-Day? 
   
 "Shall I Tell You What I Have Been Thinking Since Last Night?" She 
 Questioned In A Voice That Was Like A Song To His Ears, "It Is That I 
 Have Been All My Life A Plant In A Dark Cellar, Groping Toward The Light 
 And Never Finding It--Always Groping, Groping." 
   
 She Leaned Toward Him, Placing Her Hands, The Lovely, Delicate Hands He 
 Loved, Upon His Shoulders, "I've Grown To The Light! I've Grown To The 
 Light!" She Whispered Joyously. 
   
 He Raised Her Hand To His Lips, And His Teeth Closed Softly Over Each 
 Slender Finger One By One. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 11 Pg 177 
   
 "So I Am The Light?" He Enquired With Tender Humour. 
   
 She Shook Her Head. "Not You, But Love." 
   
 A Short Laugh Broke From Him. "But Where, My Dear Sweetheart," He 
 Retorted? "Would Love Be Without Me?" 
   
 "I Don't Dare To Think," She Was Too Earnest To Take His Jest With 
 Lightness, "It Is Strange, Isn't It?--That But For You I Should Never 
 Have Known--This." 
   
 "Who Can Tell? There Might Have Come Along Another Fellow And You'd 
 Probably Have Made Love Quite As Prettily To A Substitute." 
   
 "Never!" She Shook Her Head With An Indignant Protest, "And You?" She 
 Added Softly After A Moment. 
   
 "And I? What?" 
   
 "Without Me Could You Have Felt It Quite Like This?" 
   
 She Waited Breathlessly, But The Ironic Spirit Had Got The Better Of His 
 Tenderness. 
   
 "My Dear Girl," He Rejoined, "What A Question?" 
   
 "But Could You?-Tell Me," She Implored In Sudden Passion. 
   
 "Well, I Devoutly Hope So," He Answered Lightly, "It's A Thing I 
 Should'nt Like To Have Missed, You Know." 
   
 He Leaned Back Closing His Eyes; And Immediately, Without Warning And 
 Against His Will, There Rose Before Him The Seductive Face Of Madame 
 Alta, And He Recalled Her Exquisite Voice, With Its Peculiar High Note 
 Of Piercing Sweetness. Then He Remembered His Wife, And, One By One, The 
 Other Women Whom He Had Loved And Forgotten Or Merely Forgotten Without 
 Loving. They Meant So Little In His Existence Now, And Yet Once, Each In 
 Her Own Bad Time Had Engrossed Utterly His Senses. In What Rare Quality 
 Of Sentiment Could This Love Differ From Those Lesser Loves That Had 
 Gone Before? 
   
 But He Was Not Given To Introspection, And So The Disturbing Question 
 Left Him Almost As Readily As It Had Come. When One Attempted To Think 
 Things Out, There Was No Hope Of Escaping The Endless Circle With A 
 Clear Head. No, He Wasn't Analytical, Thank Heaven! 
   
 While He Was Still Rejoicing In What He Called His "Practical Turn Of 
 Mind," He Remembered Suddenly An Appointment At His Club Which He Had 
 Made A Week Ago And Then Overlooked In The Absorbing Interest Of His 
 Engagement. 
   
 "By Jove, You'll Get Me Into An Awful Scrape Some Day," He Remarked 
 Cheerfully As He Hurried Into His Overcoat. "I Might Have Lost Fifty 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 11 Pg 178 
 Thousand Dollars By Letting This Thing Slip." 
   
 His Manner Had Changed Completely With The Awakened Recollection; And 
 Finance In All Its Forms--The Look Of Figures, The Clink Of Coin--Had 
 Assumed Instantly The Position Of Romance In His Thoughts. For The 
 Moment Laura Was Crowded From His Mind, And She Recognised This With A 
 Pang Sharp And Cold As The Thrust Of A Dagger. 
   
 "If You Only Knew How Much You'd Nearly Cost Me," Were His Last Words As 
 He Ran Down The Steps. 
   
 At The Corner He Met Gerty's Carriage And In Response To Her Inviting 
 Gesture, He Gave An Order To The Coachman As He Sprang Inside. 
   
 "Well, This Is A Godsend," He Observed With A Grateful Sigh While He 
 Wrapped The Fur Rug Carelessly About Him. "A Drive With A Pretty Woman 
 Leaves A Surface Car A Good Many Miles Behind. And You Are Unusually 
 Pretty This Morning," He Commented With A Touch Of Daring Gallantry. 
   
 "I Ought To Be," Returned Gerty Defiantly, "For Heaven Knows I Take 
 Trouble Enough About It. Oh, I _Am_ Glad To See You!" She Finished 
 Gayly, "How Is Laura?" 
   
 He Met Her Question With His Genial Smile. "She Makes A Pretty Good 
 Pretence At Happiness," He Answered. 
   
 "And So She's Really Over Head And Ears In Love?" 
   
 "Does It Surprise You That She Should Find Me Charming?" He Asked, 
 Laughing. 
   
 She Nodded With Unshaken Candour. 
   
 "I Was Never So Much Surprised In All My Life." 
   
 If His Smile Was Ready It Did Not Fail To Betray A Touch Of Vanity That 
 Was Almost Childlike. 
   
 "And Yet There Was A Time When You Yourself Rather Liked Me," He 
 Retorted With His Intimate And Penetrating Glance. 
   
 "Was There?" She Avoided His Look Though Her Tone Was Almost Insolent, 
 "My Dear Fellow, I Never In My Life Liked You Better Than I Like You At 
 This Minute--But We Are Speaking Now Of Laura's Liking Not Of Mine. Oh, 
 Arnold, Arnold, I Am In A Quake Of Fear." 
   
 "About Laura? Then Get Over It And Don't Be Silly." 
   
 "And You Are Honestly And Truly And Terribly In Earnest?" 
   
 "My Dear Girl, I'm Going To Marry Her--Isn't That Enough? Does A Man 
 Commit Suicide Except When He's Sincere?" 
   
 Her Shallow Cynicism Had Dropped From Her Now, And She Turned Toward Him 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 2 (Illusion) Chapter 11 Pg 179 
 With An Unaffected Anxiety In Her Face. 
   
 "Then It Will Last--It Must." 
   
 "Last!" An Expression Of Irritation Showed In His Eyes, And He Shrugged 
 His Shoulders With An Impatient Movement. "Of Course It Won't 
 Last--Nothing Does. If You Want The Eternal You Must Seek It In 
 Eternity." 
   
 "So In The End It Will Be Like--All The Others?" 
   
 Because The Question Annoyed Him He Responded To It With A Frankness 
 That Was Almost Brutal. "Everything Is Like Everything Else," He 
 Returned, "There's Nothing New, Least Of All In The Emotions." 
   
 For A Minute She Looked At Him In Silence While The Steady Green Flame 
 Appeared To Him To Grow Brighter In Her Eyes. Was It Contempt Or 
 Curiosity That He Saw In Her Face? 
   
 "Poor Laura!" She Said At Last Very Softly. "Poor Happy Laura!" 
   
 At Her Words His Dissenting Laugh Broke Out, But He Showed By His 
 Animated Glance A Moment Later That It Was Of Herself Rather Than Of 
 Laura That He Was Thinking. 
   
 "Is It Such A Terrible Fate, After All, To Become My Wife?" He Enquired. 
   
 His Look Challenged Hers, And Lifting Her Insolent Bright Eyes, She 
 Returned Steadily The Smiling Gaze He Bent Upon Her. 
   
 "Oh, Dear Me, Yes," She Answered Merrily, "It Is Almost If Not Quite As 
 Bad As Being Perry's." The Carriage Had Stopped At The Door Of His Club, 
 And His Mind Was Already At Work Over The Approaching Interview. 
   
 "Well, You Escaped The Lesser For The Greater Ill," He Responded 
 Pleasantly, As He Gave Her Hand A Careless Parting Pressure. 
   
   
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 1 Pg 180 
 A Disconsolate Lover And A Pair Of Blue Eyes 
   
   
 With That Strange Hunger Of Youth For The Agony Of Experience, Trent 
 Allowed The News Of Laura's Engagement To Plunge Him Into An Imaginary 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 1 Pg 181 
 Despondency Which Was Quite As Vivid As Any Reality Of Suffering. For A 
 Week He Persistently Refused His Meals, And He Was Even Seized With A 
 Kind Of Moral Indignation When His Perfectly Healthy Appetite Asserted 
 Itself At Irregular Hours. To Eat With A Broken Heart Appeared To Him An 
 Act Of Positive Brutality; And Yet He Was Aware That, In Spite Of The 
 Sting Of His Wounded Pride, The Tragic Ending Of His First Romance 
 Produced Not The Slightest Effect Upon His Physical Enjoyment. It Was An 
 Instance Where A Purely Ideal Sentiment Struggled Against A Perfectly 
 Normal Constitution. 
   
 "You Could Never Have Cared For Me, Of Course I Always Knew That," He 
 Remarked One Day To Laura, "But I Can't Help Wishing That You Hadn't 
 Fallen In Love With Anybody Else." 
   
 From The Bright Remoteness Of Her Happiness She Smiled Down Upon Him. 
 "But Doesn't Such A Wish As That Strike You As Rather Selfish?" 
   
 "I Don't Care--I Want You Back Again Just As You Used To Be--And Now," 
 He Added Bitterly, "You've Even Given Up Your Writing." 
   
 "I Shall Never Write Again," She Answered, Quietly, Without Regret. It 
 Was A Truth Which She Felt Only Intuitively At The Time, For Her Reason 
 As Yet Had Hardly Taken Account Of A Fact That Was Perfectly Evident To 
 The Subtler Perceptions Of Her Feeling. She Would Never Write Again--Her 
 Art Had Been Only The Exotic Flowering Of A Luxuriant Imagination And 
 She Had Lost Value As A Creative Energy While She Had Gained In 
 Experience As A Human Soul. 
   
 "I Was Too Young, That Was The Trouble," Pursued Trent, "There Were Five 
 Years Between Us." 
   
 "My Dear Boy," She Laughed Merrily, "There Was All Eternity." 
   
 His Bitterness, He Felt, Grew Heavily Upon Him While He Watched Her. A 
 New Beauty Had Passed Into Her Face; The Mystery Of A Thousand Lives Was 
 In Her Look, In Her Gestures, In Her Voice; And She Appeared To Him Not 
 As Herself Alone, But As The Embodied Essence Of All Former Loves Of 
 Which He Had Dreamed--Of All The Enchanting Dead Women Of Whom The Poets 
 Wrote. Then He Thought Of Arnold Kemper, With His Exhausted Emotions, 
 His Superficial Cleverness, His Engrossing Middle-Age, And Especially Of 
 His Approaching Baldness. Was Love, After All, He Questioned, Only A 
 Re-Quickened Memory In Particular Brain Cells As Modern Scientists 
 Believed? Was Physical Heredity, In Truth, The Fulfilling Of The Law Of 
 Life? And Was The Soul Merely A Series Of Vibrations By Which Matter 
 Lived And Moved? 
   
 All The Way Home His Angry Scepticism Boiled Over In His Thoughts, And 
 At The Luncheon Table, A Little Later, He Met His Mother's Placid 
 Enquiries With An Explosion Of Boyish Despair. 
   
 "There's No Use Trying To Persuade Me--I Can't Eat," He Said. 
   
 "But, My Dear Son, I Fear You'll Work Yourself Into An Illness," 
 Returned Mrs. Trent, With Her Unshaken Calm. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 1 Pg 182 
   
 "I Don't Care," Replied The Young Man Desperately, "Whether I Die Now Or 
 Later, It Is All The Same." 
   
 "I Suppose Really It Is," Admitted His Mother; But She Added After A 
 Pause In Which She Had Dipped Mildly Into A Philosophic Curiosity, "The 
 Way Being In Love Effects One Has Always Seemed To Me The Very Strangest 
 Thing In Life. I Remember Your Uncle Channing Lived Exclusively On 
 Onions For A Whole Month After Mattie Godwin Refused His Offer. Why He 
 Selected Onions I Could Never Explain," She Concluded, "Unless It Was 
 That He Had Never Been Able To Endure The Taste Of Them, And He Seemed 
 Bent Upon Making Himself As Miserable As It Was Possible To Be." 
   
 While She Went On Placidly Eating Her Hashed Chicken, Trent Tossed Off A 
 Glass Or Two Of Claret, Which He Was Perfectly Aware, Taken On His Empty 
 Stomach, Would Immediately Produce A Racking Headache. Since His Passion 
 Was Not Sincere, It Occurred To Him That It Might At Least Become 
 Dramatic; But He Saw Presently, With Aggrieved Surprise, That The 
 Impression Made Upon His Mother By His Violent Behavior Was Far Slighter 
 Than He Had Brought Himself To Expect. When Next She Spoke Her Thoughts 
 Appeared To Have Strayed Utterly From The Subject Of His Appetite. 
   
 "I Couldn't Sleep Last Night For Thinking Of That Poor Christina Coles," 
 She Said, "The Char-Woman Told Me Yesterday That The Child Had Been 
 Obliged To Go Out And Pawn Some Of Her Things In Order To Get The Money 
 To Pay Her Room Rent." 
   
 With A Start His Mind Swung Back From The Dream Life To The Actual. He 
 Had Not Seen Christina For More Than A Week, And The Thought Of Her 
 Pierced His Heart With A Keen Reproach. 
   
 "Good God, Has It Come To That?" He Exclaimed. 
   
 "What Hurts Me Most Is Not Being Able To Do Anything To Help Her," 
 Resumed Mrs. Trent, "She's So Proud That I Don't Dare Even Ask Her To A 
 Meal For Fear She'll Take Offence." 
   
 "But If It's So Bad As That Why Doesn't She Go Home--She Must Have A 
 Home." 
   
 "Oh, She Has--But To Go Back, She Feels, Would Mean That She's Given Up, 
 And The Char-Woman Declares That She'll Never Give Up So Long As She's 
 Alive." 
   
 "Well, She's A Precious Little Fool," Observed Trent, As He Drank An 
 Extra Glass Of Claret. 
   
 But The Thought Of Christina Was Not To Be So Lightly Put From Him, And 
 Before The Afternoon Was Over He Went Up To The Eighth Landing And 
 Knocked In Vain At Her Door. She Was Still Out, As The Little Pile Of 
 Rejected Manuscript Lying On Her Threshold Bore Witness; And He Turned 
 Away And Came Down Again With A Disappointment Of Which He Felt Himself 
 To Be Half Ashamed. An Hour Later He Ran Against Her When He Was Going 
 Out Into The Street, And As She Turned With Her Constrained Little Bow 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 1 Pg 183 
 And Looked At Him For An Instant With Her Sincere Blue Eyes, He Was 
 Almost Overcome By The Rush Of Pity Which The Sight Of Her Evoked. How 
 Pale And Thin She Had Grown! How Shabby Her Little Tan Coat Looked In 
 The Daylight; And Yet What A Charming Curve There Was To Her Brown 
 Head! He Realised Then For The First Time That Brown--Warm, Living Brown 
 With Glints Of Amber--Was The One Colour For A Woman's Hair. 
   
 The Next Morning He Rushed Off Indignantly To Upbraid Adams. 
   
 "The Girl's Starving, I Tell You--We Can't Let Her Starve," He Exclaimed 
 In An Agony Of Remorse. 
   
 "Oh, Yes We Can," Returned Adams With A Cheerful Brutality Which Enraged 
 The Younger Man. "Starving Isn't Half So Bad As Writing Trash. But You 
 Needn't Look At Me Like That," He Added, "She Doesn't Come Here Any 
 Longer Now. She Told Me Fiction Was The Field She Meant To Dig In." 
   
 "Well, You'll Kill Her Among You," Was Trent's Threatening Rejoinder; 
 And Filled With A Righteous Fury Against Literature He Went Back Again 
 To Knock At The Door Of Christina's Empty Room. Once His Mother Came Up 
 Also, But The Girl, It Appeared, Was Always Out Now, While The Rejected 
 Manuscript Thickened Each Morning Upon The Threshold. Several Times Mrs. 
 Trent Arranged A Little Tray Of Luncheon And Sent It Up Stairs By The 
 Old Negro Servant, But The Message Brought Back Was Always That 
 Christina Was Not At Home. And Then Gradually, As The Weeks Went By, The 
 Dignity And The Pathos Of Her Struggle Were Surrounded In Trent's Mind 
 By A Romantic Halo. Her Beauty Borrowed From His Poetic Fancy The 
 Peculiar Touch Of Atmosphere It Lacked, And His Thoughts Dwelt More And 
 More Upon Her Slender, Girlish Figure, Her Smooth Brown Hair, And The 
 Flower-Like Sweetness Of Her Face. 
   
 Then Just As He Had Grown Almost Hopeless Of Ever Seeing Her Again, He 
 Found Her One Evening In The Elevator As He Went Up To His Mother's 
 Rooms. The Touch Of Her Cold Little Hand On His Sent A Sudden Shock To 
 His Heart, And While He Looked Anxiously Into Her Face, He Saw Her Go 
 Deadly Pale And Bite Her Lip Sharply As If To Bring Back Her 
 Consciousness By The Sting Of Pain. 
   
 "You Are Ill," He Said Eagerly; "Don't Deny It, For Haven't I Eyes? Yes, 
 You Must, You Shall Come With Me In To Mother." 
   
 Even Then She Would Have Turned Proudly Away, But With His Impulsive, 
 Lover's Sympathy He Led Her From The Elevator Upon The Landing On Which 
 He Lived. "She Is Waiting For You--She Wants You," He Urged With 
 Passion; "And Can't You See--Oh, Christina, I Want You, Too!" 
   
 But His Fervour Only Left Her The More Cold And Shrinking, And She Shook 
 Her Head With A Refusal That Was Almost Angry. 
   
 "How Dare You? Why Did You Make Me Come Out?" She Asked. "I Must Go 
 Back--I Am Not Well--Oh, I Must Go Back!" 
   
 Over The Angry Tones Of Her Voice He Saw Her Entreating Eyes Shining 
 Like Wet Flowers, And As He Looked Into Them It Came To Him In A 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 1 Pg 184 
 Revelation Of Knowledge That The Meaning Of Everything That Had Been Was 
 Made Clear At Last. He Knew Now Why He Had Succeeded Where Christina Had 
 Failed--He Knew Why Laura Had Refused His Love, And Why, Even In His 
 Misery, Her Refusal Had Left His Heart Untouched. And Beyond All These 
 Things, He Realised That Now His Boyhood Was Over And That From The 
 Experience Of This One Moment He Had Become A Man. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 2 Pg 185 
 The Deification Of Clay 
   
   
 Not Until A Month After The Announcement Of Laura's Engagement Did She 
 Come Face To Face For The First Time With The Ugly Skeleton Which Lies 
 Hidden Beneath The Most Beautiful Of Dreams. The Spring Had Passed In A 
 Troubled Rapture; And It Was On One Of The Bright, Warm Days In Early 
 June That She Found Awaiting Her On The Hall Table When She Came In From 
 Her Walk A Letter Addressed In A Strange Handwriting And Bearing A 
 Strange Foreign Postmark. Beside This Was A Note From Kemper Explaining 
 A Broken Engagement Of The Day Before; And She Read First Her Lover's 
 Letter, Which Ended, As Every Letter Of His Had Ended Since The 
 Beginning Of Their Love, "Yours With My Whole Heart And Soul, Arnold." 
   
 With An Emotion Which Repetition Could Never Deaden, She Stooped To Kiss 
 The Last Sentence He Had Written, Before She Turned Carelessly To Take 
 Up The Strange Foreign Envelope, Which She Had Thrown, With Her Veil And 
 Gloves, On The Chair At Her Side. For A Moment She Pondered 
 Indifferently The Address; Then, Almost As She Broke The Seal, The First 
 Words She Read Were Those Which Lay Hidden Away In The Love Letter 
 Within Her Hand, "Yours With My Whole Heart And Soul, Arnold." 
   
 In Her First Shock, Even While The Blow Still Blinded Her Eyes, She 
 Turned To Seek Wildly For Some Possible Solution; And It Was Then That 
 She Discovered That The Letter, In Kemper's Handwriting, Was Addressed 
 Evidently To Some Other Woman, Since It Bore The Date Of A Day In June 
 Just Three Years Before She Had First Met Him. Three Years Ago He Had 
 Declared Himself To Belong, Heart And Soul, To This Other Woman; And 
 To-Day, With No Remembrance In His Mind, It Seemed, Of That Former 
 Passion, He Could Repeat Quite As Ardently The Old Threadbare Avowal. 
 How Many Times, She Asked Herself, Had He Used That Characteristic 
 Ending To His Love Letters?--And The Thing Appeared To Her Suddenly To 
 Be The Veriest Travesty Of The Perfect Self-Surrender Of Love. 
   
 She Was A Woman Capable Of Keen Retrospective Jealousy, And As She Sat 
 There, Beaten Down From Her Winged Ecstasy By The Blow That Had Struck 
 At Her From The Silence, She Told Herself Passionately That Her Life Was 
 Wrecked Utterly And Her Brief Happiness At An End. Then, With That 
 Relentless Power Of Intellect, From Which Her Emotions Were Never 
 Entirely Separated, She Began Deliberately To Disentangle The True Facts 
 From The Temporary Impulses Of Her Jealous Anger. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 2 Pg 186 
 "I Am Wounded And Yet Why Am I Wounded And By What Right?" She Demanded, 
 With A Pathetic Groping After The Self-Condemnation Which Would Acquit 
 Her Lover, "He Has Lived His Life, I Know--I Have Always Known It--And 
 His Letter Has Only Brought Forcibly Before Me A Fact Which I Have 
 Accepted Though I Have Not Faced It." And It Occurred To Her, With The 
 Bitter Sweetness Of A Consoling Lie, That He Could Not Have Been False 
 To Her Three Years Ago, Since He Was Not Then Even Aware Of Her 
 Existence. To Dwell On This Thought Was Like Yielding To The Power Of 
 An Insidious Drug, And Yet She Found Herself Forcing It Almost 
 Deliriously Against Her Saner Judgment. "How Could He Wrong Me So Long 
 As I Was A Stranger To Him?" She Repeated Over And Over. "On The Day 
 That He First Loved Me, His Old Life, With Its Sins And Its Selfish 
 Pleasures, Was Blotted Out." But Her Conscience, Even While She 
 Reasoned, Told Her That Love Could Possess No Power Like This--That The 
 Man Who Loved Her To-Day, Was The Inevitable Result Of The Man Who Had 
 Loved Other Women Yesterday, And That There Was As Little Permanence In 
 The Prompting Of Mere Impulse As There Was Stability In Change Itself. 
 So The Voice Within Her Spoke Through The Intolerable Clearness Of Her 
 Intellect; And In Her Frantic Desire To Drown The Thing It Uttered, She 
 Repeated Again And Again The Empty Words Which Her Heart Prompted. Yet 
 She Knew Even Though She Urged The Falsehood Upon Her Thoughts, That It 
 Was Less Her Argument That Pleaded For Kemper Than The Memory Of A Look 
 In His Face At Animated Instants, Which Rose Now Before Her And Appealed 
 Disturbingly To Her Emotions. 
   
 Three Ways Of Conduct Were Open To Her, She Saw Plainly Enough. Wisdom 
 Suggested That She Should Not Only Put The Letter Aside, But That She 
 Should Banish The Recollection Of Its Existence From Her Life. But, 
 While She Admitted That This Would Be The Most Courageous Treatment Of 
 The Situation, She Recognised Perfectly That To Act Upon Such A Decision 
 Was Utterly Beyond Her Strength. Though She Were To Destroy The Object, 
 Was The Memory Of It Not Seared Indelibly Into Her Brain? And Would Not 
 This Memory Return To Embitter Long Afterward Her Happiest Moments? 
 "When He Kisses Me I Shall Remember That He Has Kissed Other Women And I 
 Feel That I Shall Grow To Hate Him If He Should Ever Write To Me Again 
 In Those Lying Words." But She Knew Intuitively That He Would Use The 
 Same Ending In His Next Letter, And That She Would Still Be Powerless To 
 Hate Him, If Only Because Of His Disturbing Look, Which Came Back To Her 
 Whenever She Attempted To Judge Him Harshly. "I Might Really Hate Him So 
 Long As He Was Absent From Me, And Yet If He Came Again And Looked At Me 
 In That Way For A Single Instant, I Know That, In Spite Of My 
 Resolution, I Would Throw Myself Into His Arms." And She Felt That She 
 Despised Herself For A Bondage Against Which She Struggled As Hopelessly 
 As A Bird Caught In A Fowler's Net. 
   
 Of The Two Ways Which Remained To Her, She Chose, In The End, The Course 
 Which Appeared To Her To Be The Least Ungenerous. She Would Not Read The 
 Letter--The Opening And The Closing Sentences She Had Seen By 
 Accident--For, When All Was Said, It Had Not Been Written For Her Eyes; 
 And It Struck Her, As She Brooded Over It, That There Would Be Positive 
 Disloyalty In Thus Stealing In Upon The Secrets Of Kemper's Past. No, 
 She Would Place It In His Hands, She Determined Finally, Still Unread; 
 And In So Doing She Would Not Only Defeat The Purpose Of The Sender, But 
 Would Prove To Him As Well As To Herself That Her Faith In Him Was As 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 2 Pg 187 
 Unalterable As Her Love. After All To Trust Was Easier Than To Distrust, 
 For The Brief Agony Of Her Indecision Had Brought To Her The Knowledge 
 That The Way Of Suspicion Is The Way Of Death. 
   
 And So When He Came A Little Later She Gave The Letter, At Which She 
 Had Not Again Looked, Into His Hands. "Here Is Something That Reached Me 
 Only This Morning," She Said. "It Is Not Worth Thinking Of, And I Have 
 Read Only The First And The Last Sentence." 
   
 At Her Words He Unfolded The Paper, Throwing A Mere Casual Glance, As He 
 Did So, Upon The Thin Foreign Envelope, Which Appeared To Convey To Him 
 No Hint Of Its Significant Contents. 
   
 Then, After A Hurried Skimming Of The First Page, He Turned Back Again 
 And Carefully Studied The Address In A Mystification Which Was Pierced 
 Presently By A Flash Of Light. 
   
 "By Jove, So She's Heard It!" He Exclaimed; And The Instant Afterward He 
 Added In A Kind Of Grudging Admiration, "Well, She's A Devil!" 
   
 The Incident Appeared Suddenly To Engross Him In A Manner That Laura Had 
 Not Expected, And He Stooped To Examine The Postmark With An Attention 
 Which Gave Her, While She Watched Him, A Queer Sense Of Being Left Out 
 Quite In The Cold. 
   
 "But Why, In Thunder, Should She Care?" He Demanded. 
   
 "She?" There Was No Trouble In Her Voice, Only An Indifferent Question. 
   
 "Oh, It's Jennie Alta, Of Course--She's Perfectly Capable Of Such A 
 Thing." Then, Reaching Out, He Drew Laura Into His Arms With A 
 Confidence Which Had The Air, She Thought, Of Taking The Situation 
 Almost Too Entirely For Granted--Of Accepting Too Readily Her Attitude 
 As Well As His Possession Of Her. "My Darling Girl, What A Regular Brick 
 You Are!" He Said. 
   
 Though She Realised, As He Spoke, That This Was The Reward Of Her 
 Silence And Her Struggle, She Told Herself, In The Next Breath That, In 
 Some Way, It Was All Inadequate. She Had Expected More Than A Phrase, 
 And The Very Fact That The Note Of Earnestness Was Absent From His Voice 
 But Made Her Desire The Sound Of It The More Passionately. Again She 
 Felt The Baffled Sensation Which Came To Her In Moments Of Their Closest 
 Intimacy. Had His Soul, In Truth, Eluded Her For The Last Time? And Was 
 There In The Profoundest Emotion Always A Distance Which It Was Forever 
 Impossible To Bridge? Yet The Uncertainty, The Very Lack Of A Fuller 
 Understanding Only Added Fervour To The Passion That Burned In Her 
 Heart. 
   
 "It's All Over Now, So We May As Well Warm Ourselves By The Failure Of 
 Her Deviltry," He Observed Presently, As He Flung The Crumpled Paper 
 Into The Fire. "I'm Downright Sorry She'll Never Know How Little Harm 
 She's Done." 
   
 "It Might, I Suppose, Have Been Worse," Suggested Laura. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 2 Pg 188 
   
 "Well, I Suppose So--And You Mean Me To Believe That You Didn't Even 
 Read It?" He Enquired With Tender Gayety. 
   
 She Gave Him Her Eyes Frankly As An Answer To His Appeal For Faith. "Why 
 Should I? I Love You," She Replied. 
   
 For An Instant--A Single Sufficing Instant--He Met Her Look With An 
 Earnestness That Was Equal To Her Own. The Man In Him, She Almost Cried 
 Out In Her Exultation, Was Touched At Last. 
   
 "May God Grant That Your Confidence Will Never Fail Me," He Rejoined A 
 Little Sadly. 
   
 "When That Comes It Will Be Time To Die," Was Her Answer. 
   
 Taking Her Hand In His He Held It In A Close Pressure For Several 
 Minutes. Then The Earnestness She Had Arrested Fled From Her Touch, And 
 When He Spoke Again She Could Not Tell Whether His Words Were Uttered 
 Sincerely Or Simply As The Outcome Of His Sarcastic Humour. 
   
 "If You Were A Flesh-And-Blood Woman Instead Of An Eccentric Sprite," He 
 Remarked, "I Suppose You'd Want Me To Make A Clean Breast Of The Whole 
 Affair, But I Can't Because, To Tell The Truth, I've Forgotten 
 Everything About It." 
   
 "Then You Didn't Honestly Love Her, So It Doesn't Matter." 
   
 "Love Her! Pshaw!" Though He Laughed Out The Words There Was An Angry 
 Flush In His Face. "Do You Think I'm The Kind Of Man To Love A Mere 
 Singing Animal? And Besides," He Concluded With A Brutal Cynicism Which 
 Repelled Her Sharply, "I'm Of An Economical Turn, You Know, And The Love 
 Of Such Women Comes Too High. I've Seen Them Eat Up A Fellow's Income As 
 If It Were A Box Of Huyler's." The Words Were No Sooner Uttered Than His 
 Mood Changed Quickly And He Was On His Feet. "But I Didn't Mean To Give 
 You The Whole Morning, Sweetheart, I Merely Looked In To Say That I 
 Wanted You To Come Out With Me In The Car This Afternoon. There's A Fine 
 Breeze Blowing." 
   
 For A Thoughtful Moment She Hesitated Before She Answered. "I Told Roger 
 Adams That I Should Be At Home," She Returned, "But I Dare Say He Won't 
 Mind Not Seeing Me." 
   
 "Oh, I Dare Say," He Retorted Gayly. "Well, I'll Pick You Up, Then, On 
 The Stroke Of Five." 
   
 As He Left The Room She Went Over To The Window, And When He Came Out A 
 Little Later, He Turned Upon The Sidewalk To Glance Up At Her And Wave 
 His Hand. She Was Happy, Perfectly Happy, She Told Herself, As She 
 Looked Eagerly After The Last Glimpse Of His Figure; But Even While She 
 Framed The Thought Into Words, She Was Conscious That Her Heart Throbbed 
 High In Disappointment And That Her Eyes Were Already Blind With Tears. 
   
 When Adams Sent Up His Card, At Twenty Minutes Before Five O'clock, She 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 2 Pg 189 
 Lingered A Few Moments Before Going Downstairs In Her Motoring Coat And 
 Veil. In Response To Her Embarrassed Excuses, He Made Only A Casual 
 Expression Of Regret For The Visit He Had Missed. 
   
 "It's A Fine Afternoon--Just Right For A Run," He Remarked, Adding After 
 A Brief Hesitation. "It's The Proper Thing, I Suppose, To Offer You 
 Congratulations, But I'm A Poor Hand, As You Know, At Making Pretty 
 Speeches. I Wish You Happiness With All My Heart--That's About All There 
 Is To Say--Isn't It?" 
   
 "That's About All," She Echoed, "And At Least If I'm Not Happy I Shall 
 Have Only Myself To Blame." 
   
 The Silence That Followed Seemed To Them Both Unnatural And Constrained; 
 And He Broke It At Last With A Remark Which Sounded To Him, While He 
 Uttered It, Almost Irrelevant. 
   
 "I've Never Seen Much Of Kemper, But I Always Liked Him." 
   
 "I Know," She Nodded, "You Were Chums At College." 
   
 "Oh, Hardly That, But We Knew Each Other Pretty Well. He's A Lucky Chap 
 And I Hope He Has The Sense To See It." 
   
 "There's No Doubt Whatever Of His Sense!" She Laughed. Then, Growing 
 Suddenly Serious, She Leaned Toward Him With Her Old Earnest Look. "No 
 One Has Ever Known Him, I Think, Just As I Do," She Went On, "Because No 
 One Understands How Wonderfully Good He Really Is. He's So Good," She 
 Finished Almost Triumphantly, As If She Had Overcome By Her Assertion A 
 Point Which He Disputed, "That There Are Times When He Makes Me Feel 
 Positively Wicked." 
   
 Having No Answer Ready But A Smile, He Gave Her This Pleasantly Enough, 
 So That She Might Take It, If She Chose, For A Complete Agreement. 
 Though His Heart Was Filled With Repressed Tenderness, There Was Nothing 
 Further Now That He Could Say To Her, For He Realised As He Looked Into 
 Her Face, That There Was Little Room In Her Happiness Either For His 
 Tenderness Or For Himself. An Aversion, Too, To Meeting Kemper Awoke In 
 Him, And So, After A Few Minutes Of Trivial Conversation, He Rose And 
 Held Out His Hand. 
   
 "I'm Very Busy Just Now, So I May Not See You Again For Quite Awhile," 
 He Said At Parting, "But Remember If Ever You Should Want Me That I Am 
 Always Waiting." 
   
 A Little Later, As He Walked Up The Street In The June Sunshine, He Saw 
 Kemper's New Automobile Spinning Rapidly From The Direction Of Fifth 
 Avenue. 
   
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 3 Pg 190 
 The Greatest Of These 
   
   
 For A Minute After Kemper Had Passed In His Car, Adams Turned Back And 
 Stood Looking Down The Long Street Filled With Pleasant June Sunshine. 
 In The Distance A Hand-Organ Was Grinding Out A Jerky Sentimental Air, 
 And Beside Him, At The Corner By Which He Stood, A Crippled Vender Of 
 Fruit Had Halted His Little Cart Of Oranges And Apples. 
   
 A Year Ago Adams Might Have Told Himself, In The Despair Of Ignorance, 
 That Since Laura Had Given Her Love To Kemper She Was Lost To Him 
 Forever. But He Had Learned Now That This Could Not Be True--That She 
 Was Too Closely Knit Into His Destiny To Separate Herself Entirely From 
 It; And There Came To Him, While He Stood There, A Strange Mystic 
 Assurance That She Would Some Day Feel That She Had Need Of Him Again. 
 His Love Had Passed Triumphantly Through Its First Earthly Stages, And 
 In The Large Impassioned Yearning With Which He Thought Of Her There 
 Was, So Far As He Himself Was Conscious, But Little Left Of A Sharper 
 Personal Desire. All Desire, Indeed, Which Has Its Root In The Physical 
 Craving For Possession Seemed To Have Gone Out Of Him In The Last Few 
 Months; And Since The Earliest Dawn Of That Deeper Consciousness Within 
 His Soul, He Had Almost Ceased To Think Of Himself As An Isolated 
 Individual Life. 
   
 To Let Go The Personal Was To Fall Back Again On The Eternal; Between 
 The Soul And God, He Had Learned In His Deepest Agony, There Is Room For 
 Nothing More Impregnable Than The Illusion Of Self. As Roger Adams--As A 
 Mere Separate Existence, He Was A Failure. The Things Which He Had 
 Desired In Life He Had Not Possessed; The Things Which He Had Possessed 
 He Had Ceased Very Soon, In Any Vital Sense, To Desire. Of His Life's 
 Work, So Big At The Beginning, He Saw Now That He Had Made But A Small 
 Achievement--A Volume Of Essays On The Writings Of Other Men And A Few 
 Years Editing Of A Magazine Which Had Absorbed His Strength Without 
 Yielding Him The Smallest Return Of Fame. On Every Side, From All 
 Avenues Of Hope Or Of Mere Impulse, There Had Crowded Upon Him, He 
 Admitted Smiling, But Disappointment And Disillusion. He Had Played For 
 Happiness As Every Man Plays For It From The Cradle, He Had Staked His 
 Throw As Boldly, He Had Made His Resolves As Desperately, As Any Of His 
 Fellows, And Yet At The End Of His Forty Years He Had Not A Single 
 Object To Put Forward As His Reward. Nothing Remained To Him! As The 
 World Counts Success He Could Show Only Failure. 
   
 But The Larger Vision Was Still Before Him, And He Knew That All These 
 Thoughts Were The Cheapest Falsehood. In Spite Of Appearances, In Spite 
 Of The Outward Emptiness Of His Existence, He Had Not Failed; And In The 
 Hour That He Had Put Life Aside He Had For The First Time In His Whole 
 Experience Begun Really To Live. In Surrendering His Own Small 
 Individual Being He Knew That He Had Entered Into The Possession Of A 
 Being Immeasurably Larger Than His Own. 
   
 He Looked At The Fruit Vender Smiling, And The Man's Answering Smile 
 Came To Him Like The Clasp Of Fellowship. "Did He, Too, Understand?" Was 
 Adams' Unspoken Question, "Had He, Also, Found The Key That Unlocked His 
 Prison?" And There Flowed Into His Heart Something Of The Rapture With 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 3 Pg 191 
 Which Laura Had Cried: "I've Grown To The Light!" In Each Exclamation 
 There Was Ecstasy, But In Hers It Was The Short, Troubled Ecstasy Of The 
 Senses, Which Hears Its Doom Even In The Hour Of Its Own Fulfilment; 
 While From His Finer Joy There Shone Forth That Radiant Energy, In Which 
 Is Both Warmth And Light, Both Rest And Action, Which Illumines Not Only 
 The Soul Within, But Transfigures And Refines The Mere Dull Ordinary 
 Facts Of Life. 
   
 As He Stood There The Car Passed Him Again, And Laura And Kemper Both 
 Turned, Smiling, To Look Back At Him. When Laura's Long White Veil Was 
 Lost, With A Last Flutter, In The Sunshine, He Nodded To The Fruit 
 Vender, And Crossing To Broadway Started In The Direction Of His Home. 
   
 He Had Asked Trent To Dine With Him--The Boy Looked Fagged He Thought, 
 And It Might Do Him Good To Talk Freely About His Play. Then He Recalled 
 Several Letters That He Had Put Aside For The Sake Of Seeing Laura; And 
 Retracing His Steps, He Went Back To His Office And Sat Down Before His 
 Desk. It Surprised Him Sometimes To Find How Little Irksome Such 
 Uninteresting Details Had Become. 
   
 They Talked Late Over Their Cigars And Coffee, And When At Last Trent 
 Rose, With A Laughing Reminder Of His Mother, And Went Out Into The Hall 
 To Put On His Overcoat, Adams Passed By Him, After A Final Handshake, 
 And Entered His Darkened Study At The End Of The Hall. He Heard The 
 Door Close Quickly As Trent Left The House, And His Mind Was Still Full 
 Of The Boy's Dramatic Ambitions, As He Paused Beside His Desk And Bent 
 Down To Raise The Wick Of The Green Lamp. He Had Fallen Into The Habit 
 Of Sitting Up Rather Late Now, And There Was A Paper On His Blotting-Pad 
 Which He Was Preparing For The Coming Issue Of His Magazine. After 
 Glancing Hastily Over, He Found That The Last Few Sentences Were 
 Rearranging Themselves In His Thoughts, And He Had Set Himself Patiently 
 To The Redraughting Of The Paragraph, When A Slight Sound At The Door 
 Caused Him To Look Up Suddenly With The Suspended Blue Pencil Still, In 
 His Hand. It Was Too Late For The Maids, He Knew--They Had Already Gone 
 To Bed Before Trent Left--And He Knew Also That The Person Who Entered 
 At This Hour Must Have Opened The Outer Door By Means Of A Latch-Key. 
 The Soft, Slow Movement Outside Sent A Nervous Shiver Through Him; He 
 Was Aware The Next Instant That He Gripped The Pencil More Closely In 
 His Hand; And Then, Rising To His Feet With A Breathless Impulse To Be 
 Face To Face At Once With The Inevitable Moment, He Made A Single Step 
 Forward, While He Watched The Knob Turn, The Door Open Slowly, And 
 Connie Cross The Threshold And Pause Confusedly As If Blinded By The 
 Lamplight. 
   
 The Pencil Dropped From His Hand; He Heard It Fall With A Thud Upon The 
 Carpet; And Then He Heard Nothing Else Except The Beating Of His Own 
 Arteries In His Ears. Time Seemed To Stop Suddenly And Then To Whirl 
 Madly Forward While He Stood Rooted To His Square Of Carpet, With His 
 Useless Hands Hanging Helplessly At His Sides. It Was The Supreme 
 Instant His Life That Was Before Him, And Yet He Was As Powerless To 
 Meet It As The Infant In The Womb To Avert The Hour Of Its Birth. Dumb 
 And Petrified By Very Force Of The Will Within Him, He Waited Immovable 
 On The Spot Of Carpet, While His Eyes Saw Only The Visible Wreck Of The 
 Woman Who Stood Upon His Threshold. His Dreams Of Her Had Been Visions 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 3 Pg 192 
 Of Horror, But The Most Pitiable Of Them Had Fallen Far Short Of The 
 Reality As He Saw It Now. From Her Streaked Blonde Hair, Already 
 Powdered With Gray, To Her Exhausted Bedraggled Feet, Which Seemed 
 Hardly To Support Her Trembling Body, She Stood There, Terrible And Full 
 Of Anguish, Like The Most Tragic Ghost Of His Imaginary Horrors. Face To 
 Face With Each Other They Were Held Speechless By The Knowledge That 
 There Was No Word By Which The Past Might Be Justified Or The Future 
 Made Any Easier For Them To Meet; And As In All Great Instants Of Life 
 The Thing That Was Said Between Them Was Uttered At Last In An Unbroken 
 Silence. 
   
 Then As They Stood There A Slight Sound Changed The Atmosphere Of The 
 Room. The Shade Of The Lamp, Which Adams Had Raised Too High, Cracked 
 With A Sharp Noise And Fell To The Floor In Broken Pieces; And At The 
 Shock Connie Gave A Hysterical Shriek And Lifted To Adams The Frightened 
 Glance Of Her Ignorant Blue Eyes. 
   
 "I--I Had Nowhere To Go And I Am Very Tired," She Said, In Her Old Tone 
 Of Childish Irritation, "I Don't Think I Was Ever So Tired In My Life 
 Before." 
   
 Her Voice Snapped The Icy Constraint Which Held Him And He Knew Now That 
 He Was Ready To Face The Hour On Its Own Terms. His Will Was As The 
 Strength Of The Strong, And He Felt Standing There, That He Would Ask 
 No Quarter Of His Fate. Let It Be What It Would, He Knew That It Was 
 Powerless To Close On Him Again The Door Of His Prison. 
   
 "Then You Did Right To Come Back; Connie," He Said Quietly, "You Did 
 Right To Come Back." 
   
 His Words Rang Out Almost Exultantly, But The Moment Afterward He Was 
 Terrified By Their Immediate Effect--For Connie--Throwing Herself 
 Forward Upon The Floor, Burst Wildly Into One Of Her Old Spells Of 
 Weeping, Calling Upon God, Upon Himself, And Upon The Man Whom She Had 
 Loved And Hated. The Frenzied Beating Of Her Small, Helpless Hands, The 
 Streaming Of Her Tears, The Quiver Of Her Wrecked, Emaciated Body, The 
 Convulsed Agony That Looked At Him From Her Face--These Things Made 
 Their Appeal To That Compassion By Which He Lived, And He Found That The 
 Way Which He Had Thought Difficult Had Become To Him As Familiar As The 
 Breath He Drew. 
   
 "It Is All Over Now--There Is Nothing But Quiet Here," He Said. 
   
 She Lay Still Instantly At His Words, Her Face Half Hidden In The 
 Cushions Of The Sofa; And Turning From Her He Went Into The Dining-Room 
 And Brought Back A Glass Of Wine And Some Bread And Milk. As He Fed Her, 
 She Opened Her Lips With A Little Humble, Tired Movement Which Was 
 Utterly Unlike The Connie Whom He Remembered. Was It Possible That In 
 Her Degradation She Had Learned The First Rare Grace Of Spirit Which Is 
 Meekness? 
   
 "Take It All, Every Drop," He Said Once, When She Would Have Pushed The 
 Spoon Away; And Turning Obediently, She Swallowed The Last Drops Of 
 Milk. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 3 Pg 193 
   
 "It Is Very Good," She Murmured As He Rose To Put Down The Emptied 
 Bowl. The Words Brought A Quick Moisture Of Recollection To His Eyes, 
 And He Found Himself Asking If The Time Had Come At Last When Connie 
 Could Find Pleasure In The Taste Of Bread And Milk? 
   
 After This She Lay Motionless On The Floor Until He Carried Her Upstairs 
 And Placed Her Upon The Bed As He Had Done So Often On Her Past Reckless 
 Nights. But There Was No Remembrance In His Mind Now Of That Former 
 Service; And As He Turned On The Electric Light And Drew The Blankets 
 Over Her Shivering Body, He Was Hardly Surprised Even By The Readiness 
 With Which Events, Left Perfectly Alone, Had Managed To Adjust 
 Themselves. Why He Had Acted As He Had Done, He Could Not Have Told; Had 
 He Stopped To Think Of It He Would Probably Have Said That He Had Seen 
 No Other Way. Connie As His Wife, As The Mother Even Of His Dead Child, 
 Had Come To Mean Nothing To Him Any More; But Connie As Something Far 
 Deeper Than This--As The Object Of Inexhaustible Compassion, As The 
 Tragedy Of Mortal Failure--Possessed Now A Significance Which No Human 
 Relation Could Cover By A Name. Beyond The Abandoned Wife, He Could 
 See--Not Less Clearly Than On That Night When He Had Waited In The Snow 
 Outside The Opera House--The Small Terrified Soul Caught In A Web Of 
 Circumstance From Which There Was No Escape. 
   
 Standing At Daybreak In The Centre Of His Study Floor, He Remembered The 
 Last Humble Look With Which She Had Closed Her Eyes; And He Saw In It A 
 Gratitude That Was Like The First Faint Dawning Of The Daybreak. For The 
 First Time In His Life He Had Watched In Connie's Eyes The Struggle For 
 Consciousness Which Was As The Struggle Of An Animal In Whom A Soul Had 
 Come Painfully To Birth; And The Memory Of It Sent A Strange, An Almost 
 Divine Happiness To His Heart. Was It Possible That The Will Of God Had 
 Moved Here While He Slept? Was It Possible, He Asked Himself In An 
 Ecstasy Of Wonder, That In Spite Of All Sin, All Failure, All 
 Degradation, All Despair, He Had Really Won Connie's Soul? 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 4 Pg 194 
 Adams Watches In The Night And Sees The Dawn 
   
   
 For A Week After Her Home-Coming Connie Lay Ill And Almost Unconscious 
 In Her Chamber. Since Her First Wild Outburst On The Night Of Her Return 
 She Had Allowed No Hint Of Remorse Or Gratitude To Break Through The 
 Obstinate Silence Upon Her Lips; And The Impression She Gave Adams, On 
 His Occasional Visits To Her Room, Was Of A Soul And Body Too Exhausted 
 For Even The Slightest Emotional Activity. She Had Made Of Her Life What 
 Her Desire Prompted; And She Seemed To Suggest Now, Lying There Wrecked 
 And Silent, That The End Of All Self-Gratification Is In Utter Weariness 
 Of Spirit. 
   
 Then Gradually, As The Long June Days Went By, Life Appeared Feebly To 
 Renew Itself And Move Within Her. At First It Was Only A Look, Raised To 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 4 Pg 195 
 Adams, When He Bent Over Her, With Something Of The Pathetic, Expectant 
 Wonder Of A Sick Child; Then A Helpless Expressive Gesture, And At Last 
 He Found In Her Eye A Clearer And Fuller Recognition Of Her Surroundings 
 And Of Himself. The Gratitude He Had Seen On That Terrible Night 
 Surprised Him Again One Day As He Spoke To Her; And After This He Began 
 To Watch For Its Reappearance With An Eagerness Which He Himself Found 
 It Difficult To Understand. Of All Virtues Gratitude Was Most Lacking 
 In The Woman Who Had Been His Wife; And This Slow, Silent Growth Of It, 
 Showed To Him As No Less A Miracle Than The Coming Of The Spring Or The 
 Resurrection Of The Dead Earth Beneath The Rain. There Were Moments 
 Even, When He Felt That He Must Move Softly, Lest He Disturb The Working 
 Of Those Spiritual Forces Which Make For Righteousness By Strange And 
 Wonderful Ways. Strange And Wonderful, Indeed, He Had Found, Beyond All 
 Miracles Were The Means By Which The Soul Might Be Brought Back To The 
 Knowledge Of Its Immortal Destiny. Was It Not Under The Eyes Of A Harlot 
 That He, Himself, Had Seen The Mystery Which Is God's Goodness? And So 
 Might He Not Find That Connie Had Learned, In The Depths Of Her 
 Self-Abasement, That The Light Which Surrounds The Pleasures Of The 
 Senses Is Full Of Enchantment Only For The Distant, Deluded Vision? 
   
 But There Were Other Hours When He Asked Himself If He Were Strong 
 Enough For The Thing Which He Had Before Him--Strong Enough, Not For The 
 Swift, Exalted Moment Of The Sacrifice, But For The Daily Fret And 
 Torment Of A Perfectly Unpoetic Self-Denial. Would The Light Go Out 
 Again And The Exaltation Fail Him Before Many Days? Then He Remembered 
 The Pathos Of Her Struggling Smile, The Timid Groping Of Her Hands, The 
 Deprecating Gratitude He Found In Her Look; And It Seemed To Him When 
 All Other Resources Were Exhausted--When His Energy, His Duty, His 
 Religion Flagged--That His Compassion Would Still Remain In His Heart To 
 Render Possible All That Was Impossible To His Will Alone. Compassion! 
 This, He Came To Find In The End, Was The True And The Necessary Key To 
 Any Serious Understanding Of Life. 
   
 He Was Still Putting These Questions To Himself, When, Coming In One 
 Afternoon From His Office, He Found Connie, Wearing A Loose Fitting 
 Wrapper Of Some Pale Coloured Muslin, Awaiting Him In An Easy Chair 
 Beside Her Window. It Was The First Time That She Had Left Her Bed; And 
 When He Offered A Few Cheerful Congratulations Upon Her Recovered 
 Strength, She Looked Up At Him With A Face Which Still Showed Signs Of 
 The Hideous Ravages Of The Last Few Months. In Her Hollowed Cheeks, In 
 Her Quivering Unsteady Lips, And In The Dull Grayness Of Her Hair, From 
 Which The Golden Dye Had Faded, He Could Find Now No Faint Traces Of 
 That Delicate Beauty He Had Loved. At Less Than Thirty Years She Looked 
 The Embodiment Of Uncontrolled And Reckless Middle-Age. 
   
 "It Isn't That I'm Really Better--Not Really," She Said, In Answer To 
 His Look Almost More Than To His Words, "But The Doctor Told Me That I 
 Must Get Up And Dress To-Day. He Wants Me To Go To The Hospital This 
 Afternoon." 
   
 Her Voice Was So Composed--So Unlike The Usual Nervous Quiver Of Her 
 Speech--That At First He Could Only Repeat Her Words In The Vague 
 Blankness Of His Surprise. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 4 Pg 196 
 "To The Hospital? Then You Are Ill?" 
   
 "I Asked Him Not To Tell You," She Replied, With A Tremor Of The Lips 
 Which Had Almost The Effect Of A Smile, "He Didn't Understand--He 
 Couldn't, So I Wanted You To Hear It First From Me. I'll Never Be Any 
 Better--I'll Never Get Really Well Again--Without Such An Operation--And 
 He Thinks, He Says, That It Must Be At Once--Without Delay." 
   
 As She Spoke She Stretched Out Her Hand For A Glass Of Water That Stood 
 At Her Side, And In The Movement Her Wedding Ring Slipped From Her Thin 
 Finger And Rolled To A Little Distance Upon The Floor. Picking It Up He 
 Handed It Back To Her, But She Placed It Indifferently Upon The Table. 
 Her Attitude, With Its Dull Quiet Of Sensation, Impressed Him At The 
 Instant Almost More Than The Greater Importance Of What She Told Him. 
 Was It This Acceptance Of The Thing, He Wondered, Which Appeared To Rob 
 It Of All Terror In Her Mind? And Was The Dumb Resignation In Her Face 
 And Voice, Merely An Expression Of The Physical Listlessness Of Despair? 
 There Was About Her Now That Peculiar Dignity Which Belongs Less To The 
 Human Creature Than To The Gravity Of The Moment In Which He Stands; And 
 He Remembered Vividly That He Had Never Watched Any Soul In The Supreme 
 Crisis Of Its Experience Without The Stirring In Himself Of A Strange 
 Sentiment Of Reverence. Even The Most Abandoned Was Covered In That 
 Exalted Hour By Some Last Rag Of Honour. 
   
 "Then You Have Suffered Great Pain?" He Asked, Because No Other Words 
 Came To Him That He Could Utter. 
   
 "Weeks Ago--Yes--But Not Now. It Does Not Hurt Me Now." 
   
 "And You Thought, Yourself, That It Was So Serious As This?" 
   
 She Shook Her Head. "Oh, No, I Never Thought Of It. When It Came I Drove 
 It Off With Brandy." 
   
 The Absence In Her Of Any Appeal For Pity Moved Him Far More Than The 
 Loudest Outcry Could Have Done. 
   
 "Poor Girl!" He Said, And Stopped In Terror, Lest He Had Obtruded The 
 Personal Element Into A Situation Which Seemed So Devoid Of Feeling. 
   
 "It Was A Pity," She Returned To His Surprise Very Quietly; And Without 
 Looking At Him, She Spoke Presently In A Voice Which Struck Him As 
 Having A Strange Quality Of Hollowness, "It Was A Pity; But It Can't Be 
 Helped. You Might Try And Try Because You're Made That Way, But It 
 Wouldn't, In The End, Do The Very Least Bit Of Good. If I Live Till 
 To-Morrow And Get Well And Come Out Of The Hospital, It Will All Be Over 
 Just Exactly What It Was Before. Not At First, Perhaps--Oh, I Know, Not 
 At First!--But Afterward, When Things Bored Me, The Taste Would Come 
 Back Again." 
   
 "Hush!" He Said Quickly, With A Forward Movement, "Hush! You Shall Not 
 Think Such Things!" 
   
 "The Taste Would Come Back Again!" She Repeated, With A Kind Of Savage 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 4 Pg 197 
 Sternness. "I Am Not Strong And The Doctor Told Me Long Ago That There 
 Was No Cure." 
   
 "Then He Lied--There Is Always A Cure." 
   
 "There Is Not--There Is Not," She Insisted Harshly, Dwelling Upon The 
 Words Because In Them She Found A Keen Agony Which Relieved Her Lethargy 
 Of Bitterness, "I Am Different Now For A While, But It Would Not Last. I 
 Am Very Tired, But After I Have Rested--" 
   
 "What Would Not Last?" He Broke In, As She Hesitated Over Her Unfinished 
 Sentence. 
   
 For A Long Pause She Waited, Searching In Vain, He Saw, For Some Phrase 
 Which Might Describe The Thing She Had Not As Yet Thought Out Clearly In 
 Her Own Dazed Mind. Then, At Last, She Spoke Almost In A Whisper, "The 
 Freedom." 
   
 The Word Gave Him A Sudden Shock Of Gladness. "Then You Are Free 
 To-Day--You Feel It Now?" 
   
 She Raised Her Hand, Pushing Back Her Faded Hair, As If She Would Look 
 More Closely At An Object Which Rose But Dimly Before Her Eyes. 
   
 "I Want You To Know All--Everything," She Went On Slowly, "I Want You To 
 Understand How Low I Sank--To What Fearful Places I Came In The End. At 
 First It Was Merely Discontent, And I Felt That It Was Only Happiness I 
 Wanted. I Loved Him--For A Time, I Think, I Really Loved Him--You Know 
 Whom I Mean--But At Last, When I Began To Weary Him, When He Knew What I 
 Took, He Cursed Me And Left Me Alone In The Street One Night. Then A 
 Devil Was Let Loose Within Me--I Wanted Hell, And I Went 
 Further--Further." 
   
 Her Voice Was Still Lifeless, But While She Spoke He Felt His Teeth Bite 
 Into His Lips With A Force Which Stung Him To The Consciousness Of What 
 She Said. There Awoke In Him A Triumph, Almost A Glory In The Rage He 
 Felt, And He Knew Now Why Men Had Always Believed In A Hell--Why They 
 Had Even Come At Last To Hope For It. 
   
 "I Never Meant To Come Back," She Began Again, After A Pause In Which 
 The Tumult Of His Feeling Seemed To Fill The Air With Violence, "But I 
 Had Reached The End Of Wretchedness, I Was Tired And Hungry, And Nothing 
 That Happened Really Mattered. If You Had Told Me To Go Away I Don't 
 Think That I Should Have Cared. I Meant, In That Case, To Sell My Coat 
 For A Bottle Of Brandy, And To Put An End To It All While I Had The 
 Courage Of Drink." 
   
 Her Bent Disordered Head Trembled Slightly, But She Appeared To Him To 
 Have Passed In Her Misery Beyond The Bounds Where Any Human Sympathy 
 Could Be Of Use. She Was No Longer His Wife, Nor He Her Husband; She Was 
 No Longer Even A Fellow Mortal Between Whom And Himself There Might Be 
 Some Common Ground Of Understanding. Absolutely Alone And 
 Unapproachable, He Knew That She Had Reached The Ultimate Desolation Of 
 Her Soul. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 4 Pg 198 
   
 "It Was Because You Did Not Send Me Away That I Have Told You," She Said 
 Quietly. "It Is Because, Too, I Want You To Know That I--Understand." 
   
 To The End Her Thoughts Were But Poor Faltering, Half-Developed Things; 
 Yet He Knew What She Meant To Say, Though She, Herself, Had Divined It 
 Only Through Some Pathetic, Dumb Instinct. 
   
 "I Think I Know What You Mean," He Said Presently, When It Appeared To 
 Him That Her Confession Was Over; But After He Had Spoken She Took Up 
 Her Sentence With The Dead Calm In Which She Had Come To Rest. 
   
 "There's No Use Saying That I'm Sorry And Yet--I Am Sorry." 
   
 Her Look Of Weariness Was So Great That With The Words She Seemed To 
 Lose Instantly Her Remaining Strength; And He Gathered In Her Silence, 
 An Impression That She Was Reaching Blindly Out To Him For Help. 
   
 "Promise Me That You Will Stay With Me As Long As They Will Let You?" 
 She Implored, With A Quick Return To Her Convulsion Of Childish Terror. 
   
 He Promised Readily; But When The Time Came For Her To Go, She Had 
 Entirely Recovered Her Aspect Of Listless Fortitude, And During The 
 Short Drive To The Hospital, She Talked, Without Stopping, Of Perfectly 
 Indifferent Subjects--Of The Dust In The Street, The Deserted Look Of 
 The Closed Houses, And Of The Wedding Present She Wished To Buy For A 
 Maid Who Was To Be Married In The Coming Week. 
   
 "Let It Be Something Really Thee," She Asked, And This Single Request 
 Marked For Him, As She Uttered It, A Change In Connie Greater Than Any 
 He Had Seen Before. 
   
 At The Hospital He Expected A Relapse Into Her Hysterical Dread, But, To 
 His Surprise, She Watched The Surgical Preparations With A Calmness In 
 Which There Was A Kind Of Passive Curiosity. While The Nurse Laid Out 
 Her Nightdress On The Small White Iron Bed, And Braided Her Hair In Two 
 Long, Slender Braids, She Assisted With A Patient Attention To Such 
 Details Which Seemed Hardly To Account For The Terrible Event For Which 
 They Prepared. Her Hair, He Noticed, Was Combed Straight Back From Her 
 Forehead In The Fashion In Which She Might Have Worn It As A Little 
 Girl; And This Simple Change Gave Her An Expression Which Was Almost One 
 Of Injured Innocence. Age And Experience Were Suddenly Wiped Out Of Her 
 Face, Not By Any Act Of Mental Illumination, But Merely By The Ruffles 
 Of Her White Nightdress And The Simple Childish Fashion In Which They 
 Had Combed Her Hair. 
   
 When They Came To Take Her Upstairs To The Operating Room Upon The Roof, 
 He Would Have Gone Also, But After Reaching The Top Landing, She Turned 
 To Him Upon The Threshold And Told Him That She Would Rather He Came No 
 Farther. 
   
 "I Can Bear Everything Better Alone Now," She Said; And So When They 
 Carried Her Inside He Turned Away And Entered The Little Waiting Room 
 At The Other End Of The Hail. The Place Stifled Him With The Odours Of 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 4 Pg 199 
 Chloroform And Ether, And Going To The Window, He Threw Open The Blinds 
 And Leaned Out Into The Street. With The First Breath Of Air In His 
 Face, He Realised That It Was He, And Not Connie, Who Had Turned Coward 
 At The End; And He Wondered If It Were Merely Waning Vitality Which Had 
 Assumed In Her An Appearance Of Such Natural Dignity. She Had Lived Her 
 Life In Terror Of Imaginary Horrors And Now In Presence Of The Actual 
 Suffering She Could Show Herself To Be Absolutely Unafraid. Not She But 
 He, Himself, Now Shivered At The Thought Of Her Unconscious Body In The 
 Surgeon's Hands, And He Felt That It Would Be A Positive Relief To 
 Change Places With Her At The Instant--To Confront In Her Stead Either 
 The Returning Pangs Of Consciousness Or The Greater Mystery Of Her 
 Unawakening. 
   
 In The Small, Newly Painted Room, Which Smelt Of Chloroform And Varnish, 
 He Sat Staring Through The Half Open Door To The Hail Where A Surgeon, 
 Wearing A Shirt With Roiled-Up Sleeves, Had Just Hurried By. A Nurse 
 Passed Carrying A Basin From Which A Light Steam Rose; Then A Young 
 Doctor With A Brown Leather Bag, And Presently A Second Surgeon, Who 
 Walked Rapidly, And Turned Up His Cuffs Over His Fat Arms, Just Before 
 He Reached The Threshold. 
   
 Connie Was No Longer His Wife, Adams Had Told Himself; And Yet This Fact 
 Seemed Not In The Least To Lessen The Importance Of The News Which He 
 Awaited. For The First Time He Understood Clearly How Trivial Are Any 
 Mere Social Relations Between Man And Woman. 
   
 Then, While He Watched The Hand Of The Clock On The Mantel Drag Slowly 
 Around The Great Staring Face, He Compelled His Thoughts Gradually To 
 Detach Themselves From Her Helpless Body, As It Lay Outstretched On The 
 Table Across The Hail, And To Regather About The Girlish Figure He Had 
 First Seen Under Cherry Coloured Ribbons. The Old Vibrant Emotion Was 
 But Ashes; Try As He Would He Could Bring Back But A Pale Memory Of That 
 Golden Moment; And This Emptiness Where There Had Once Been Life, 
 Lessened Forever In His Mind The Value Of All Purely Human Passion. But 
 His Personal Attitude To Her Was Lost Suddenly In His Wider Regret That 
 Such Tragedies Were Possible--That The Girl With The Delicate Babyish 
 Face Could Have Become A Creature To Whom Vice Was A Desired Familiar 
 Thing. 
   
 "Did The Outcome Lie In My Hands? And Might I Have Prevented It?" He 
 Demanded. "If I Had Stood In The Way Of Her Impulse, Would It Have 
 Turned Aside From Me At The Last?" And The Salvation Of The World 
 Appeared To Him To Depend Upon Just This Courageous Coming Between Evil 
 And The Desire Which It Invited--For Had Not The Soul Of The Weak, Been 
 Delivered, In Spite Of All Moral Subterfuge, Into The Power Of The 
 Strong? 
   
 Then His Vision Broadened, And He Looked From Connie's Life To The Lives 
 Of Men And Women Who Were More Fortunate Than She; But All Human 
 Existence, Everywhere One And The Same, Showed To Him As The Ceaseless 
 Struggle After The Illusion Of A Happiness Which Had No Part In Any 
 Possession Nor In Any Object. He Thought Of Laura, With The Radiance Of 
 Her Illusion Still Upon Her; Of Gerty, Groping After The Torn And 
 Soiled Shreds Of Hers; Of Kemper, Stripped Of His And Yet Making The 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 4 Pg 200 
 Pretence That It Had Not Left Him Naked; Of Perry Bridewell, Dragging 
 His Through The Defiling Mire That Led To Emptiness; And Then Of All The 
 Miserable Multitude Of Those That Live For Pleasure. And He Saw Them, 
 One And All, Bound To The Wheel Which Turned Even As He Looked. 
   
 The Door Across The Hail Opened And They Brought Connie Out, Breathing 
 Quietly And Still Unconscious. He Followed The Stretcher Downstairs; But 
 After They Had Placed Her Upon The Bed, He Came Back Again And Sat Down, 
 As Before, In The Little Stuffy Room. Presently He Would Go Home, He 
 Thought, But As The Night Wore On, He Became Too Exhausted For Further 
 Effort, And Closing His Eyes At Last, He Fell Heavily Asleep. 
   
 When He Awoke The Day Was Already Breaking, And The Electric Light 
 Burned Dimly In The General Wash Of Grayness. About Him The Atmosphere 
 Had A Strangely Sketchy Effect, As If It Had Been Laid On Crudely With A 
 Few Strokes From A Paint Brush. 
   
 The Window Was Still Open, And Going Over To It He Leaned Out And Stood 
 For Several Minutes, Too Tired To Make The Necessary Effort To Collect 
 His Thoughts, While He Looked Across The Sleeping City To The Pale Amber 
 Dawn Which Was Beginning To Streak The Sky With Colour. The Silence Was 
 Very Great; In The Faint Light The Ordinary Objects Upon Which He 
 Gazed--The Familiar Look Of The Houses And The Streets--Appeared To Him 
 Less The Forms Of A Material Substance Than The Result Of Some Shadowy 
 Projection Of Mind. All The Earth And Sky Showed Suddenly As Belonging 
 To This Same Transient Manifestation Of Thought; And Gradually, As He 
 Stood There, His Perceptions Were Reinforced By A Sense Which Is Not 
 That Of The Eye Nor Of The Ear. He Neither Saw Nor Heard, Yet He Felt 
 That The Spirit Had Moved Toward Him On The Face Of The Dawn; And The 
 "I" Was Not More Evident To His Illumined Consciousness Than Was The 
 "Thou." He Beheld God, With The Vision Which Is Beyond Vision; The Light 
 Of His Eyes, The Breath Of His Body Were Less Plain To Him Than Was The 
 Mystery Of His Soul. And The Universal Life, He Saw--Spirit And Matter, 
 Fibre And Impulse, Vibration Of Atom And Quiver Of Aspiration--Was But 
 An Agonised Working Out Into This Consciousness Of God. With The 
 Revelation His Own Life Was Changed As By A Miracle Of Nature; Right 
 Became No Longer Difficult, But Easy; And Not The Day Only, But His 
 Whole Existence And The End To Which It Moved Were Made As Clear To Him 
 As The Light Before His Eyes. 
   
 Again He Thought Of Laura, Still Under The Troubled Radiance Of Her 
 Illusion, And His Heart Dissolved In Sympathy, Not For Her Only, But For 
 All Mankind--For Kemper, Whom She Loved, For Gerty, For Connie, For 
 Perry Bridewell. "They Seek For Happiness, But It Is Mine," He Thought; 
 "And Because They Seek It First, It Will Keep Away From Them Forever. It 
 Is Not To Be Found In Pleasure, Nor In The Desire Of Any Object, Nor In 
 The Fulfilment Of Any Love--For I, Who Have None Of These Things, Am 
 Happier Than They." 
   
 He Turned Away From The Window Toward The Door, And It Was At This 
 Instant That One Of The Nurses Ran Up To Him. 
   
 "We Thought You Had Gone Home," She Said, "So We Have Rung You Up By 
 Telephone For An Hour--" She Stopped And Paused Hesitating For An 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 4 Pg 201 
 Instant; Then Meeting The Quiet Question In His Look, She Added Simply, 
 "Your Wife Died, Still Unconscious, An Hour Ago." 
   
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 5 Pg 202 
 Treats Of The Poverty Of Riches 
   
   
 On The Morning Of Connie's Death, Gerty, Dropping In Shortly Before 
 Luncheon, Brought The News To Laura. 
   
 "Do You Know For Once In My Life My Social Instinct Has Failed Me," She 
 Confessed In Her First Breath, "I Am Perfectly At A Loss As To How The 
 Situation Should Be Met. Ought One To Ignore Her Death Or Ought One Not 
 To?" 
   
 "Do You Mean," Asked Laura, "That You Can't Decide Whether To Write To 
 Him Or Not?" 
   
 "Of Course That's A Part Of It, But, The Main Thing Is To Know In One's 
 Own Mind Whether One Ought To Regard It As An Affliction Or A Blessing. 
 It Really Isn't Just To Providence To Be So Undecided About The 
 Character Of Its Actions--Particularly When In This Case It Appears To 
 Have Arranged Things So Beautifully To Suit Everybody Who Is Concerned." 
   
 "It Was, To Say The Least, Considerate," Remarked Laura, With The 
 Cynical Flavour She Adopted Occasionally From Kemper Or From Gerty, "And 
 It Is Certainly A Merciful Solution Of The Problem, But Does It Ever 
 Occur To You," She Added More Earnestly, "To Wonder What Would Have 
 Happened If She Hadn't Died?" 
   
 "Oh, She Simply Had To Die," Said Gerty, "There Was Nothing Else That 
 She Could Do In Decency--Not That She Would Have Been Greatly 
 Influenced By Such A Necessity," She Commented Blandly. 
   
 "I'd Like All The Same To Know How He Would Have Met The Difficulty, For 
 That He Would Have Met It, I Am Perfectly Assured." 
   
 "Well, I, For One, Can Afford To Leave My Curiosity Unsatisfied," 
 Responded Gerty; Then She Added In A Voice That Was Almost Serious. "Do 
 You Know There's Really Something Strangely Loveable About The Man. I 
 Sometimes Think," She Concluded With Her Fantastic Humour, "That I Might 
 Have Married Him Myself With Very Little Effort On Either Side." 
   
 "And Lived Happily Forever After On The _International Review?_" 
   
 "Oh, I Don't Know But What It Would Be Quite As Easy As To Live On 
 Clothes. I Don't Believe Poverty, After All, Is A Bit Worse Than 
 Boredom. What One Wants Is To Be Interested, And If One Isn't, Life Is 
 Pretty Much The Same In A Surface Car Or In An Automobile. I Don't 
 Believe I Should Have Minded Surface Cars The Least Bit," She Finished 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 5 Pg 203 
 Pensively. 
   
 "Wait Till You've Tried Them--I Have." 
   
 "What Really Matters Is The One Great Thing," Pursued Gerty With A 
 Positive Philosophy, "And Money Has About As Much Relation To Happiness 
 As The Frame Has To The Finished Picture--All It Does Is To Show It Off 
 To The World. Now I Like Being Shown Off, I Admit--But I'd Like It All 
 The Better If There Were A Little More Of The Stuff Upon The Canvas." 
   
 "If You Were Only As Happy As I Am!" Said Laura Softly. 
   
 For A Moment Gerty Looked At Her With A Sweetness In Which There Was An 
 Almost Maternal Understanding. "I Wish I Were, Darling," Was What She 
 Answered. 
   
 Her Hard, Bright Eyes Grew Suddenly Wistful, And She Looked At Laura As 
 If She Would Pierce Through The Enveloping Flesh To The Soul Within. Of 
 All The People She Had Ever Known Laura Was The Only One, She Had 
 Sometimes Declared, Who Had Never Lied To Her. The World Had Lied To 
 Her, Kemper Had Lied To Her, Perry Had Lied To Her More Than All; And 
 She Had Come At Last To Feel, Almost Without Explaining It To Herself, 
 That The Truth Was In Laura As In Some Obscure, Mystic Sense The 
 Sacrament Was In The Bread And Wine Upon The Altar. Though She Herself 
 Was Quite Content To Slip Away From Her Ideals, She Felt That To Believe 
 In Somebody Was As Necessary To Her Life As The Bread She Ate. It Made 
 No Difference That She Should Number Among The Profane Multitude Who 
 Found Their Way Back To The Fleshpots, But Her Heart Demanded That Her 
 Friend Should Remain Constant To The Prophetic Vision And The Promised 
 Land. Laura Was Not Only The Woman Whom She Loved, She Had Become To Her 
 At Last Almost A Vicarious Worship. What She Couldn't Believe Laura 
 Believed In Her Stead; Where She Was Powerless Even To Be Good, Laura 
 Became Not Only Good But Noble. And Through All Her Friendship, From 
 That First Day At School To The Present Moment, She Remembered Now That 
 No Hint Of Jealousy Had Ever Looked At Her From Laura's Eyes. "A Thrush 
 Could Hardly Borrow The Plumage Of A Paroquet," Trent Had Said; And The 
 Brilliant Loveliness Which Had Disturbed The Peace Of Other Women She 
 Had Known, Had Produced In Laura Only An Increasing Delight, A More 
 Fervent Rapture. As She Looked On The Delicate, Poetic Face Of The 
 Woman Before Her, She Found Herself Asking, Almost In Terror, If It Were 
 Possible That Her Friend Was Not Only Reconciled But Positively 
 Enamoured Of The World? Had Laura, Also, Entered Into A Rivalry Which 
 Would Be As Relentless And More Futile Than Her Own? Would She, Too, 
 Waste Her Life In An Effort To Give Substance To A Shadow And To Render 
 Permanent The Most Impermanent Of Earthly Things? But The Question Came 
 And Went So Abruptly That The Minute Afterward She Had Entirely 
 Forgotten The Passage Of It Through Her Mind. 
   
 "What A Bore Of A Summer I Shall Have," She Observed Lightly, With One 
 Of Those Swift Changes Of Subject So Characteristic Of Her Restless 
 Temperament. "The Doctor Has Ordered Me Back To Camp In The Adirondacks, 
 And Unless Arnold And Yourself Take Pity On Me Heaven Knows Whether I'll 
 Be Any Better Than A Fungus By The Autumn." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 5 Pg 204 
 She Was Arranging Her Veil Before The Mirror As She Spoke, And She 
 Paused Now To Survey With A Dissatisfied Frown One Of The Large Black 
 Spots Which Had Settled Across Her Nose. "I Told Camille I Couldn't 
 Stand Dots Like These," She Remarked With An Equally Irrelevant Flash Of 
 Irritation. 
   
 "Of Course I'll Come For July If You Ask Me," Replied Laura, Ignoring 
 The Question Of The Veil For The Sake Of The More Important Issue, "I 
 Can't Answer For Arnold, But I Think It's Rather What He's Looking 
 Forward To." 
   
 "Oh, He Told Me Yesterday That He'd Come If I Could Persuade You. He 
 Didn't Have The Good Manners To Leave Me In Doubt As To What The 
 Attraction For Him Would Be." 
   
 Laura's Happy Laugh Rewarded Her. "This Will Be The First Summer He's 
 Spent In America For Ten Years," She Replied, "So I Hope He'll Find Me 
 Worth The Sacrifice Of Europe." 
   
 "Then He's Really Given Up His Trip Abroad For You?" 
   
 "There's Hardly Need To Ask That--But Don't You Think It A Quite 
 Sufficient Reason?" 
   
 "Oh, I Guess So," Returned Gerty Carelessly. "Once I'd Have Been Quite 
 Positive About It, But That Was In The Days When I Was A Fool. Now I'm 
 Not Honestly Sure That You're Doing Wisely To Let Him Stay. A Man Is 
 Perfectly Capable Of Making A Sacrifice For A Woman In The Heat Of 
 Emotion, But There Are Nine Chances To One That He Never Forgives Her 
 For It Afterward. Take My Advice, My Dear, And Simply _Make_ Him 
 Go--Shove The Boat Off Yourself If There's No Other Way. He'll Probably 
 Love You Ten Times More While He's Missing You Than He Will Be Able To 
 Do Through A Long Hot Summer At Your Side." 
   
 "Gerty, Gerty, How Little You Know Love!" Said Laura. 
   
 "My Dear, I Never Pretended To. I've Given My Undivided Time And 
 Attention To Men." 
   
 "Well, He Doesn't Want In The Least To Go--He'll Tell You So Himself 
 When You See Him--But I Do Wish That Your Views Of Life Weren't Quite So 
 Awful." 
   
 Gerty Was Still Critically Regarding Her Appearance In The Mirror, And 
 Before Answering She Ran Her Hand Lightly Over The Exquisite Curve Of 
 Her Hip In Her Velvet Gown. 
   
 "I'm Sorry They Strike You That Way," She Responded Amiably, "Because 
 They Are Probably What Your Own Will Be Five Years From Now. Then I May 
 Positively Count On You Both For July?" She Asked Without The Slightest 
 Change In Her Flippant Tone, "And I'll Try To Decoy Billy Lancaster For 
 August. He's Still Young Enough To Find The Virgin Forest Congenial 
 Company." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 5 Pg 205 
 "But I Thought Perry Hated Him!" Exclaimed Laura, In Surprise. 
   
 "He Does--Perfectly--But I Can't See That You've Made An Argument Out Of 
 That. Billy's Really Very Handsome--I Wish You Knew Him--He's One Of The 
 Few Men Of My Acquaintance Who Has Any Hair Left On The Top Of His 
 Head." 
   
 Her Flippancy, Her Shallowness Left Laura For A Minute In Doubt As To 
 How She Should Accept Her Words. Then Rising From Her Chair, She Laid 
 Her Restraining Hands On Gerty's Shoulders. 
   
 "My Darling, Do Be Careful," She Entreated. 
   
 The Shoulders Beneath Her Hands Rose In An Indifferent Shrug. "Oh, I've 
 Been Careful," Laughed Gerty, "But It Isn't Any Fun. Perry Isn't Careful 
 And He Gets A Great Deal More Out Of Life Than I Do." 
   
 "A Great Deal More Of What?" Demanded Laura. 
   
 For An Instant Gerty Thought Attentively, While The Mocking Gayety 
 Changed To A Serious Hardness Upon Her Face. 
   
 "More Forgetfulness," She Answered Presently. "That's What We All Want 
 Isn't It? Call It By What Name You Will--Religion, Dissipation, 
 Morphia--What We Are All Trying To Do Is To Intoxicate Ourselves Into 
 Forgetting That Life Is Life." 
   
 "But It Isn't What I Want," Insisted Laura, "I Want To Feel Everything 
 And To Know That I Feel It." 
   
 "Well, You're Different," Rejoined Gerty. "What I'm After Is To Be 
 Happy, And I Care Very Little What Form It Takes Or What Kind Of 
 Happiness Mine May Be. I've Ceased To Be Particular About The Details 
 Even--If Billy Lancaster Is My Happiness I'll Devour Him And Never Waste 
 An Idle Moment In Regret. Why Should I?--Perry Doesn't." 
   
 "So There's An End To Perry?" 
   
 "An End! Oh, You Delicious Child, There's Only A Beginning. Perry's Cult 
 Is The Inaccessible--Present Him With All The Virtues And He Will Run 
 Away; Ignore Him Utterly And He'll Make Your Life Insupportable By His 
 Presence. For The Last Twenty-Four Hours I Assure You He's Stuck To 
 Me--Like A Briar." 
   
 "Then It's All For Perry--I Mean This Billy?" Asked Laura. 
   
 Gerty Shook Her Head While Her Brows Grew Slowly Together In An 
 Expression Of Angry Bitterness. 
   
 "It Was In The Beginning," She Responded, "But I'm Not Sure That It Is 
 Now--Not Entirely At Any Rate. The Boy's Worship Is Incense To My 
 Nostrils, I Suppose. Yes, I've Always Been A Monument Of Indifference To 
 Men, But I Confess To An Increasing Enthusiasm For Billy's Looks." 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 5 Pg 206 
 "An Enthusiasm Which Perry Doesn't Share?" 
   
 The Laughter In Gerty's Voice Was A Little Sad. "I Declare It Really 
 Hurts Me That I've Ceased To Notice. The Poor Silly Man Offered To Give 
 Up His Golf To Go Motoring With Me Yesterday Afternoon, And I Went And 
 Was Absolutely Bored To Death. I Couldn't Help Thinking How Much More 
 Interesting Billy Is." 
   
 Her Veil Was At Last Adjusted To Her Satisfaction; And With A Last 
 Brilliant Glance, Which Swept Her Entire Figure, She Turned From The 
 Mirror And Paused To Draw On Her Gloves While She Bent Over And Kissed 
 Laura Upon The Cheek. 
   
 "Goodbye, Dear, If Billy Turns Out To Be Any Real Comfort, I'll Share 
 Him With You." 
   
 "Oh, I Have A Billy Of My Own!" Retorted Laura; And Though Her Words 
 Were Mirthful There Was A Seriousness In Her Look Which Lasted Long 
 After The Door Had Closed Upon Her Friend. She Was Thinking Of Adams, 
 Wondering If She Should Write To Him, And How She Should Word Her Note; 
 And Whether Any Expression Of Sympathy Would Not Sound Both Trivial And 
 Absurd? Then It Seemed To Her That There Was Nothing That She Could Say 
 Because She Realised That She Stood Now At An Impassable Distance From 
 Him. The Connection Of Thought Even Which Had Existed Between Them Was 
 Snapped At The Instant; And She Felt That She Was No Longer Interested 
 In The Things Which Had Once Absorbed Them. The Friendship Was Still 
 There, She Supposed, But The Spirit Of Each, The Thoughts, The Very 
 Language, Had Become Strangely Different, And She Told Herself That She 
 Could No Longer Speak To Him Since She Had Lost The Power To Speak In 
 Any Words He Might Understand. 
   
 "How Can I Pretend To Value What No Longer Even Interests Me?" She 
 Thought, "And If I Attempt To Explain--If I Tell Him That My Whole 
 Nature Has Changed Because I Have Chosen One Thing From Out The 
 Many--What Possible Good, After All, Could Come Of Putting This Into 
 Words? Suppose I Say To Him Quite Frankly: 'I Am Content To Let 
 Everything Else Go Since I Have Found Happiness?' And Yet Is It True 
 That I Have Found It? And How Do I Know That This Is Really Happiness, 
 After All?" 
   
 It Seemed To Her, As She Asked The Question, That Her Whole Life 
 Dissolved Itself Into The Answer; And She Became Conscious Again Of The 
 Two Natures Which Dwelt Within Her--Of The Nature Which Lived And Of The 
 Nature Which Kept Apart And Questioned. She Remembered The Night After 
 Her First Meeting With Kemper And The Conviction She Had Felt Then That 
 Her Destiny Lay Mapped Out For Her In The Hand Of God. Her Soul On That 
 Night Had Seemed, In The Words Of The Quaint Old Metaphor, A Vase Which 
 She Held Up For God To Fill. The Light Had Run Over Then, But Now, She 
 Realised With A Pang, It Had Ceased To Shine Through Her Body, And Her 
 Vase Was Empty. Even Love Had Not Filled It For Her As Her Dream Had 
 Done. 
   
 Again She Asked If It Were Happiness, And Still She Could Find No 
 Answer. The Quickened Vibration Of The Pulses, The Concentration Of 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 5 Pg 207 
 Thought Upon A Single Presence, The Restless Imagination Which Leaped 
 From The Disappointment Of To-Day To The Possible Fulfilment Of 
 To-Morrow--These Things Were Bound Up In Her Every Instant, And Yet 
 Could She, Even In Her Own Thoughts, Call These Things Happiness? She 
 Told Off Her Minutes By Her Heartbeats; But There Were Brief Suspensions 
 Of Feeling When She Turned To Ask Herself If In All Its Height And Force 
 And Vividness There Was Still No Perceptible Division Between Agony And 
 Joy. 
   
 For At Times The Way Grew Dark To Her And She Felt That She Stumbled 
 Blindly In A Strange Place. From The Heights Of The Ideal She Had Come 
 Down To The Ordinary Level Of The Actual; And She Was As Ignorant Of The 
 Forces Among Which She Moved As A Bird In The Air Is Ignorant Of A Cage. 
 Gerty Alone, She Knew, Was Familiar With It All--Had Travelled Step By 
 Step Over The Road Before Her--Yet, She Realised That She Found No Help 
 In Gerty, Nor In Any Other Human Being--For Was It Not Ordained In The 
 Beginning That Every Man Must Come At Last Into The Knowledge Of The 
 Spirit Only Through The Confirming Agony Of Flesh? 
   
 "No, I Am Not Happy Now Because He Is Not Utterly And Entirely Mine," 
 She Thought, "There Are Only A Few Hours Of The Day When He Is With 
 Me--All The Rest Of The Twenty-Four He Leads A Life Of Which I Know 
 Nothing, Which I Cannot Even Follow In My Thoughts. Whom Does He See In 
 Those Hours? And Of What Does He Think When I Am Not With Him? Next Week 
 In The Adirondacks We Shall Be Together Without Interruption, And Then I 
 Shall Discern His Real And Hidden Self--Then I Shall Understand Him As 
 Fully As I Wish To Be Understood." And That Coming Month Appeared To Her 
 Suddenly As Luminous With Happiness. Here, Now, She Was Dissatisfied And 
 Incapable Of Rest, But Just Six Days Ahead Of Her She Saw The Beginning 
 Of Unspeakable Joy. An Impatient Eagerness Ran Through Her Like A Flame 
 And She Began Immediately The Preparations For Her Visit. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 6 Pg 208 
 The Feet Of The God 
   
   
 When Kemper, In An Emotional Moment, Had Declared That He Would Give Up 
 His Trip To Europe, He Had Expected That Laura Would See In The 
 Sacrifice A Convincing Proof Of The Stability Of His Affection; But, To 
 His Surprise, She Had Accepted The Suggestion As A Shade Too Much In The 
 Natural Order Of Events. Europe, Empty Of His Presence, Would Have Been 
 In Her Eyes A Desert; And That Any Grouping Of Mountains Or Arrangement 
 Of Buildings Could Offer The Slightest Temptation Beside The Promised 
 Month In The Adirondacks Appeared To Her As Entirely Beyond The 
 Question. If The Truth Were Told He Did Immeasurably Prefer The Prospect 
 Of A Summer Spent By Her Side, But He Felt At The Same Time--Though He 
 Hardly Admitted This Even To Himself--That In Remaining In America He 
 Was Giving Up A Good Deal Of His Ordinary Physical Enjoyments. It Was 
 Not That He Wanted In The Very Least To Go; He Felt Merely That He Ought 
 To Have Been Seriously Commended Because He Stayed Away. Since He Had 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 6 Pg 209 
 Never Relinquished So Much As A Day's Pleasure For Any Woman In The 
 Past, He Was Almost Overcome By Appreciation Of His Present Generosity. 
   
 For A Time The Very Virtue In His Decision Produced In Him The Agreeable 
 Humour Which Succeeds Any Particular Admiration For One's Own Conduct. 
 Of All States Of Mind The Complacent Suavity Resulting From Self-Esteem 
 Is, Perhaps, The Most Pleasantly Apparent In One's Attitude To Others; 
 And No Sooner Had Kemper Assured Himself That He Had Made An Unusual 
 Sacrifice For Laura Than He Was Rewarded By The Overwhelming Conviction 
 That She Was More Than Worth It All. In Some Way Peculiar To The 
 Emotions Her Value Increased In Direct Relation To The Amount Of 
 Pleasure He Told Himself He Had Given Up For Her Sake. 
   
 When At Last He Had Freed Himself From A Few Financial Worries He Had 
 Lingered To Attend To, And Was Hurrying Toward Her In The Night Express 
 Which Left New York, He Assured Himself That Now For The First Time He 
 Was Comfortably Settled In A State Which Might Be Reasonably Expected To 
 Endure. The Careless First Impulse Of His Affection Would Wane, He 
 Knew--It Were As Useless To Regret The Inevitable Passing Of The 
 Spring--But Beyond This Was It Not Possible That Laura Might Hold His 
 Interest By Qualities More Permanent Than Any Transient Exaltation Of 
 The Emotions? He Thought Of The Soul In Her Face Rather Than Of The Mere 
 Changing Accident Of Form--Of The Smile Which Moved Like An Edge Of 
 Light Across Her Eyes And Lips--And This Rare Spiritual Quality In Her 
 Appearance Appealed To Him At The Instant As Vividly As It Had Done On 
 The First Day He Saw Her. This Charm Of Strangeness Had Worn With Him As 
 Nothing In The Domain Of The Sensations Had Worn In His Life Before. In 
 The Smoking Car, When He Entered It A Little Later, He Found A Man Named 
 Barclay, Whom He Saw Sometimes At His Club; And They Sat Talking 
 Together Until Long After Midnight. Barclay Was A Keen, Aggressively 
 Energetic Person, Who Lived In A Continual Rush Of Affairs, Which Had 
 Not Kept Him From A Decided Over-Development About The Waist. He Was 
 Married To An Invalid Wife, Who, As He Now Told Kemper, Was Threatened 
 With Consumption And Condemned To Spend The Whole Year In The 
 Adirondacks. Kemper Had Seen Her Once, And Though She Was Neither Pretty 
 Nor Intelligent, He Remembered Her With Respect As The Owner Of A 
 Property Of Forty Millions. The Knowledge Of This Fact Covered Her With 
 A Certain Distinction In His Mind, And Because Of It He Condoned Almost 
 Unconsciously The Absence In Her Of Any More Personal Attraction Than 
 That Of Wealth. The Marriage, So Far As He Could Judge, Had Been, From 
 Barclay's Point Of View, Entirely Satisfactory--Domestic Affairs 
 Occupied No Place Whatever In The Man's Existence, Which Was Devoted 
 Exclusively To Speculation In Stocks; And He Had Solved The Eternal 
 Problem Of Philosophy By Reducing Life, Not To A Formula, But To A 
 Figure. Of Scandal There Had Never Blown The Faintest Breath About Him; 
 He Paid Apparently As Little Attention To Other Women As To His Wife; 
 And Money, Kemper Decided Now, Not Without An Irrational Envy, Appeared 
 To Satisfy As Well As Absorb His Every Instant. 
   
 "Yes, It's A Great Thing To Get Back To The Woods Now And Then," Barclay 
 Was Saying, "I Usually Manage To Run Up For Sunday--And Then I Find Time 
 To Look Over All The News Of The Week." 
   
 By "News," Kemper Was Aware He Meant Only The Changes In The Stock 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 6 Pg 210 
 Market; But His Recognition That The Man Had Not So Much As A Casual 
 Interest Above The Accumulation Of Wealth, Did Not Detract In The Least 
 From The Admiration With Which Barclay Inspired Him. This Was A Life 
 That Counted! He Thought With Generous Enthusiasm; And Success 
 Incarnate, He Felt, Was Riding Beside Him In The Train. 
   
 Barclay Had Drawn A Paper From His Pocket, And Was Following The List Of 
 Figures With The Point Of His Toothpick. Though There Was But One 
 Subject Upon Which He Possessed Even The Rudiments Of Knowledge, The 
 Fact That He Could Speak With Authority In A Single Department Of Life 
 Had Conferred Upon Him A Certain Dignity Of Manner; And So Kemper, As He 
 Fell Into Conversation With Him, Found Himself Wishing That He Might 
 Arrange To Be Thrown With Him During The Month Of His Vacation. Money, 
 Though He Himself Was Ignorant Of It, Possessed Almost As Vital An 
 Attraction For Him As He Found In Love. 
   
 But The Next Morning, When He Descended From The Train And Saw Laura 
 Awaiting Him Against A Green Background Of Forest, All Recollection Of 
 Barclay And His Financial Genius, Was Swept From His Thoughts. As He 
 Looked At Her Small Distinguished Figure, And Met Her Charming Eyes, 
 Radiant With Love, He Told Himself That He Had, Indeed, Got To The Good 
 Place In His Life At Last. The Pressure Of Her Hand, The Surrender In 
 Her Look, The Tremor Of Her Voice, Appealed To His Inflammable Senses 
 With A Freshness Which He Found As Delicious As The Dawn In Which They 
 Stood. 
   
 "To Think That I'm Only Beginning To Live When I've Past Forty Years!" 
 He Exclaimed, As They Rolled In The Little Cart Over The Forest Road. 
   
 Laura Held The Reins, And While She Drove He Flung His Arm About Her 
 With A Boyish Laugh. 
   
 "But This Is Heavenly--How Did You Manage It?" He Asked. 
   
 "Oh, I Came Alone In The Cart Because I Wanted These First Minutes All 
 To Ourselves," She Answered, "I Didn't Want Even Gerty To See How Happy 
 We Could Be." And It Seemed To Her As She Spoke That All That She Had 
 Demanded Of Happiness Was Fulfilled At Last. 
   
 A Week Later She Could Still Tell Herself That The Dream Was True. 
 Kemper Had Thrown Himself Into His Love Making With All The Zest, As He 
 Said, Of His College Days; And There Was In His Complete Absorption In 
 It Something Of The Exclusive Attention He Devoted To A Game Of 
 Billiards. It Was A Law Of His Nature That He Should Live Each Minute To 
 Its Utmost And Let It Go; And This Romance Of The Forest Was Less An 
 Idyl To Him Than A Delicious Experience Which One Must Enjoy To The 
 Fullest And Have Over. There Were Moments Even When Laura Saw His 
 Temperamental Impatience Awake In His Face, As If His Thoughts Were 
 Beginning Already To Plunge From The Fruition Of To-Day After The 
 Capricious Possibility Which Lies In To-Morrow. In The Midst Of The 
 Forest, Under The Gold And Green Of The Leaves, She Realised At Times 
 That His Moods Were More In Harmony With The City Streets And The Rush 
 Of His Accustomed Eager Life. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 6 Pg 211 
 And Yet To Kemper The Month Was Full Of An Enchantment Which Belonged 
 Half To His Actual Existence And Half To Some Fairy Stories He 
 Remembered From His Childhood. It Was More Beautiful Than The Reality, 
 But Still It Was Not Real; And This Very Beauty In It Reminded Him At 
 Times Of The Vanishing Loveliness Which Results From A Mere Chance 
 Effect--Of The Sunlight On The Green Leaves Or The Flutter Of Laura's 
 Blue Gown Against The Balsam. In The Very Intensity Of His Enjoyment 
 There Was At Certain Instants Almost A Terrified Presentiment; And 
 Following This There Were Periods Of Flagging Impulse When He Asked 
 Himself Indifferently If A Life Of The Emotions Brought As Its Nemesis 
 An Essential Incapacity For Love? If Laura Had Only Kept Up The Pursuit 
 A Little Longer, He Complained Once In A Despondent Mood, If She Had 
 Only Fluttered Her Tinted Veil As Skilfully As A Woman Of The World 
 Might Have Done. "Yet Was It Not For This Unworldliness--For This Lack 
 Of Artifice In Her--That I First Loved Her?" He Demanded, Indignant With 
 Her, With Nature, With Himself. She Had Surrendered Her Soul, He 
 Realised, With The Frankness Of Inexperience; The Excitement Of The 
 Chase Was Now Over Forever, And He Saw Stretching Ahead Of Him Only The 
 Radiant Monotony Of Love. Was The Satiety With Which, In These Listless 
 Instants, He Looked Forward To It Merely, He Questioned Bitterly, The 
 Inevitable End To Which His Life Had Reached? 
   
 Lying In A Hammock On The Broad Piazza Of Gerty's Camp, He Asked Himself 
 The Question While He Watched Laura, Who Stood At A Little Distance 
 Examining Some Decorations For The Hall. 
   
 "Oh, I'd Choose The Green Tapestry By All Means," He Heard Her Say; And 
 He Told Himself As He Listened To The Ordinary Words That If She Had 
 Been A Perfect Stranger To Him He Would Have Known Her Voice For The 
 Voice Of A Woman Who Was In Love. Was She Really Lacking, He Asked 
 Himself In Amusement, In The Quality Which He Called For Want Of A 
 Better Phrase--"The Finesse Of Sentiment?" Or Was The Angelic Candour Of 
 Her Emotion Only The Outward Expression Of That Largeness Of Nature 
 Which Inspired Him At Times With A Respect Akin To Awe? The Absence Of 
 Any Coquetry In Her Attitude Impressed Him As The Final Proof Of Her 
 Inherent Nobility; And Yet There Were Instants When He Admitted Almost 
 In Spite Of Himself, That He Would Have Relished The Display Of A Little 
 Amorous Evasion. Laura, He Believed, Was Perfectly Capable Of A Great 
 Emotion, But The Great Emotion, After All, He Concluded Humorously, Was 
 Less Conducive To His Immediate Enjoyment Than Was The Small Flirtation. 
   
 The Two Women Were Still Discussing The Bit Of Tapestry; And While He 
 Watched Them, A Ray Of Sunlight, Piercing The Bough Of A Maple Beside 
 The Porch, Felt With A Charming Brightness Upon Gerty's Hair Each 
 Brilliant Red Strand He Noticed, Appeared To Leap Instantly Into Life 
 And Colour. 
   
 It Was Pure Effect, A Mere Creation Of Changing Light And Shade And Yet, 
 As He Looked, He Was Aware Of A Sudden Tremor In His Blood. The Time Had 
 Been When Gerty Had Rather Liked Him, He Remembered--Or Was It, After 
 All, Merely That He Had Exaggerated The Subtle Suggestion In Her Look? 
 Something Had Passed Between Them--Just What It Was, He Could Hardly 
 Recall With Distinctness--A Mere Fervent Glance, Perhaps A Half Spoken 
 Phrase, Or At Most A Cousinly Kiss Which Had Contained The Passion Of A 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 6 Pg 212 
 Lover. The Incident Had Passed, And Though He Told Himself Now That It 
 Had Vanished Entirely From His Memory, He Felt That It Had Left Behind A 
 Vague Longing That It Might Some Day Occur Again. 
   
 "I Can't For The Life Of Me Remember What It Was, Nor How It Happened," 
 He Thought. "It Was Out Of The Question, Of Course, That I Should Fall 
 In Love With Perry's Wife--And Yet, By Jove, I'd Like To Know What She 
 Felt About It All. I'm Glad," He Added Earnestly After A Moment, "That 
 Laura Doesn't Happen To Be The Flirtatious Kind." Nevertheless He 
 Continued To Wonder, As He Looked At The Sunlight On Gerty's Hair, If 
 There Could Have Been, After All, A Grain Of Truth In Those Hints She 
 Had So Carelessly Let Fall. 
   
        
   
 Early In August Laura Was Summoned Home By The Illness Of Angela; And 
 Kemper, After A Few Days Spent With Her In The City, Started Upon A 
 Yachting Cruise Which Occupied Him For Two Weeks. On The Day Of His 
 Return, When As Yet He Had Not Seen Laura He, Accidentally Ran Across 
 Adams Shortly Before The Luncheon Hour. 
   
 "Look Here, Old Chap, Let's Lunch Together At The Club," He Suggested, 
 Adding With A Laugh, "If I Let You Go Now, Heaven Knows When I'll Be So 
 Fortunate As To Knock Up Against You Any More." 
   
 Adams Readily Agreed; And A Little Later, As They Sat Opposite Each 
 Other At Table, He Showed, As Usual, A Sincere Enough Enjoyment Of His 
 Companion's Society. Though He Had Never Taken Kemper As He Said, "Quite 
 Seriously," There Were Few Men Whom He Found It Pleasanter To Meet At 
 Dinner. 
   
 "I Wish You Came More In My Way," He Observed, While Kemper Gave The 
 Order, With The Absorbed Attention He Devoted To Such Details, "I Don't 
 Believe I've Laid Eyes On You But Once In The Last Six Months." 
   
 "Oh, You've Something Better To Think Of," Returned Kemper Carelessly. 
 "Do You Know," He Pursued After A Moment's Thought, "I'm Sometimes 
 Tempted To Wish That I Could Change Place With You And Get Beaten Into 
 Shape For Some Serious Work. It's The Only Thing In Life That Counts, 
 When You Come To Think Of It," He Concluded With An Irritation Directed 
 Less Against Himself Than Against His Fate. 
   
 "Well, I Can't Say I'd Object To Standing In Your Shoes For A While," 
 Rejoined Adams, "I've A Taste For The Particular Brand Of Cigar You 
 Smoke." 
   
 "Oh, They're Good Enough--In Fact Everything Is Good Enough--It Comes 
 Too Easily, That's The Trouble. I've Never Found Anything Yet That Was 
 Seriously Worth Trying For." 
   
 Adams Regarded Him For A Moment With A Smile, To Which His Whimsical 
 Humour Lent A Peculiar Attraction. 
   
 "I, On The Other Hand, Have Tried Pretty Hard For Some Things I Didn't 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 6 Pg 213 
 Get," He Answered, "The Difference Between Us, I Guess, Is That I Had A 
 Tough Time In My Youth And You Didn't. A Man's Middle Age Is Usually A 
 Reaction From His Youth." 
   
 "I've Never Had A Tough Time Anywhere," Replied Kemper, Almost In 
 Disgust, "It's' Been Too Soft--That's The Deuced Part Of It. And Yet 
 I've Got The Stuff In Me For A Good Fight If The Opportunity Would Only 
 Come My Way." 
   
 The Expression Of Satiety--Of Moral Weariness--Was Etched Indelibly 
 Beneath The Brightness Of His Smile; And Yet, Adams, Looking At Him, 
 Remembered, A Little Bitterly, That This Man Had Won From Him The Woman 
 Whom He Loved. To Kemper Belonged Both Her Body And Her Spirit; The 
 Touch Of Her Hand No Less Than The Charm Of Her Intellect! At The 
 Thought His Old Human Longing For Her Awoke And Stirred Restlessly 
 Again In His Heart. 
   
 "Yes, The Only Thing Is To Have One Particular Interest," Resumed 
 Kemper, "To Occupy Oneself With Something That Is Eternally Worth While. 
 Now, Look At Barclay--I Went Up In The Train With Him To The 
 Adirondacks, And, Upon My Word, I Never Envied A Man More In My Whole 
 Life. You Know Barclay, Don't You?" 
   
 Adams Nodded. "I'd Find A Little Of His Financial Ability Rather Useful 
 Myself," He Observed. Then He Broke Into A Boyish Laugh At A 
 Recollection The Name Aroused, "The Last Time I Had A Talk With Him Was 
 At The Beginning Of Our War With Spain, And He Told Me He Was Interested 
 In News From The Front Because He Happened To Own Some Spanish Bonds." 
   
 Kemper Joined In The Laugh. "Oh, He's Narrow, Of Course," He Replied, 
 "But All The Same I'd Like The Chance To Get In His Place. By Jove, I 
 Don't Believe He's Ever Bored A Minute Of The Day!" And It Seemed To 
 Him, As He Thought Of Barclay, That His Own Life Held Nothing For Him 
 But Boredom From This Time On. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 7 Pg 214 
 In Which Kemper Is Puzzled 
   
   
 Late In October Kemper Went South For A Couple Of Weeks Shooting; And It 
 Was Not Until The First Day Of November That He Parted From His 
 Companions Of The Trip And Returned To New York. He Had Enjoyed Every 
 Minute Of His Absence--Until The Last Few Days When The Strangeness 
 Appeared, Somehow, To Have Worn From His Out-Door Life--And As He Drove 
 Now, On The Bright Autumn Afternoon, From The Station To His Rooms, He 
 Was Agreeably Aware That He Had Never Felt Physically Or Mentally In 
 Better Shape. After A Fortnight Spent Away From Civilisation, He Found A 
 Refreshing Excitement In Watching The Crowd In Fifth Avenue, The Passing 
 Carriages, And Particularly The Well-Dressed Figures Of The Women In 
 Their Winter Furs. Taken All In All Life Was A Pretty Interesting 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 7 Pg 215 
 Business, He Admitted; And He Remembered With Eagerness That He Would 
 See Laura Again Before The Day Was Over. Though He Had Barely Thought Of 
 Her Once During The Past Two Weeks, This Very Forgetfulness Served To 
 Surround Her With The Charm Of Novelty In His Awakened Memory. 
   
 A Woman In A Sable Coat Rolled Past Him In An Automobile; And His Eyes 
 Followed Her With An Admiration Which Seemed Strangely Mixed With A 
 Vague Longing In His Blood--A Longing Which Was In Some Way Produced By 
 The Animated Street, The Changing November Brightness And The Crispness 
 Of Frost Which Was In The Air. Then He Caught Sight Of A Milliner's 
 Pretty Assistant Carrying A Hat Box Along The Sidewalk, And His Gaze 
 Hung With Pleasure Upon Her Trim And Graceful Figure In A Cheap Cloth 
 Coat Bordered With Imitation Ermine. A Feeling Of Benevolence, Of 
 Universal Good Will Pervaded His Heart; His Chest Expanded In A Sigh Of 
 Thankfulness, And It Seemed To Him That He Asked Nothing Better Than To 
 Be Alive. He Was In The Mood When A Man Is Grateful To God, Charitable 
 To Himself And Generous To His Creditors. 
   
 The Cab Stopped Before His Door, And While He Paid The Man, He Gave 
 Careful Directions To Wilkins About The Removal Of His Shooting Traps. 
 Then He Entered The Apartment House, And Passing The Elevator With His 
 Rapid Step, Went Gayly Humming Up The Staircase. 
   
 On The Third Landing He Paused A Moment To Catch His Breath, And As He 
 Laid His Hand, The Instant Afterward, On The Door Of His Sitting-Room, 
 He Became Aware Of A Faint, Familiar, And Yet Almost Forgotten Perfume, 
 Which Entered His Nostrils From The Apartment Before Which He Stood. The 
 Perfume, Distant As It Was, Revived In Him Instantly, With That Curious 
 Association Between Odours And Visual Memory, A Recollection Which Might 
 Otherwise Have Slumbered For Years In His Brain--And Though He Had Not 
 Thought Of Jennie Alta Once During The Summer And Autumn Months, There 
 Rose Immediately Before Him Now The Memory Of Her Dressing Table With 
 The Silver Box In Which She Kept Some Rare Highly Scented Powder. Every 
 Incident Of His Acquaintance With Her Thronged In A Disordered Series 
 Through His Brain; And It Was With An Odd Presentiment Of What Awaited 
 Him, That He Entered His Sitting Room And Found Her Occupying A Chair 
 Before His Fireside. When She Sprang Up And Faced Him In Her Coarsened 
 Beauty, It Seemed The Most Natural Thing In The World That He Should 
 Accept The Fact Of Her Presence With Merely An Ironic Protest. 
   
 "So You've Turned Up Again," He Remarked, As He Held Out His Hand With A 
 Smile, "I Was Led To Believe That The Last Parting Would Be Final." 
   
 "Oh, It Was," She Answered Lightly, "But There's An End Even To 
 Finality, You Know." 
   
 The Flute-Like Soprano Of Her Voice Fell Pleasantly Upon His Ears, And 
 As He Looked Into Her Face He Told Himself That It Was Marvellous How 
 Well She Had Managed To Preserve An Effect Of Youthfulness. Under The 
 Flaring Wings In Her Hat Her Eyes Were Still Clear And Large And Heavy 
 Lidded, Her Thin Red Lips Still Held The Shape Of Their Sensual Curve. A 
 White Fur Boa Was Thrown Carelessly About Her Neck, And He Remembered 
 That Underneath It, Encircling Her Short Throat There Was The Soft 
 Crease Of Flesh Which The Ancient Poets Had Named "The Necklace Of 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 7 Pg 216 
 Venus." 
   
 "Well, I Can But Accept This Visit As A Compliment, I Suppose," He 
 Observed With Amiable Indifference, "It Means--Doesn't It? That You Won 
 Your Fight About The Opera Contract?" 
   
 An Expression Of Anger--Of The Uncontrolled, Majestic Anger Of A 
 Handsome Animal, Awoke In Her Face, And She Pulled Off Her Long White 
 Glove As If Seeking To Free Herself From Some Restraint Of Custom. Her 
 Hand, He Noticed, With A Keen Eye For Such Feminine Details, Was Large, 
 Roughly Shaped And Over Fleshy About The Wrist. 
   
 "I'd Starve Before I'd Sing Again By That Old Contract," She Responded. 
 "No, It's Not Opera--Parker Refused To Pay Me What I Asked And I Held 
 Out To The End--I Shall Sing In Concert For The First Time, And I Shan't 
 Be Happy Until I Have Every Seat In The Opera House Left Empty." 
   
 He Laughed With An Acute Enjoyment Of Her Repressed Violence. "Oh, 
 You're Welcome To Mine," He Returned Good-Humouredly, "But What Is The 
 Day Of Your Great First Battle?" 
   
 "Not Until December. I'm Going West And South Before I Sing In New 
 York." 
   
 "Then You Aren't Here For Much Of A Stay, After All?" 
   
 She Shook Her Head And The Orange Coloured Wings In Her Hat Waved To And 
 Fro. 
   
 "Only A Few Days At A Time. After Christmas I Sail Back Again. In 
 February I'm Engaged For Monte Carlo." 
   
 Then Her Expression Underwent A Curious Change--As If Personality, 
 Colour, Passion Pulsed Into Her Half Averted Face--And The Hard 
 Professional Tones In Which She Had Spoken Were Softened As If By An 
 Awakening Memory. 
   
 "So You Still Keep My Portrait, I See," She Observed, Lifting Her Eyes 
 To The Picture Above The Mantel, "You Don't Hate Me, Then, So Bitterly 
 As I Thought." 
   
 He Shrugged His Shoulders With The Gesture He Had Acquired Abroad. 
   
 "I Did Take It Down, But It Left A Smudge On The Wall, So I Had To Put 
 It Back Again." 
   
 "Then You Sometimes Think Of Me?" She Enquired, With Curiosity. 
   
 "Not When I Can Help It," He Retorted, Laughing. 
   
 His Ironic Pleasantry Stung Her Into An Irritation Which Showed Plainly 
 In Her Face; And She Appeared, For The First Time, To Bend Her 
 Intelligence Toward Some Definite Achievement. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 7 Pg 217 
 "And Is That Always Easy?" She Asked, In A Tone Of Mere Flippant Banter. 
   
 A Petty Impulse Of Revenge Lent Sharpness To His Voice. "Easier Than You 
 Think," He Responded Coolly. 
   
 "Well, I Suppose, I'll Have To Take The Punishment," She Answered, As 
 Lightly As Before; And Then Turning To The Mantelpiece Again, She Raised 
 Her Glance To The Portrait. "I Never Liked It," She Commented Frankly, 
 "He's Got Me In An Unnatural Position--I Never Stood Like That In My 
 Life--And There's An Open Smirk About The Mouth." 
   
 He Saw Her Face In The Admirable Pose Which He Remembered--The Chin Held 
 Slightly Forward, The Cheek Rounded Upward, The Eyes Uplifted--And For 
 An Instant He Waited, Half Hoping That Her Voice Of Wine And Honey Would 
 Roll From Between Her Lips. But She Was Frugal Of Her Notes, He Recalled 
 The Instant Afterward. 
   
 "I've Always Considered It A Pretty Fair Likeness," He Remarked. 
   
 "Then You've Always Considered Me Pretty Hideous," She Flashed Back In 
 Annoyance. 
   
 As She Swung Round Upon The Hearthrug, The White Fur Boa Slipped From 
 Her Throat, And He Saw "The Necklace Of Venus" Above The String Of Opals 
 That Edged Her Collarless Lace Blouse. 
   
 "On The Contrary I Admire You Very Much When You Are In A Good Humour," 
 He Observed In His Genial Raillery. 
   
 "Then You Thought I Had A Temper?" 
   
 He Laughed Softly, As If At A Returning Recollection. "A Perfectly 
 Artistic One," He Answered. 
   
 Her Annoyance Disappeared Beneath His Gaze, And The Smile He Had But 
 Half Forgotten--A Faint Sweet Ripple Of Expression, Which Seemed Less 
 The Result Of An Inner Working Of Intelligence Than Of Some Outward 
 Fascination In The Curve Of Mouth And Chin--Hovered, While He Watched 
 Her Attentively, Upon Her Bright Red Lips. In The Making Of Her The Soul 
 He Recognised Had Dissolved Into The Senses; And Yet The Accident Of Her 
 One Exquisite Gift Had Conferred Upon Her The Effect, If Not The Quality 
 Of Genius. Because Of The Voice In Her Throat She Appeared To Stand 
 Apart By Some Divine Election Of Nature. 
   
 "I Believe I Did Slap Your Face Once," She Confessed, Laughing, "But I 
 Begged Your Pardon Afterward--And You Must Admit That You Were Sometimes 
 Trying." 
   
 "Perhaps--But What's The Use Of Bringing All This Up Now? It's Well 
 Over, Isn't It?" 
   
 "Isn't It?" She Repeated Softly; And He Had An Odd Impression That Her 
 Voice Was Melting Into Liquid Honey. The Thought Made Him Laugh Aloud 
 And At The Sound She Relapsed Quickly Into Her Indifferent Attitude. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 7 Pg 218 
   
 "Of Course, It's Over," She Resumed Promptly. "If It Were Not Over--If I 
 Didn't Feel Myself Entirely Safe--Do You Think That I'd Ever Dare Come 
 Back Again?" 
   
 The Absence Of Any Hint Of Emotion In Her Words Produced In Him An 
 Agreeable Feeling Of Security, And For The First Time He Went So Close 
 To Her That He Might Almost Have Touched Her Hand. 
   
 "Safe?" He Repeated, Smiling, "Then Were You Ever Really In Danger?" 
   
 Her Glance Puzzled Him, And She Followed It A Moment Afterward With A 
 Sentence Which Had The Effect Of Increasing, Rather Than Diminishing, 
 The Obscurity In Which He Floundered. 
   
 "In Danger Of Losing My Head, Do You Mean?" She Asked, "Wasn't That 
 Question Answered When I Ran Away?" 
   
 But The Next Instant She Burst Into A Laugh Of Ridicule, And Threw 
 Herself Back Into The Chair Upon The Hearthrug, With The Particular Fall 
 Of Drapery By Which She Delighted The Eyes Of Her Audience In The Opera 
 House. 
   
 "I Asked Your Man To Bring Me Tea, For I'm Famished," She Remarked; "Do 
 You Think He Has Forgotten It?" 
   
 "He Had, Probably, To Go Out To Buy The Cakes," He Replied, With A Touch 
 Upon The Bell Which Was Immediately Answered By Wilkins Bearing The 
 Silver Tray. As She Rose To Make Tea, Kemper Took The Fur Boa From Her 
 Shoulders And Held It For A Minute To His Nostrils. 
   
 "You Use The Same Perfume, I Notice," He Observed. 
   
 She Waited Until The Door Had Closed Upon Wilkins, And Then Looked Up, 
 Smiling, As She Handed Him His Cup. 
   
 "There Are Two Things One Should Never Change," She Returned, "A Perfume 
 And A Lover." 
   
 With A Laugh He Tossed The Fur Upon The Sofa. "By Jove, You've Arrived 
 At The Conventional Morality At Last." 
   
 "Is It Morality?" She Rejoined Sweetly, "I Thought It Was Experience." 
   
 "Well, Any Way, You're Right And I'm Moral," He Remarked, "The Joy Of 
 Living, After All, Is Not In Having A Thing, But In Wanting It." 
   
 "Which Proves, As I Have Said," She Concluded, "That One Love Is As Good 
 As A Thousand." 
   
 There Was A Sharp Edge Of Ridicule To His Glance; But The Words He Spoke 
 Were Uttered From Some Mere Impulse Of Audacity. 
   
 "I Wonder If I Taught You That?" He Questioned. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 7 Pg 219 
   
 Leaning Slightly Forward She Clasped Her Large White Hands Upon Her 
 Knees; And The Position, While She Kept It, Showed Plainly The Rounded 
 Ample Length Of Her Figure. 
   
 "I Might Tell You The Truth--But, After All, Why Should I?" She 
 Demanded. 
   
 An Emotional Curiosity Which Was Almost As Powerful As Love Flamed In 
 His Face. How Much Or How Little Did She Feel? He Wondered; And The 
 Vanity Which Was The Inspiration Of His Largest As Well As His Smallest 
 Passion, Dominated For The Time All Other Impressions Which She 
 Produced. 
   
 "Would It Be Possible For You To Tell The Truth If You Tried?" He Asked. 
   
 "I Never Try--All The Harm On Earth Comes From Women Telling Men The 
 Truth. It Is The Woman Who Tells The Truth Who Becomes--A Door Mat. If I 
 Ever Felt Myself In Danger Of Speaking The Truth--" She Hesitated For A 
 Quick Breath, While Her Eyes Drew His Gaze As By A Cord--"I Would Run 
 Away." 
   
 It Was His Turn To Breathe Quickly Now. "You Did Run Away--Once." 
   
 "I Ran Because--" Her Voice Was So Low That He Felt It Like A Breath 
 Upon His Cheek. 
   
 "Because?" He Echoed Impatiently; And The Vehemence In His Tone Wrought 
 An Immediate Change In Her Seductive Attitude. With A Laugh That Was 
 Almost Insolent, She Rose To Her Feet And Looked Indifferently Down Upon 
 Him. 
   
 "Oh, That's Over Long Ago And We've Both Forgotten. I Came To-Day Only 
 To Ask The Honour Of Your Presence At My First Concert." 
   
 An Impulse To Irritate Her--To Provoke Her Into An Expression Of Her 
 Hidden Violence--Succeeded Quickly The Curiosity She Had Aroused; And He 
 Felt Again The Fiendish Delight With Which, As A Savage Small Boy, He 
 Had Prodded The Sleeping Wild Animals In Their Cages In The Park. 
   
 "I'm Not Sure That I Can Arrange It," He Responded, "I May Be Off On My 
 Honeymoon, You Know." 
   
 "Ah, Yes," She Nodded While He Saw A Perceptible Flicker Of Her Heavy 
 Eyelids, "But When, If I'm Not Impertinent, Does The Interesting Event 
 Take Place? I Might Be Able To Postpone My Concert," She Concluded 
 Jestingly. 
   
 He Shook His Head. "You Can't Do That Because I Expect It To Last 
 Forever." 
   
 "One Usually Does, I Believe, But It Is Easy To Miscalculate. Have You A 
 Photograph Visible Of The Lady?" 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 7 Pg 220 
 He Shook His Head, But With The Denial, His Glance Travelled To A 
 Picture Of Laura Upon His Desk; And Crossing The Room, She Took It Up 
 And Returned With It To The Firelight, Where She Dropped Upon Her Knees 
 In Order To Study It The More Closely. 
   
 "Has She Money?" Was Her First Enquiry At The End Of Her Examination. 
   
 "If She Has I Am Not Aware Of It," He Retorted Angrily. 
   
 "Well, I Wonder What You See In Her," She Remarked, With Her Attentive 
 Gaze Still Upon The Picture, "Though She Looks As If She'd Never Let A 
 Man Go If She Once Got Hold Of Him." 
   
 Her Vulgar Insolence Worked Him Into An Uncontrollable Spasm Of Anger; 
 And With A Smothered Oath He Wrenched The Photograph From Her And Flung 
 It Into The Open Drawer Of His Desk. 
   
 "She Is Too Sacred To Me To Be Made The Subject Of Your Criticism," He 
 Exclaimed. 
   
 Whether She Was Frankly Offended Or Unaffectedly Amused He Could Not 
 Tell, But She Burst Into So Musical A Laugh That He Found Himself 
 Listening To It With Positive Pleasure. 
   
 "There! There! Don't Be Foolish--I Was Only Joking," She Returned, 
 "Please Don't Think For One Minute That It's Worth My While To Be 
 Jealous Of You." 
   
 "I Don't Think So," He Replied, With Open Annoyance, "But I Wish You 
 Wouldn't Come Here." 
   
 She Had Taken Up Her Fur And Stood Now Wrapping It About Her Throat, 
 While Her Eyes Were Fixed Upon Him With An Expression He Found It 
 Impossible To Read. Was It Anger, Seduction, Passion Or Disappointment? 
 Or Was It Some Deeper Feeling Than He Had Ever Believed It Possible For 
 Her Face To Show? 
   
 "It Is The Last Time, I Promise You," She Said, "But Do You Know Why I 
 Came This Afternoon?" 
   
 "Why?--No, And I Doubt If You Do." 
   
 For A Moment She Was Silent; Then He Watched The Curious Physical 
 Fascination Grow In Her Smile. 
   
 "I Came Because I Had A Very Vivid Dream About You On The Boat Last 
 Night," She Said, "I Dreamed Of That Evening, During The First Winter, 
 In My Dressing-Room After The Second Act In 'Faust.' I Thought I Had 
 Forgotten It, But In My Sleep It All Came Clearly Back Again--Every 
 Minute And--" 
   
 "And?" The Word Burst From Him Eagerly As He Leaned Toward Her. 
   
 "I Broke A Bottle Of Perfume, Do You Remember?" Her Soft Laugh Shook In 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 7 Pg 221 
 Her Full, White Throat, "Your Coat Still Smelt Of It Next Day, You 
 Said." 
   
 Her Wonderful Voice, Softened Now To A Speaking Tone, Seemed To Endow 
 Each Word, Not Only With Melody, But With Form And Colour. They Became 
 Living Things To Him While She Spoke, And The Night He Had Almost 
 Forgotten, Stood Out Presently As In The Glow Of A Conflagration Of His 
 Memory. He Smelt Again The Perfume Which She Had Spilled On His Coat; He 
 Saw Again The Fading Roses, Heaped On Chairs And Tables, That Overflowed 
 Her Dressing Room. It Was The Night Of Her Great Triumph--The Eyes With 
 Which She Looked At Him Still Held The Intoxication Of Her Own 
 Music--And It Was To The Applause Of A Multitude, That, Alone With Her 
 Behind The Scenes, He Had First Taken Her In His Arms. 
   
 "It's All Over, I Tell You," He Said Angrily; "So What's The Use Of 
 This?" 
   
 "It's Never Over!--It's Never Over!" She Repeated In Her Singing Voice. 
   
 She Was Very Close To Him At Last; But Breaking Away With An Effort, He 
 Crossed The Room And Laid His Hand Upon The Door. 
   
 "It Was Over Forever Two Years Ago," He Said, "And Now Good-Bye!" 
   
 He Held Out His Hand, But Without Taking It, She Stood Motionless While 
 She Looked At Him With Her Unchanging Smile. 
   
 "Then I'll Let It Be Good-Bye," She Answered, "But Not This Way--Not 
 Just Like This--" 
   
 Her Voice Mocked Him; And Moved By An Impulse Which Was Half Daring, 
 Half Vanity, He Closed The Door Again And Came Back To Where She Stood. 
   
 "So Long As It's Good-Bye, I'll Have It Any Way You Wish," He Said. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 8 Pg 222 
 Shows That Love Without Wisdom Is Folly 
   
   
 The Odd Part Was, He Admitted Next Morning As He Sat At Breakfast, That 
 From First To Last He Had Not Found One Moment's Pleasure In The Society 
 Of Madame Alta. Pleasure In A Suitable Quantity He Was Inclined To 
 Regard As Sufficient Excuse For The Most Serious Indiscretion; But In 
 This Case The Temptation To Which He Had Yielded Appeared To Him, By The 
 Light Of Day, To Be Entirely Out Of Proportion To Any Actual Enjoyment 
 He Had Experienced. An Impulse Which Was Neither Vanity Nor Daring, But 
 A Mixture Of The Two, Had Swept Away His Resolve Before He Was Clearly 
 Aware, As He Expressed It, "Of The Drift Of The Wind." He Had Not Wanted 
 To Go With Her And Yet He Had Gone, Impelled By Some Fury Of Adventure 
 Which Had Seemed All The Time To Pull Against His Saner Inclinations. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 8 Pg 223 
   
 While He Ate His Two Eggs And His Four Pieces Of Toast, As He Had Done 
 Every Morning For The Last Fifteen Years, He Remembered, With A Mild 
 Pang Of Remorse, That He Had Not Seen Laura Since His Return. Without 
 Doubt She Had Expected Him Last Evening, Had Put On, Probably, Her Most 
 Becoming Gown To Receive Him; And The Thought Of Her Disappointment 
 Entered His Heart With A Very Positive Reproach. This Reproach, Short 
 Lived As It Was, Had The Effect Of Enkindling His Imaginary Picture Of 
 Her; And The Eagerness With Which He Now Looked Forward To His Visit 
 Completely Crowded From His Mind The Recollection That, But For His Own 
 Fault, He Might Have Seen Her With As Little Effort On The Evening 
 Before. 
   
 As He Sat There Over His Breakfast, With An Unfolded Newspaper On The 
 Table Beside Him, He Realised, In A Proper Spirit Of Thankfulness, That 
 He Had Never Felt Himself To Be In A More Thoroughly Domestic Mood. His 
 Face, In Which The Clear Red From His Country Trip Was Still Visible, 
 Settled Immediately Into Its Most Genial Lines, While He Expanded His 
 Chest With A Deep Breath Which Strained The Topmost Button On The New 
 English Waistcoat Which He Wore. The Sober Prospect Of Marriage No 
 Longer Annoyed Him When He Thought Of It, And He Could Even Look Forward 
 Complacently To Seeing The Same Woman Opposite To Him At Breakfast For 
 Twenty Years. 
   
 "By Jove, I've Come To The Place When To Settle Down And Live Quietly Is 
 The Best Thing I Can Do," He Concluded, As He Helped Himself To 
 Marmalade. "I've Reached The Time Of Life When A Man Has To Pull Up And 
 Go Easily Or Else Break To Pieces. It's All Very Well To Take One's 
 Fling In Youth, But Middle Age Is The Period For Retrenchment." 
   
 Then, While He Still Congratulated Himself Upon The Expediency Of 
 Virtue, Another Image Appeared In His Reflections, And The Paternal 
 Instinct, So Strong In Men Of His Kind, Responded Instantly To The 
 Argument Which Clothed His Mere Natural Impulse. Marriage, He Told 
 Himself, Would Mean A Son Of His Own, And The Stability Which He Had 
 Always Missed In Any Relation With A Woman Would Be Secured Through The 
 Responsibility Which Fatherhood Involved. Here Was The Interest His 
 Life Had Lacked, After All--Here Was The Explanation Of That Vacancy His 
 Emotions Had Not Filled; And It Appeared To Him That His Loves Had 
 Failed In Definiteness, In Any Vital Purpose, Because He Had Never Seen 
 Himself Fulfilled In The Son Which He Now Desired. 
   
 "I Shouldn't Wonder If This Is What I've Been Wanting All The Time," He 
 Thought; And The Generous Fervour, The Ideal Purity, He Had Never Been 
 Able To Introduce Into His Romances, Gathered Luminously About The 
 Cradle Of His Unborn Child. It Seemed To Him, As He Smoked His Second 
 Cigar In The Face Of This Paternal Vision, That He Had Stumbled By 
 Accident Upon The One Secret Of Happiness Which He Had Overlooked; And 
 It Was While The Beaming Effulgence Of This Mood Still Lasted, That He 
 Finished His Papers, And Determined To Look In Upon Laura On His Way 
 Down Town. The Memory Of Last Evening Was Placed At The Distance Of A 
 Thousand Miles By His Sudden Change Of Humour, And It Seemed As Useless 
 To Reproach Himself For An Act So Far Beyond His Present Area Of 
 Personality As It Would Have Been To Moralise Upon An Indiscretion In 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 8 Pg 224 
 Ancient History. A Little Later, As He Ascended Laura's Steps, He Felt 
 Serenely Assured That He Had Made The Best Possible Disposition Of His 
 Future. 
   
 To His Surprise She Was Not In Her Sitting-Room When He Entered, And It 
 Was Several Minutes Before She Came In, Very Quietly And With An Averted 
 Face. When He Would Have Taken Her In His Arms, She Drew Back Quickly 
 With An Indignant And Wounded Gesture. Her Eyes Were Burning, But He Had 
 Never Heard Her Speak In So Hard A Voice. 
   
 "You Were In Town Last Night," She Said, And By Her Look More Than Her 
 Words He Was Brought Face To Face With The Suspicion That She Was 
 Capable Of A Jealous Outburst. 
   
 "I Wanted To Come, But I Couldn't," He Answered, With An Attempt At His 
 Quizzical Humour. "I Rushed Here As Soon As I Dared This Morning--Isn't 
 That Enough To Prove Something?" 
   
 Again He Made A Movement To Take Her In His Arms, But Her Face Was So 
 Unyielding That His Hands, Which He Had Outstretched, Fell To His Sides. 
 From The Look In Her Eyes He Could Almost Believe That She Had Grown To 
 Hate Him In The Night; And At The Thought His Earlier Impetuous Emotion 
 Flamed In His Heart. 
   
 "Don't Lie To Me," She Said Passionately, "There's Nothing I Hate So 
 Much As A Lie." 
   
 "I Never Lied To You In My Life," He Answered, As He Drew Back With An 
 Expression Of Cold Reproach--For It Seemed To Him That Her Attack Had 
 Offered An Unpardonable Affront To His Honour. 
   
 "When You Did Not Come I Sent A Note To You--I Feared Something Had 
 Happened--I Hardly Knew What--But Something. The Note Came Back. They 
 Told The Messenger--" The Words Were Wrenched Out Of Her As By Some Act 
 Of Bodily Torture, And, At Last, In Spite Of Her Struggle, She Could Go 
 No Further. Pausing She Looked At Him In Silence, While Her Hand Pressed 
 Into Her Bosom As If To Keep Down By Physical Force The Passion Which 
 She Could No Longer Control By A Mental Effort. The Violence Of Temper 
 Which In A Coarser--A More Flesh-And-Blood Beauty--Would Have Been 
 Repelling And Almost Vulgar, Was In Her Chastened And Ennobled By The 
 Ethereal Quality In Her Outward Form--And The Emotion She Expressed 
 Seemed To Belong Less To The Ordinary Human Impulses Than To Some Finer 
 Rage Of Spirit Which Was Independent Of The Gesture Or The Utterance Of 
 Flesh. 
   
 "And You Suspected What?" He Demanded, In A Hurt And Angry Voice, "You 
 Were Told Some Story By A Servant--And Without Waiting For My 
 Explanation--Without Giving Me A Decent Chance To Clear Myself--You Were 
 Ready, On The Instant, To Believe Me Capable--Of What?" 
   
 Her Suspicion Worked Him Into A Furious Resentment; And The 
 Consciousness That He, Himself, Was At Fault Was Swallowed Up By The 
 Greater Wrong Of Her Unuttered Accusation. While He Spoke He Was 
 Honestly Of The Opinion That Their Whole Future Happiness Was Wrecked By 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 8 Pg 225 
 The Fact That She Believed Him Capable Of The Thing Which He Had Done. 
   
 "I Would Die Now Before I Would Justify Myself To You," He Added. 
   
 Before The Unaffected Resentment In His Face, She Was Suddenly, And 
 Without Knowing It, Thrown Into A Position Of Defence. 
   
 "What Could I Believe? What Else Was There For Me To Believe?" She Asked 
 In A Muffled Voice. Then, As She Looked Up At Him, It Seemed To Her That 
 For The First Time She Saw The Man As He Really Was In The Truth Of His 
 Own Nature--Saw His Egoism, His Vanity, His Shallowness And Saw, Too, 
 With The Same Mental Clearness, That He Had Ceased To Love Her. But At 
 The Instant With This Vision Before Her, She Told Herself That The 
 Discovery Made No Difference--That It No Longer Mattered Whether He 
 Loved Or Hated Her. Afterward, When He Had Gone, Her Perceptions Would 
 Be Blunted Again And She Would Suffer, She Knew; But Now, While She 
 Stood There Face To Face With Him, She Could Not Feel That He Bore Any 
 Vital Part In Her Existence. 
   
 "You Must Believe Whatever Your Feeling For Me Dictates," He Retorted. 
 "I Shall Not Stoop To Meet A Charge Of Which I Am Still Ignorant--I Have 
 Loved You," He Added, "More Than I Have Ever Loved Any Man Or Woman In 
 My Life." 
   
 "You Have Never Loved Me--You Do Not Love Me Now," She Responded Coolly. 
   
 She Had Not Meant To Speak The Words; They Held No Particular Meaning 
 For Her Ears; And Yet They Had No Sooner Passed Her Lips Than She Had A 
 Strange Impression That They Remained Like Detached, Living Things In 
 The Space Between Them. Why She Had Spoken As She Had Done, She Could 
 Not Tell, Nor Why She Had Really Cared So Little At The Instant When She 
 Had Uttered Her Passionate Reproach. Then She Remembered A Wooden Figure 
 She Had Once Seen On The Stage--A Figure That Walked And Moved Its Arms 
 And Uttered Sounds Which Resembled A Human Voice--And It Seemed To Her 
 That She, Herself, Was This Figure And That Her Gestures And The Words 
 She Spoke Were The Result Of The Hidden Automaton Within Her. 
   
 She Saw Him Pass To The Door, Look Back Once, And Then Leave The Room 
 With His Rapid Step, And While Her Eyes Followed Him, She Felt That The 
 Man Who Had Just Gone From Her With That Angry Glance Was A Different 
 Individual From The Man Whom She Still Loved And For Whom She Would 
 Presently Suffer An Agony Of Longing. Then As The Sound Of The Hall Door 
 Closing Sharply Fell On Her Ears, She Passed Instantly From The 
 Deadening Lethargy Of Her Senses Into A Vivid Realisation Of The Thing 
 Which Had Just Happened--Of The Meaning Of The Words Which She Had 
 Spoken And Of The Look Which He Had Thrown Back At Her As He Went. A 
 Passion Of Despair Rose In Her Throat, Struggling For Release Until It 
 Became A Physical Torture, And She Cried Out In Her Loneliness That 
 Nothing Mattered--Neither Truth Nor Falsehood--So Long As She Could Be 
 Brought Again Face To Face With His Actual Presence. 
   
 But--If She Had Only Known The Truth!--Kemper Had Never Desired Her So 
 Ardently As In The Hour When He Told Himself That, By His Own Fault, He 
 Had Lost Her Forever; She Had Never Shown Herself So Worthy To Be Won As 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 8 Pg 226 
 When She Had Looked Down Upon Him From The Remoteness Of Her Disdain. 
 Like Many Men Of Flexible Morality, He Entertained A Profound Respect 
 For Any Rigid Ethical Standard; And Had Laura Maintained Her Unyielding 
 Attitude, He Would Probably Have Suffered A Hopeless Passion For Her To 
 The End Of His Embittered But Still Elastic Experience. Though He Was 
 Hardly Aware Of It, The Only Virtues He Could Perfectly Appreciate Were 
 The Ones Which Usually Present Themselves In A Masculine Shape--Courage, 
 Honour, Fair Play Among Men And Chivalry To Women; And It Seemed To Him 
 That Laura, In Exacting His Entire Fidelity, Was Acting Upon An 
 Essentially Masculine Prerogative. The More She Demanded, The More, 
 Unconsciously To Himself, He Felt That He Was Ready To Surrender--And He 
 Cursed Now The Intervention Of Madame Alta With A Vehemence He Would 
 Never Have Felt Had The Course Of His Love Flowed On Smoothly In Spite 
 Of His Relapses. 
   
 "What A Damned Fool I Made Of Myself," He Confessed, As He Walked 
 Rapidly Away From Gramercy Park. "I Got No Pleasure From Seeing Jennie 
 Alta--Not An Atom Of Enjoyment Even--And Yet I've Ruined My Whole Life 
 Because Of Her, And The Chances Are Nine To One That If I Had It To Go 
 Over I'd Act The Same Blooming Idiot Again. And All The Time I'm More In 
 Love With Laura Than I've Ever Been With Any Woman In My Life. Here's 
 The Whole Happiness Of My Future Swept Away At A Single Blow." 
   
 And The Domestic Dream Which Madame Alta Had Destroyed Was Mapped Out 
 For Him By His Imagination, Until She Seemed, Not Only To Have Prevented 
 His Marriage, But, By Some Singular Eccentricity Of Feeling, To Have 
 Murdered The Son Who Had Played So Large A Part In His Confident 
 Expectations. 
   
 "But Why Should This Have Happened To Me When I'm No Worse Than Other 
 Men?" He Questioned, "When I'm Even Better Than A Hundred Whom I Know? 
 I've Never Willingly Harmed Any Human Being In My Life--I've Never 
 Cheated, I've Never Lied To Get Myself Out Of A Tight Place, I've Never 
 Breathed A Word Against The Reputation Of Any Woman." He Thought Of 
 Brady, Who, Although He Was A Cad And Had Ruined Connie Adams, Was Now 
 Reconciled With His Wife And Received Everywhere He Went; Of Perry 
 Bridewell Whose Numerous Affairs Had Never Interfered With Either His 
 Domestic Existence Or His Appetite. Beside Either Of These Men He Felt 
 Himself To Glow Inwardly With Virtue, Yet He Saw That His Greater 
 Decency Had Not In The Least Prevented His Receiving The Larger 
 Punishment; And It Seemed To Him That He Must Be Pursued By Some Malign 
 Destiny Because, Though He Was So Much Better Than Brady Or Perry 
 Bridewell, He Should Have Been Overtaken By A Retribution Which They Had 
 So Easily Escaped. An Unreasonable Anger Against Laura Pervaded His 
 Thoughts, But This Very Anger Lent Fervour To The Admiration He Now Felt 
 For Her. He Knew She Loved Him And If--As In The Case Of No Other Woman 
 He Had Ever Known--Her Love Could Be Dominated And Subdued By Her 
 Recognition Of What Was Due Her Honour, His Feeling Rather Than His 
 Thought, Assured Him That He Would Be Reduced To A Moral Submission 
 Approaching The Abject. Though He Hoped Passionately That She Would 
 Yield, He Realised In His Heart That He Would Adore Her If She Remained 
 Implacable. Love Is Not Always Pleased With Reverence, But Reverence, He 
 Saw Dimly Through Some Pathetic Instinct For Virtue, Is The Strongest 
 Possible Hold That Love Can Claim. He, Himself, Would Always Live In The 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 8 Pg 227 
 External World Of The Senses, Yet Deep Within Him, Half Smothered By The 
 Clouds Of His Egoism, There Was Still A Blind Recognition Of That Other 
 World Beyond Sense Which He Had Shut Out. To This Other World, For The 
 Time At Least, Laura, With All The Enchantment Of The Distance, Appeared 
 To Belong. 
   
 The Morning, With Its Unusual Burden Of Introspection, Was, Perhaps, The 
 Most Miserable He Had Ever Spent, And After He Had Lunched At His 
 Club--When To His Surprise He Found That His Appetite Was Entirely 
 Undisturbed By His Mental Processes--He Returned To His Rooms Before 
 Starting Dejectedly For A Long Run In His Automobile. But A Letter From 
 Laura Was The First Object He Noticed Upon His Desk, And His Afternoon 
 Plans Were Swept From His Mind With The Beginning Of Her Heart-Broken 
 Entreaty For Reconciliation. While He Read It There Was Recognition In 
 His Thoughts For No Feeling Except His Rapture In Her Recovery, And He 
 Took Up His Pen With A Hand Which Trembled In The Shock Of His Reaction 
 From Despair To Happiness. Then, While He Still Hesitated, In A Mixture 
 Of Self-Reproach And Tenderness, There Was A Knock At His Door, It 
 Opened And Shut Quickly, With An Abruptness Which Even In Inanimate 
 Things Speak Of Excitement, And Laura, Herself, Breathing Rapidly And 
 Very Pale, Came Hurriedly Across The Room. 
   
 "I Could Not Stay Away--You Did Not Answer My Note--It Would Have Killed 
 Me," She Began Brokenly; And As He Stretched Out His Arms She Threw 
 Herself Into Them With A Burst Of Tears. 
   
 "Oh, You Angel!" He Exclaimed, In A Tenderness Which Was Almost An 
 Ecstasy Of Feeling; And Then, Moved By A Passion Of Sympathy, He Called 
 Her By Every Endearing Name His Mind Could Catch At Or His Voice Utter. 
 The Depth Of His Nature Responded In All Its Volume, As She Lay There 
 Weeping For Joy, In His Arms, And In Her Coming To Him As She Had Done 
 He Beheld Then Only An Exquisite Proof Of Her Nobility Of Soul, Of The 
 Unworldly Innocence For Which He Loved Her. In That Embrace, For That 
 One Supreme Instant, Their Spirits Touched More Nearly Than They Had 
 Ever Done In The Past Or Would Ever Do Again In The Future--For Even 
 While He Held Her The Tide Of Being Receded From Its Violence And They 
 Drew Apart. 
   
 "If You Had Only Waited I Should Have Come To You At Once," He Said, 
 Looking At Her In A Rapture Which, Though He Himself Was Ignorant Of It, 
 Struggled Against A Disappointment Because She Had Shown Herself To Be 
 Closer To His Own Level Than He Had Believed. 
   
 Drawing Slightly Away Laura Stood Shaking The Tear Drops From Her 
 Lashes, While She Regarded Him With Her Radiant Smile. The Misty 
 Brightness Of Her Eyes Showed To Him In An Almost Unreal Loveliness. 
   
 "I Didn't Care--Nothing Mattered To Me," She Answered, "It Made No 
 Difference What The World Said--Nor Whether I Lived Or Died." 
   
 Though The Flattery Of Her Coming Moved Him Strongly, He Found Himself 
 Wishing While She Spoke That She Had Not Proved Herself To Be So 
 Ardently Regardless Of Conventions--That She Had Appeared, For Once, 
 Less Natural And More Worldly-Wise. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 8 Pg 228 
   
 "Well, I'll Take You Home Now," He Said, Smiling; Then As He Saw Her 
 Gaze, Passing Curiously About The Room, Rest Enquiringly Upon The 
 Portrait Of Madame Alta, He Broke Into A Laugh Which Sounded, For All 
 Its Pleasantness, A Little Strained. 
   
 "That Goes Out Of The Way As Soon As I Can Get Something To Cover The 
 Spot," He Remarked, Adding Gayly, "Symonds Says He Will Finish His 
 Portrait Of Me Next Week, And I'll Hang It There Until You Claim It." 
   
 Her Face Had Clouded, And Without Looking At Him She Moved Toward The 
 Door. "Are You Really Glad That I Came?" She Asked Abruptly, Turning 
 Upon The Threshold. 
   
 "Glad! My Darling Girl, I'm Simply Overjoyed. You Gave Me The Most 
 Miserable Morning Of My Life." 
   
 It Was The Truth--He Knew It For The Truth While He Uttered It, But, In 
 His Heart Of Hearts, He Felt Without Confessing It To Himself, That His 
 Love Had Dropped Back From That Divine Height Beyond Which Mere Human 
 Impulse Becomes Ideal Passion. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 9 Pg 229 
 Of The Fear In Love 
   
   
 When Laura Reached The Sidewalk She Was Seized By One Of Those Reactions 
 Of Feeling Which Are Possible Only In Periods Of Unnatural And 
 Overstrained Excitement. 
   
 "I Would Rather You Didn't Come With Me Now," She Said, "I've Promised 
 Gerty To Go To Her This Afternoon, And I'd Honestly Rather Go Alone." 
   
 "But I've Seen Nothing Of You At All," He Urged, "Put Gerty Aside--She 
 Won't Mind. If She Does, Tell Her I Made You Do It." 
   
 She Shook Her Head, Shrinking Slightly Away From Him In The Street. "It 
 Isn't That, But I Want To Be Alone--To Think. Come This Evening And I'll 
 Be Quite Myself Again. Only Just Now I--I Can't Talk." 
   
 In The End He Had Yielded, Overborne By So Unusual A Spirit Of 
 Opposition; And With A Reproachful Good-Bye He Had Returned To His 
 Rooms, While She Went Slowly Up The Street In The Pale Autumn Sunshine. 
   
 The Impulse In Which She Had Gone To Him Had Utterly Died Down; And She 
 Asked Herself, With A Curiosity That Was Almost Indifferent, Why, Since 
 The Reconciliation She Had Longed For Was Now Complete, She Should Feel 
 Only Melancholy Where She Had Expected To Find Happiness? Kemper Had 
 Never Been More Impassioned, Had Never Shown Himself To Be More 
 Thoroughly The Lover--Yet In Some Way She Admitted, It Had All Been 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 9 Pg 230 
 Different From The Deeper Reunion She Had Hoped For; There Had Come To 
 Her Even While She Lay In His Arms That Strange, Though Familiar Sense 
 Of Unreality In Her Own Emotion; And Beneath The Touch Of His Hands She 
 Had Felt Herself To Be Separated From Him By The Space Of A Whole Inner 
 World. Though She Appeared To Have Got Everything, She Realised, With A 
 Pang Of Resentment Directed Against Herself, That She Had Wanted A Great 
 Deal More Than He Had Had The Power To Bestow. Could It Be That The 
 Thing She Had Missed Was That Finer Sympathy Of Spirit Without Which All 
 Human Passion Is But The Withered Husk Where The Flower Has Never 
 Bloomed? 
   
 "Is It True That I Must Be Forever Content With The Mere Gesture Of 
 Love?" She Thought. "Is It True That I Shall Never Reach His Soul, Which 
 Is Surely There If I Could But Find It? Has It Eluded Me, After All, 
 Only Because I Did Not Know The Way?" 
   
 This Longing For The Immortal Soul Of Love Seized Her Like An 
 Unquenchable Thirst, Until It Seemed To Her That All Outward Forms Of 
 Expression--All Embraces All Words--Were But Dead Earthly Things Until 
 The Breath Of The Spirit Had Entered In To Raise Them From Mere Trivial 
 Accidents Into Eternal Symbols. 
   
 Then Suddenly She Understood, For The First Time, That She Had 
 Humiliated Herself By Going To His Rooms, And She Felt Her Cheek Burn In 
 Remembering A Step Which She Had Taken, Under The Stress Of Feeling, 
 Without An Instant's Hesitation. It Seemed To Her Now, When She Looked 
 Back Upon It, That It Would Have Been Better To Have Lost Him Forever 
 Than To Have Lowered Her Pride In The Way That She Had Done--But Before 
 Seeing Him Her Pride Had Been Nothing To Her, And She Realised That If 
 She Felt His Affection Slipping From Her Again She Would Be Driven To 
 The Same Or Even To Greater Lengths Of Self-Abasement. 
   
 "But I Did Wrong--I Have Lowered Myself Forever In His Eyes," She 
 Thought, "He Can Never Feel The Same Respect For Me Again, And Because I 
 Have Lost His Respect I Have Lost Also My Power To Keep Him Constant To 
 Me In His Heart." 
   
 With The Confession, She Was Aware That A Spiritual Battle Took Place 
 Within Her, And She Thought Of Her Soul, Not As One But As Multiple--As 
 Consisting Of Hosts Of Good And Evil Angels Who Warred Against One 
 Another Without Ceasing. And She Felt Assured That Presently The Good Or 
 The Evil Host Would Be Vanquished And That Henceforth She Would Belong 
 To The Victorious Side Forever--Not For This Life Only, But For A 
 Thousand Lives And An Eternal Evolution Along The Course Which She 
 Herself Had Chosen. A Passage She Had Once Read In An Old Book Occurred 
 To Her, And She Recalled That The Writer Had Spoken Of God As "The Place 
 Of The Soul." If This Were So, Had She Not Filled That Place Which Is 
 God With A Confusion In Which There Was Only Terror And Disorder. 
   
 "Why Has It All Happened As It Has?" She Demanded Almost In Despair. 
 "Why Did I Love Him In The Beginning? Why Did I Humiliate Myself In His 
 Eyes To-Day?" But Her Motives, Which Appeared Only As Impulses, Were 
 Still Shrouded In The Obscurity Of Her Ignorance; And The One Thing That 
 Remained Clear To Her Was That She Had Struggled Breathlessly For The 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 9 Pg 231 
 Happiness She Had Not Possessed. Was It This Desire For Happiness, She 
 Asked, Which Had Returned To Her Now In The Form Of An Avenging Fury? 
   
 At The Corner Of Fifth Avenue, While She Stopped Upon The Sidewalk To 
 Wait For The Stage, She Was Joined By Mr. Wilberforce, Who Told Her That 
 He Had Just Come From Her House. 
   
 "I Was Particularly Sorry To Miss You," He Added, "Because I Brought A 
 Book Of Poems I Wanted To Talk Over With You--The Work Of A Young 
 Irishman With A Touch Of Genius." 
   
 "Yes, Yes," She Responded Vaguely, Without Knowing What She Said. 
 Literature Appeared To Her Suddenly As The Most Uninteresting Pursuit 
 Upon The Earth, And She Longed To Escape From The Presence Of Mr. 
 Wilberforce, Because She Knew That He Would Weary Her By Ceaseless 
 Allusions To Books Which She No Longer Read. 
   
 "I'm On My Way To Gerty's--She Made Me Promise To Come This Afternoon," 
 She Explained Hurriedly, Recalling With Surprise That She Had Once Found 
 Pleasure In The Companionship Of This Ineffectual Old Man, With His 
 Placid Face And His Interminable Discussions Of Books. Feeling That Her 
 Impatience Might Provoke Her Presently Into An Act Of Rudeness Which She 
 Would Afterward Regret, She Held Out Her Hand While She Signalled With 
 The Other To The Approaching Stage. 
   
 "Come To-Morrow When I Shall Be At Home," She Said; And Though She 
 Remembered That She Would Probably Spend The Next Afternoon With Kemper, 
 This Suggestion Of An Untruth Seemed At The Time To Make No Difference. 
 A Moment Later As She Seated Herself In The Stage, She Drew A Long 
 Breath As If She Had Escaped From An Oppressive Atmosphere; And The 
 Rumbling Of The Vehicle Was A Relief To Her Because It Silenced For 
 Awhile The Noise Of The Opposing Hosts Of Angels That Warred Unceasingly 
 Within Her Soul. 
   
 When She Reached Gerty's House In Sixty-Ninth Street, She Found Not Only 
 Her Friend, Whom She Wished To See, But Perry Bridewell, Whom She Had 
 Tried Particularly To Avoid. At First She Felt Almost Angry With Gerty 
 For Not Receiving Her Alone; But Gerty, Suspecting As Much From Her 
 Chilled Look, Burst Out At Once Into A Comic Protest: 
   
 "I Tried My Best To Get Rid Of Perry," She Said, "Perhaps You May Make 
 The Attempt With Better Success." 
   
 "I've Caught A Beastly Cold," Responded Perry, From The Cushioned Chair 
 On The Hearthrug, Where He Sat Prodding The Wood Fire With A Small Brass 
 Poker, "It's Stuck In My Chest, And The Doctor Tells Me If I Don't Look 
 Out I'll Be In For Bronchitis Or Pneumonia Or Something Or Other Of The 
 Kind." 
   
 That He Was Genuinely Frightened Showed Clearly By The Unusual Pallor On 
 His Handsome Face; And With An Appearance Of Giving Emphasis To The 
 Danger In Which He Stood, He Held Out To Laura, As He Spoke, A Glass 
 Bottle Filled With Large Brown Lozenges. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 9 Pg 232 
 "He Remembers His Last Illness," Observed Gerty Seriously, "Which Was An 
 Attack Of Croup At The Age Of Two--And He's Afraid They Will Bandage His 
 Chest As They Did Then." 
   
 As He Fell Back Languidly In His Easy Chair, Resting His Profile Against 
 The Pale Green Cushions, Laura Noticed, For The First Time, A Striking 
 Resemblance To Kemper In The Full, Almost Brutal Curve Of His Jaw And 
 Chin. Ridiculous As Her Annoyance Was, She Felt That It Mounted Through 
 Her Veins And Showed In Her Reddening Face. 
   
 "Since You Are Ill I'll Not Take Gerty Away From You To-Day," She Said, 
 Rising Hastily. 
   
 "Oh, Don't Think Of Going On My Account," Replied Perry, With A Pale 
 Reflection Of His Amiable Smile, "A Little Cheerful Company Is The Very 
 Thing I Need." Then, As A Servant Entered With A Cup Of Tea And A Plate 
 Of Toast, He Sat Up, With His Invalid Air, To Receive The Tray Upon His 
 Knees. "I Manage To Take A Little Nourishment Every Hour Or Two," He 
 Explained, As He Crumbled His Toast Into Bits. 
   
 "I've Racked My Brain To Amuse Him," Remarked Gerty, While She Watched 
 Him Gravely, "But He Can't Get His Mind Off That Possible Attack Of 
 Pneumonia, And He's Even Made Me Look Up The Death Rate From It In The 
 Bulletin Of The Board Of Health. Do You Think Arnold Would Come If I 
 Telephoned Him? Or Shall I Send Instead For Roger Adams? I Have Even 
 Thought Of Writing Invitations To His Entire Club List." 
   
 "Oh, I'll Send Arnold Myself," Rejoined Laura, "He Got Back Just Last 
 Night, You Know." 
   
 "I Saw Him Coming Up At Five O'clock When I Went To The Doctor's," 
 Returned Gerty; And This Innocent Chance Remark Plunged Laura 
 Immediately Into A Melancholy Which Not Only Arrested The Words Upon Her 
 Lips, But Seemed To Deaden Her Whole Body Even To Her Hands Which Held 
 Her Muff. An Intolerable Suspicion Seized Her That They Were Aware Of 
 The Return Of Madame Alta, That They Blamed Arnold For Something Of 
 Which They Did Not Speak, That They Pitied Her Because She Was Deluded 
 Into An Acceptance Of The Situation. Though Her Judgment Told Her That 
 This Suspicion Was A Mere Wild Fancy, Still She Could Not Succeed In 
 Driving It From Her Thoughts, And The More She Struggled Against It, The 
 Stronger Was The Hold It Gained Upon Her Imagination If Not Upon Her 
 Reason. In The Effort To Banish This Persistent Torment, She Began To 
 Talk Fast And Recklessly Of Other Things, Until The Animation With Which 
 She Spoke Rekindled The Old Brilliant Fervour In Her Face. 
   
 She Was Still Talking With Her Restless Gayety, When Adams Came In To 
 Ask After Perry, But With His Presence A Stillness Which Was Almost One 
 Of Peace, Came Over Her. At The End Of A Few Minutes She Rose To Leave, 
 And A Little Later As He Walked With Her Along Sixty-Ninth Street In The 
 Direction Of The Park, She Had, For The First Time In Her Life, A Vague 
 Intuition That The Secret Of Happiness, After All, Might Lie For Her, 
 Not In The Gratification But In The Relinquishment Of Desire. 
   
 "I Saw Kemper A While Ago," He Remarked, As They Crossed Fifth Avenue To 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 9 Pg 233 
 The Opposite Sidewalk Which Ran Along The Wall Under The Bared November 
 Trees. "He Seemed Very Much Interested In Some Mining Scheme Which 
 Barclay Has Gone In For. I Never Saw Him More Enthusiastic." 
   
 "Was He?" She Asked Indifferently; And She Felt Almost A Resentment 
 Against Kemper Because He Could Pass So Easily From The Reconciliation 
 With Her To The Subject Of Mining. Since The Evening Before, When She 
 Had Received The News Of His Absence With Madame Alta, Her Attitude To 
 Her Lover Had, Unconsciously To Herself, Undergone A Change; And Her 
 Critical Faculty, So Long Dominated By Her Feeling, Appeared Now To Have 
 Usurped The Place Which Was Formerly Held By Her Ideal Image Of Him. But 
 This Awakening Of Her Intellect Had No Power Whatever Over Her Love, 
 Which Remained Unaltered, And The One Result Of Her Clearer Mental 
 Vision Was To Destroy Her Happiness, While It Did Not Lessen The 
 Strength Of Her Emotion. 
   
 She Glanced Up At Adams As He Walked Beside Her In The Pale Sunshine, 
 And The Smile With Which He Responded To Her Look, Awoke In Her The 
 Impulse To Confess To Him The Burden Which Oppressed Her Thoughts. 
 Realising That It Would Be Impossible To Confide These Things To Any 
 Human Being, She Changed The Subject By Asking Him A Trivial Question 
 About Trent's Play. 
   
 "There's No Doubt Of His Success, I Think," He Answered, "But Just Now 
 His Mind Is Absorbed With Other Things. He's As Deep In His Love As He 
 Ever Was In His Ambition." 
   
 "So He Has Found Her?" Enquired Laura, With But Little Animation. She 
 Was Glad That Trent Was Happy At Last, But She Could Not Force Herself 
 To Feel An Interest In This Love Affair Which Was So Unlike Her Own. 
   
 "Well, He Didn't Have To Look Far," Rejoined Adams, Laughing, "He 
 Discovered Her, I Believe, In The Same Apartment House. Some Of Us," He 
 Concluded A Little Sadly, "Go A Good Deal Farther With Considerably Less 
 Success." 
   
 "It Does Puzzle One," Said Laura, Thinking Of Kemper, "That Some People 
 Should Find What They Want Lying On Their Very Doorstep, While Others 
 Must Go On Looking For It Their Whole Lives Through." 
   
 He Smiled At Her With A Tenderness Which Seemed, Somehow, A Part Of His 
 Strength. "But Yours Was The Easier Fate," He Said. 
   
 "Is It The Easier? I Hardly Know," She Answered, And The Note Of Pain In 
 Her Voice Entered His Heart. "I Sometimes Think That The Best Of Life Is 
 To Go On Wanting Till One Dies." 
   
 "Not The Best--Not The Best," He Responded, With A Touch Of His 
 Whimsical Humour. "I Have Had My Share Of Wanting And I Speak Of What I 
 Know. It All Comes Right In The End, I Suppose, But It's A Pretty Tough 
 Experience While It Lasts, And, After All, We Live In The Minute Not In 
 Eternity." 
   
 Her Gaze Had Dropped Away From Him, But At His Words She Lifted Her Eyes 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 9 Pg 234 
 Again To Meet His Look. 
   
 "I Wonder What It Was You Wanted So," She Said--For He Impressed Her 
 Suddenly As Possessing A Force Of Will Which It Would Be Not Only 
 Ineffectual, But Even Foolish To Resist. The Aggressive Bulk Of Perry 
 Bridewell, The Impetuous Egoism Of Kemper Showed, Not As Strength, But 
 As Violence Compared To The Power Which Controlled The Man At Her Side. 
 Where Had He Found This Power? She Wondered, And By What Miracle Had He 
 Been Able To Make It His Own? 
   
 "If I Told You, I Dare Say It Wouldn't Enlighten You Much," He Answered. 
 "Isn't It Enough To Confess That I've Done My Share Of Crying For The 
 Moon?" 
   
 "And If It Had Dropped Into Your Hands, You Would Have Found, Probably, 
 That It Was Made Only Of Green Cheese," She Replied. 
   
 For An Instant He Looked At Her With A Glance In Which His Humour 
 Seemed To Cover A Memory Which She Could Not Grasp. 
   
 "Oh, Well, I'd Have Risked It!" He Retorted Almost Gayly. 
   
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 10 Pg 235 
 The End Of The Path 
   
   
 Having Decided That Laura Was To Be Married On The Nineteenth Of 
 December, Mrs. Payne Had Gathered Not Only The Invitations, But The 
 Entire Trousseau Into The House Three Weeks Before The Date Upon Which 
 She Had Fixed. Laura, Who Had At First Entered Enthusiastically Into The 
 Question Of Clothes, Had Shown During The Last Fortnight An Indifference 
 Which Was Almost An Open Avoidance Of The Subject; And The Lively Old 
 Lady Was Forced To Conduct An Unsupported Campaign Against Dressmakers 
 And Milliners. 
   
 "It's Fortunate, To Put It Mildly, My Dear, That You Have Me To Attend 
 To Such Matters," She Remarked One Day, "Or You Would Most Likely Have 
 Started On Your Wedding Journey A Dowd--And There Can Be No Happy 
 Marriage," She Concluded With Caustic Philosophy, "Which Is Not Founded 
 Upon A Carefully Selected Trousseau." 
   
 "If His Love For Me Depends On Clothes, I Don't Want It," Replied Laura 
 In An Indignant Voice. 
   
 Mrs. Payne Shook Her False Gray Curls, Until The Little Wire Hairpins 
 Which Held Them In Place Slipped Out And Dropped Into Her Lap. 
   
 "It Might Very Well Depend Upon Something More Difficult To Procure," 
 She Retorted With Reason. Then In A Last Effort To Arouse Laura Into The 
 Pride Of Possession, She Brought Out Her Multitude Of Boxes And 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 10 Pg 236 
 Unfolded Her Treasures Of Old Lace. 
   
 At The Time Laura Looked On With Listless Inattention, But Two Days 
 Later She Returned In A Change Of Mood Which Put To Blush The Worldly 
 Materialism Of Mrs. Payne. 
   
 "Aunt Rosa, You're Right," She Said, "I Haven't Paid Half Enough 
 Attention To My Clothes. I Believe, After All, That Clothes Are Among 
 The Most Important Things In Life." 
   
 "I Regard It As A Merciful Providence That You Have Come To Your Senses 
 In Time," Observed The Old Lady, With A Sincerity Which Survived Even 
 The Extravagance Into Which Her Niece Immediately Plunged--For, After 
 Looking Carelessly Over The Contents Of The Large White Boxes, Laura 
 Turned Away As If Disappointed, And Demanded In Her Next Breath A Sable 
 Coat. 
   
 "Arnold Admired A Woman In A Sable Coat Yesterday," She Said, With A 
 Gravity Which Impressed Mrs. Payne As Almost Solemn. 
   
 But Her Reaction Into The Vanities Of The World Was As Short Lived As 
 Her Former Disdain Of Them; And By The Time The Sable Coat Arrived She 
 Had Almost Begun To Regret That She Had Ever Asked For It. Since The 
 Selection Of It She Had Heard Kemper Quite As Carelessly Express 
 Approval Of An Ermine Wrap, And Her Heart Had Suddenly Sickened Over The 
 Fruitlessness Of Her Ambition. She Was Still Trying On The Coat Under 
 Mrs. Payne's Eyes, When Gerty, Coming In, As She Announced, To Deliver A 
 Message, Paused In The Centre Of The Room As If Petrified Into An 
 Attitude Of Admiration. 
   
 "My Dear, You're So Gorgeous That You Look Like Nothing Short Of A 
 Tragic Actress. Well, You Ought To Be A Happy Woman." 
   
 "If Clothes Can Make Me Happy, I Suppose I Shall Be," Rejoined Laura. 
 "Aunt Rosa Has Spared Neither Her Own Strength Nor Uncle Horace's 
 Money." 
   
 "That's Because I Love You Better Than My Ease And Horace Loves You 
 Better Than His Foundling Hospital," Replied Mrs. Payne. 
   
 Standing Before The Long Mirror, Laura Looked With A Frown At The Sable 
 Coat, Which Gave Her, As Gerty Had Said, The Air Of A Tragic Actress. 
 Her Dark Hair, With Its Soft Waves About The Forehead, Her Brilliant 
 Eyes, And The Delicate Poetic Charm Of Her Figure, Borrowed From The 
 Costly Furs A Distinction Which Gerty Felt To Be Less That Of Style Than 
 Of Personality. 
   
 "He Will Like Me In This," She Thought; And Then Remembering The Ermine 
 Wrap, Which Was Becoming Also, She Wondered If Another Woman Would Buy 
 It, If Kemper Would See It At The Opera, And If He Would, Perhaps, 
 Admire It Again As He Had Done That Day. 
   
 "If He Does I Shall Regret These Though They Were So Much More Costly," 
 She Concluded, "And My Whole Pleasure In Them May Be Destroyed By A 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 10 Pg 237 
 Chance Remark Which He Will Let Fall." She Understood, All At Once, The 
 Relentless Tyranny Which Clothes Might Acquire--The Jealousy, The 
 Extravagance, The Feverish Emulation, And The Dislike Which One Woman 
 Might Feel For Another Who Wore A Better Gown. "Yet If I Give My Whole 
 Life To It There Will Always Be Someone Who Is Richer, Who Is Better 
 Dressed And More Beautiful Than I," She Thought. "Though My 
 Individuality Wins To-Day, To-Morrow I Shall Meet A Woman Beside Whom I 
 Shall Be Utterly Extinguished. And There Is No Escape From This; It Is 
 Inevitable And Must Happen." A Shiver Of Disgust Went Through Her, And 
 It Seemed To Her That She Saw Her Life As Plainly As If The Glass Before 
 Her Revealed Her Whole Future And Not Merely Her Figure In The Sable 
 Coat. She Shrank From Her Destiny, And Yet She Knew That In Spite Of 
 Herself, She Must Still Follow It; She Longed For Her Old Freedom Of 
 Spirit, And Instead She Struggled Helplessly In The Net Which Her Own 
 Temperament Cast About Her. "Is It Possible That I Can Ever Enter Into 
 This Warfare Which I Have Always Despised?" She Asked, "Into This 
 Conflict Of Self Against Self, Of Vanity Against Vanity? Shall I, Like 
 Gerty, Grow To Fear And To Hate Other Women In My Foolish Effort To Keep 
 Alive A Passion Which I Know To Be Worthless? Shall I Even Come In The 
 End To Feel Terror And Suspicion In My Love For Gerty?" But This Last 
 Thought Was So Terrible To Her That She Lacked The Courage With Which To 
 Face It, And So She Put It Now Resolutely Aside As She Had Learned To 
 Put Aside At Will All The Disturbing Questions Which Her Conscience 
 Asked. 
   
 "I Know That You Are Over Head And Ears In It All," Gerty Was Saying, 
 "And I Shouldn't Have Dropped In If I Hadn't Just Been Called To The 
 Telephone By Arnold. He Was, Of Course, Rushing Off To A Meeting About 
 Those Everlasting Mines--Perry's In It, Too, And It's Really Helped His 
 Mind To Get The Better Of His Lungs At Last." 
   
 "But I Thought Arnold Was Coming This Afternoon," Returned Laura, A 
 Little Hurt. 
   
 With A Laughing Glance At Mrs. Payne, Who Sat Counting Silk Stockings By 
 The Window, Gerty Buried Her Face In Her Muff While She Shook With 
 Unaffected Merriment. 
   
 "Oh, My Dear, What A Wife You'll Make If You Haven't Learned To Mask 
 Your Feelings!" She Exclaimed, "But As For Arnold, He Wants Me To Bring 
 You To His Rooms For Tea. The Symonds Portrait Has Come And He'd Like Us 
 To See It Before It's Hung. He'll Hurry Back, He Says, The Minute That 
 Abominable Meeting Is Over-Though Between You And Me He Is Almost As 
 Much Interested In Those Mines As He Is In His Marriage." 
   
 The Disappointment In Laura's Face Was Succeeded By An Expression Of 
 Impatient Eagerness, And A Little Later As She Drove With Gerty Through 
 The Streets She Was Able To Convince Herself That The Uncertainty Of The 
 Last Fortnight Had Yielded Finally To The Perfect Security For Which She 
 Longed Sitting There In Gerty's Carriage, She Felt With A Compassionate 
 Heart-Throb, That Out Of Her Own Fulness She Could Look Down And Pity 
 The Emptiness Of Her Friend's Life; And This Thought Filled Her Bosom 
 With A Sympathy Which Overflowed In The Smile She Turned Upon The 
 Brilliant Woman At Her Side. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 10 Pg 238 
   
 "I Find Myself Continually Rejoicing Because You Are To Take A House Up 
 Town," Remarked Gerty, As She Pressed Laura's Hand Under The Fur Robe. 
 "When You Come Back We'll See Each Other Every Day, And When You Land, 
 I'll Be There To Welcome You With The House Full Of Flowers And The 
 Dinner Ordered." 
   
 "There's No Use Trying To Realise It All, I Can't," Responded Laura; And 
 The Interest With Which She Entered Immediately Into A Discussion Of 
 Furnishing And Housekeeping Banished From Her Mind All Recollection Of 
 The Despondency, The Tormenting Doubts, Of The Last Few Weeks. Yes, All 
 Would Go Well--All Must Go Well In Spite Of Everything She Had Imagined. 
 Once Married She Would See This Foolish Foreboding Dissolve In Air, And 
 With The Wedding Ceremony She Would Enter Into That Cloudless Happiness 
 Which She Had Expected So Confidently To Find In The Adirondacks. This 
 New Hope Possessed Her Instantly To The Exclusion Of All Other Ideas, 
 And She Clung To It As Passionately As She Had Clung To Every Illusion 
 Of The Kind Which Had Presented Itself To Her Imagination. 
   
 When They Reached His Rooms, Kemper Had Not Returned, And While Gerty 
 Amused Herself By Examining Every Photograph Upon His Desk And Mantel, 
 Laura Drew A Chair Before The Portrait, Which Was A Bold, Half-Length 
 Study Painted With A Daring Breadth Of Handling. The Artist Was A New 
 French Painter, Who Had Leaped Into Prominence Because Of A Certain 
 Extravagance Of Style Which He Affected; And His Work Had Taken Kemper's 
 Fancy As Everything Took It Either In Art Or In Life Which Deviated In 
 Any Marked Eccentricity From The Ordinary Level Of Culture Or Of 
 Experience. 
   
 "There's Something Queer About It--I Don't Like It," Said Laura, With 
 Her First Glance. "Why, It Makes Him Look Almost Brutal--There's A 
 Quality In It I'll Never Grow Accustomed To." 
   
 Then, As She Looked A Moment Longer At The Picture, She Saw That The 
 Quality In Kemper Which The Painter Had Caught And Arrested With An 
 Excellent Technique Upon The Canvas, Was The Resemblance To Perry 
 Bridewell Which Had Offended Her When She Noticed It The Other Day. It 
 Was There, Evidently--This Foreign Painter Had Seized Upon It As The 
 Most Subtle Characteristic Of Kemper's Face--And In Dwelling Upon It In 
 The Portrait As He Had Done, She Realised That He Had Attempted To 
 Produce, Not So Much The Likeness Of The Man, As A Startling, Almost 
 Sinister Study Of A Personality. What He Had Shown Her Was The 
 Temperament, Not The Face Of Her Lover--Not Her Lover, Indeed, She Told 
 Herself The Next Instant, But Madame Alta's. 
   
 "I Can't Get Used To It--I'll Never Like It," She Repeated, And Rising 
 From Her Chair, As If The View Of The Portrait Annoyed Her, She Went 
 Over To The Centre Table To Glance Idly Over The Current Fiction With 
 Which Kemper Occupied His Leisure Hours. Her Eyes Were Still Wandering 
 Aimlessly Over The Titles Of The Books, When Her Attention Was Diverted 
 By The Sound Of Wilkins' Voice, Lowered Discreetly To An Apologetic 
 Whisper; And Immediately Afterward She Heard The Softened Soprano Of A 
 Woman, Who Insisted, Apparently, Upon Leaving The Elevator And Crossing 
 The Hail Outside. The Conversation With Wilkins Had Reached Gerty's Ears 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 10 Pg 239 
 At The Same Instant, And She, Too, Sat Now With Her Enquiring Gaze Bent 
 On The Door, Which Opened Presently To Admit The Ample Person Of Madame 
 Alta. At Sight Of Them She Showed No Tremor Of Surprise, But Stood 
 Poised There, In An Impressive Stage Entrance, Upon The Threshold, 
 Presiding, As It Were, Over The Situation With All The Brilliant 
 Publicity Which Her Exquisite Gift Conferred. Her Art Had Not Only 
 Placed Her Below The Level Of Her Sex's Morality, It Had Lifted Her 
 Above Any Embarrassment Of Accident, And As She Hesitated For A Single 
 Smiling Minute In The Doorway, She Appeared More At Home In Her 
 Surroundings Than Either Of The Two Women Who Stood, In Silence, 
 Awaiting Her Advance. With Her Ermine, Her Ostrich Feathers, Her Smile, 
 And Her Scented Powder, She Impressed Laura Less As Extinguishing Her By 
 The Splendour Of A Presence Than As Smothering Her In The Softness Of An 
 Effect. For It Was At Laura That, After The First Gently Enquiring 
 Glance, She Levelled Her Words As Well As Her Caressing Look. 
   
 "It Was Such A Happy Chance To Meet You That I Couldn't Let It Slip," 
 She Said, As She Bore Down Upon Her With A Large, Soft Hand 
 Outstretched, "Mr. Kemper Has Been So Good A Friend To Me That I Am 
 Overjoyed To Have The Opportunity Of Telling You How Much I Think Of 
 Him. He Has Been Really The Greatest Help About Some Speculations, 
 Too--Don't You Think He Has Quite A Genius For That Kind Of Thing?" 
   
 For A Moment Laura Looked At Her In A Surprise Caused Less By The 
 Other's Entrance Than By Her Own Inward Composure. For Weeks She Had 
 Told Herself That She Hated Madame Alta In Her Heart, Yet, Brought Face 
 To Face With Her, Feeling The Soft Pressure Of Her Hand, She Realised 
 That She Had Hated Merely A Creature Of Straw And Not This Woman Whose 
 Humanity Was, After All, Of The Same Flesh And Blood And Spirit As Her 
 Own. By The Wonder Of Her Intuition She Had Recognised In Her First 
 Glance The Thing Which Kemper, For All His Worldly Knowledge, Had Missed 
 In His More Intimate Association, And This Was That The Soul Of The 
 Woman Before Her Had Not Perished, But Was Still Tossed Wildly In The 
 Fires Of Art, Of Greed, Of Sensuality. Between Her Lover And The Prima 
 Donna She Knew That For This One Instant At Least, She Was Strong 
 Enough To Stand Absolutely Detached And Incapable Of Judgment. And In A 
 Sudden Light, As From A Lamp That Was Turned Inward, She Saw That If She 
 Could But Maintain This Attitude Of Pity, She Would Place Her Happiness 
 Beyond Any Harm From The Attacks Of Madame Alta Or Of Her Kind. She Saw 
 This, Yet She Felt That The Vision Was Almost Useless, For Even While 
 She Stood There The Light Went Out And She Knew That It Would Not Shine 
 For Her Again. 
   
 "I Know But Little Of That Side Of Him," She Answered, Smiling. "It Is 
 Pleasant To Hear That He Has A Gift I Did Not Suspect." 
   
 "Oh, I Dare Say He Has Others," Retorted Madame Alta, "But I Came About 
 These Very Speculations To-Day," She Added, "And Since He Isn't At 
 Home--If You'll Let Me--I'll Leave A Note On His Desk. I Start For 
 Chicago To-Night For A Month Of Continuous Hard Work. Until You Know 
 What It Is To Race About The Country For Your Life," She Wound Up 
 Merrily, "Never Stop To Waste Your Pity On A Day Labourer." 
   
 With A Smiling Apology To Gerty, She Crossed To Kemper's Desk, Where She 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 10 Pg 240 
 Wrote A Short Note Which She Proceeded Coolly To Place In An Envelope 
 And Seal. As She Moistened The Flap Of The Envelope With Her Lips, She 
 Turned To Glance At Laura Over Her Ermine Stole. 
   
 "I Hope You'll Remember To Tell Him That My Visit Was By No Means Thrown 
 Away, Since I Saw You," She Remarked, With Her Exaggerated Sweetness. 
   
 "Why Not Wait And Tell Him Yourself?" Suggested Laura, So Composedly 
 That She Wondered Why Her Heart Was Beating Quickly, "He'll Probably Be 
 Back In A Few Minutes For Tea, And In That Case It Wouldn't Be 
 Necessary For Me To Deliver So Flattering A Message." 
   
 "Oh, But I Want You To--I Particularly Want You To," Insisted The Other, 
 Creating, As She Rose, A Lovely Commotion By The Flutter Of Her Lace 
 Veil And Her Ostrich Feathers. "I Send Him My Liveliest Congratulations, 
 And The Part He'll Like Best Is That I Am Able To Send Them By You." 
   
 The Door Closed Softly After Her, And Gerty, Going To The Window, Threw 
 It Open With A Bang Which Served As An Outlet To The Emotion She Lacked 
 Either The Courage Or The Opportunity To Put Into Words. 
   
 "I Don't Like Her Perfume," She Observed, With An Affected Contortion Of 
 Her Nostrils, "There's Something To Be Said For The Odour Of Sanctity, 
 After All." 
   
 "Why, I Thought It Delicious," Returned Laura, As If Astonished. "It 
 Even Occurred To Me To Ask Her Where She Got It." 
   
 "Well, I'm Thankful You Didn't," Exclaimed Gerty; And She Concluded 
 Dismally After A Moment, "What Hurts Me Most Is To Think I've Wasted 
 Bouquets On Her Over The Footlights, For A More Perfectly Odious 
 Person--" 
   
 "I Found Her Wonderfully Handsome," Remarked Laura, In A Voice Which Had 
 A Curious Quality Of Remoteness, As If She Spoke From Some Dream-Like 
 State Of Mental Abstraction. "Wonderfully Handsome," She Insisted, 
 Indignant At The Scornful Denial In Gerty's Look. 
   
 "Well, It's The Kind Of Handsomeness That Makes Me Want To Scratch Her 
 In The Face," Rejoined Gerty, With The Unshakable Courage Of Her 
 Impressions. 
   
 Turning Away From Her Friend, Laura Went Over To The Desk As If Drawn In 
 Spite Of Her Resolution, By The Large Sealed Envelope Lying On The White 
 Blotter. The Handwriting Of The Address, With Its Bold, Free Flourish At 
 The End, Appeared To Fascinate Her Eyes, For After Looking At It 
 Attentively A Moment, She Took It Up And Brought It Over To The Hearth 
 Where Gerty Stood. 
   
 "Yes, She Is Wonderfully Handsome," She Repeated; And Her Tone Was So 
 Indifferent That It Came With A Shock Of Surprise To Gerty, When She 
 Bent Over And Laid The Letter Upon The Burning Logs. Dropping On Her 
 Knees, She Watched The Paper Catch Fire, Redden In The Flame, Turn To 
 Ashes, And At Last Dissolve In Smoke. Then She Leaned Forward And Pushed 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 10 Pg 241 
 The Logs Together, As If She Wished To Destroy Some Last Vestige Of The 
 Words Which Were Still Visible To Her Eyes. 
   
 "Laura!" Called Gerty Sharply. She Had Made A Step Forward, But As Laura 
 Rose From Her Knees And Faced Her, She Fell Back Into Her Former 
 Attitude. 
   
 "If You Want To Tell Him," Said Laura Coldly, "You May Do It When He 
 Comes. I Shan't Mind It In The Least." 
   
 "Tell Him!" Cried Gerty, And Her Voice Shook With A Tremor She Could Not 
 Control, "But, Oh! Laura, What Made You Do It?" 
   
 She Knew That She Wanted To Go Away By Herself And Weep; But She Could 
 Not Tell At The Moment Whether It Was For Laura Or For Her Own 
 Disappointment That She Was More Concerned. Her Whole Outlook On Life 
 Was Altered By The Thing Which Laura Had Done; She Felt That She No 
 Longer Believed In Anybody And That It Was Impossible For Her To Go On 
 Living As She Had Lived Until To-Day. 
   
 "I Don't Know," Replied Laura, With A Curiosity So Vague That It Sounded 
 Almost Impersonal, "I Don't Know Why I Did It." As She Uttered The Words 
 The Question Seemed To Absorb Her Thoughts; Then, Before Gerty Caught 
 The Sound Of Kemper's Approaching Footsteps, She Knew That He Must Be 
 Coming By The Abruptness Of The Change With Which Laura Spoke. 
   
 "I Wonder Why It Is That Men Never Appreciate The Necessity For Tea!" 
 She Exclaimed, And Laughing She Went Quickly Toward The Door. "I Don't 
 Believe You'd Have Cared If You'd Found Us Starving On Your Threshold," 
 She Wound Up With Reproachful Gayety. 
   
 "Oh, I Hoped You'd Ordered It," Said Kemper, "Upon My Word I'm Sorry--I 
 Fear You Must Have Had A Stupid Wait." 
   
 He Entered With His Breathless, Though Smiling, Apology, Touched The 
 Bell For Wilkins As He Crossed The Room, And Offered His Hand First To 
 Gerty And Then To Laura With An Equally Enthusiastic Pressure. The Clear 
 Red Was Still In His Face, And His Eyes Beamed With Animation As He 
 Stood Warming Himself Before The Fire. 
   
 "Have You Been Here Long?" He Asked, Looking At His Watch With A Slight 
 Frown. "By Jove, I'm A Good Half Hour After Time. What Did You Do With 
 Yourselves While You Cursed Me?" 
   
 "First We Looked At The Portrait--Which I Hate--Then We Read The Names 
 Of All Your Silly Books," Responded Laura, With A Dissimulation So 
 Natural That Gerty Was Divided Between Regret For Her Sincerity And 
 Admiration For Her Acting. 
   
 "Well, It Doesn't Do To Quarrel Not Only With Our Bread And Meat, But 
 With Our Automobiles, Too," Protested Kemper Lightly, "It's A Good Thing 
 I've Gone In For, And It All Came Of My Riding Up In The Train With 
 Barclay To The Adirondacks--Otherwise He'd Have Been Too Sharp To Have 
 Put Me On To The Tip." Then His Rapid Glance Travelled To The Portrait 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 3 (Disenchantment) Chapter 10 Pg 242 
 Leaning Against A Chair, And He Put A Question With The Same Eager 
 Interest He Had Shown In The Subject Of Mining. "So You've Had Time To 
 Come To Judgment On The French Fellow. What Do You Think Of Him?" 
   
 "It's Not You--I Won't Believe It," Replied Laura Merrily, "If He's 
 Right, Then I've Been Deluded Into Marrying The Wrong Man." 
   
 "Oh, He Goes In For Style, Of Course," Remarked Kemper, Closing One Eye 
 As He Fell Back And Examined The Picture, "Most Of The French People Do, 
 You Know." 
   
 The Radiance Which Belonged To An Inner Illumination Rather Than To Any 
 Outward Flush Of Colour, Had Suffused Laura's Face, Until She Seemed To 
 Glow With An Animation Which Revealed Itself Not Only In Her Look And 
 Voice, But In Her Whole Delicate Figure, So Fragile, Yet So Full Of 
 Energy. There Was Something Unnatural, Almost Feverish In The Brightness 
 Of Her Eyes And In The Rapid Gestures Of Her Small Expressive Hands. To 
 Gerty She Appeared To Resemble A Beautiful Wild Bird, Helplessly Beating 
 Its Wings In The Fowler's Net. 
   
 "But Isn't Their Style Mostly Affectation As Their Strength Is Only 
 Coarseness?" She Asked Eagerly, Wondering As She Spoke, What Her Words 
 Meant And Why She Should Have Chosen These Out Of The Whole English 
 Language. "Isn't It Truth, After All," She Added, With The Same Excited 
 Emphasis, "That We Need In Life?" It Occurred To Her Suddenly That She 
 Was Repeating Words Which Someone Else Had Said Before Her, And She 
 Tried To Remember What The Occasion Was And Who Had Uttered Them. 
   
 Then As She Looked At Kemper, She Found Herself Wondering If They Would 
 Be Obliged, In Order To Make Life Bearable, To Lie To Each Other Every 
 Day They Lived? The Letter Which She Had Destroyed Was Her Half Of This 
 Lie, She Saw, And It Seemed To Her That Kemper's Share Was In His Old 
 Love For Jennie Alta. But, To Her Surprise, When She Thought Of This It 
 Aroused No Torment, Hardly Any Disturbance In Her Heart, For Kemper And 
 His Love For Her Appeared To Her Now In An Entirely New And Different 
 Aspect, And She Realised That Because Of The Lie Between Them, Even The 
 Emotion He Aroused In Her Had Turned Worthless In Her Eyes. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 1 Pg 243 
 The Secret Chambers 
   
   
 Waking In The Night, With A Start, Laura Asked Herself Why She Had 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 1 Pg 244 
 Burned The Letter. As She Lay There In The Darkness It Seemed To Her 
 That The Sudden Light Shone In Her Thoughts Again, And She Saw 
 Everything Made Clear To Her As She Had Seen It While She Held Jennie 
 Alta's Hand. In That Instant She Had Looked Beyond The Small Personal 
 Emotions To The Woman's Soul With Its Burden Of Greed And Sensuality, 
 And Because She Had Been Able To Do This, She Had Felt Herself To Be 
 Composed And Released From Hatred. To Discern The Soul Was To Feel Not 
 Only Tolerance, But Pity For The Flesh, And It Appeared To Her Now That 
 In That One Moment She Had Ceased To Be Herself Alone, And Had Shared In 
 The Divine Wisdom Which The Sudden Light Had Revealed To Her In Her 
 Breast. Yet The Instant Afterward Her Personality Had Triumphed And She 
 Had Burned The Letter! 
   
 The Illumination Within Her Faded Now, And As She Lay There With Wide 
 Open Eyes, She Saw Only The Surrounding Darkness. Her Own Motives Were 
 Still Vague To Her; When She Tried To Remember The Prompting Of Her 
 Thoughts She Could Recall Only A Physical Pain Which Had Entered Her 
 Bosom While She Looked At The Large White Envelope Upon The Blotter. 
 "Before This I Had Never Lied In My Life," She Said, "I Had Never Been 
 Capable Of The Slightest Dishonest Act, I Had Even Taken A Pride In My 
 Truth Like The Pride Some Women Take In Beauty--And Yet I Did This Thing 
 Without Effort And I Do Not Know Now Why I Did, Nor What I Thought Of At 
 The Time, Nor Whether I Regretted It The Moment Afterward." 
   
 With A Resolution Which Had Seldom Failed Her, She Attempted To Banish 
 The Recollection From Her Mind; And Turning Her Face From The Pale 
 Darkness Of The Window, She Closed Her Eyes Again And Lay Breathing 
 Quietly. "Why Should I Worry--It Will All Come Right--Everything Will 
 Come Right If I Have Patience," She Thought, Trying To Persuade Herself 
 To Sleep. 
   
 But She Had No Sooner Shut Her Eyes Than She Began To Live Over Again 
 The Afternoon In Kemper's Room; And Her Heart Beat So High That She 
 Heard The Muffled Sound Under The Coverlet "Why Did Gerty Look At Me 
 So?" She Asked. "Did She Really Look At Me As If She Were Afraid, Or Was 
 It Only My Imagination?" From Gerty Her Excited Thoughts Flew Back To 
 Kemper And It Seemed To Her That She Had Read Scorn And Suspicion In The 
 Beaming Glance He Had Thrown Upon Her--In The Breathless Apology Of His 
 Entrance. "Had He Met Her Downstairs? Did He Know All The Time? And Was 
 He Only Waiting For Gerty's Absence To Accuse Me Face To Face Of My 
 Dishonesty? But It Was A Very Little Thing," She Argued Aloud, As If 
 Justifying Herself To A Presence Beside Her Bed, "It Was Such A Little 
 Thing That It Had Almost Escaped My Memory." Then, As She Uttered The 
 Words, She Realised That The Justification She Attempted Was For Her Own 
 Soul Rather Than For Her Lover; And She Saw That Whether Kemper 
 Suspected Or Not Made No Vital Difference To Her So Long As The 
 Dishonesty Was There. "The Unspoken Lie Is Still Between Us And His 
 Knowledge Of It Can Neither Take It Away Nor Undo The Fact That It Has 
 Been. And If I Burned The Letter Might I Not Be Guilty Of Even Greater 
 Things Under The Same Impulse? Since I Trust Neither Him Nor Myself What 
 Is There But Misery In Any Future That We May Share? Shall I Give Him Up 
 Even Now? Can I Give Him Up?" But As She Demanded This Of Herself There 
 Returned To Her The Look In His Eyes At Certain Animated Instants, And 
 She Felt That The Charm Of His Look, Which Meant Nothing, Was Stronger 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 1 Pg 245 
 To Hold Her Than A Multitude Of Reasons. "If I Could Forget This Look In 
 His Face, I Might Forget Him," She Thought, "But Though I Struggle To 
 Forget It I Cannot Any More Than I Can Forget The Letter Lying On His 
 Desk." 
   
 Again She Closed Her Eyes In A Fresh Effort To Shut Out Consciousness; 
 But When She Determined To Sleep The Darkness Seemed To Grow Suddenly 
 Alive About Her, And Starting Up In A Spasm Of Terror, She Lighted The 
 Candle On The Table Beside Her Bed. 
   
 "In The Morning I Shall Tell Him," She Exclaimed Aloud, "I Shall Tell 
 Him Everything And If He Looks At Me With Anger I Shall Go Away And Not 
 See Him Any More." At The Time It Appeared To Her Very Easy, And She 
 Felt That It Made No Difference To Her However Things Might Happen On 
 The Morrow. "It Will Be As It Will Be, And I Cannot Alter It, For In Any 
 Event I Shall Be Miserable Whether I Marry Him Or Give Him Up." Then She 
 Remembered That Though She Had Pardoned Kemper Greater Sins Than This, 
 By The Courage Of His Attitude He Had Always Succeeded In Placing Her 
 Hopelessly In The Wrong. "Even After His Meeting With Madame Alta It Was 
 He Who Forgave Me," She Thought With The Strange Mental Clearness, Which 
 Destroyed Her Happiness Without Lessening Her Emotion, "And Through His 
 Whole Life, However Deeply He May Wrong Me, I Know That I Shall Always 
 Be The One To Justify Myself And Seek Forgiveness. Is It, After All, 
 Only Necessary To Have The Courage Of One's Acts That One May Do 
 Anything And Not Be Punished?" 
   
 The Light Of The Candle Flickering On The Mirror Gave Back Her Own Face 
 To Her As If Reflected In The Dim Surface Of A Pool. She Watched The 
 Shadows From A Vase, Of Autumn Leaves Come And Go Across It, Until It 
 Seemed To Her That The Rippling Reflection Resembled A Drowned Face That 
 Was Still Her Own; And Shrinking Back In Horror, She Sat Holding The 
 Candle In Her Hand, So That The Light Would Shine On The Walls And 
 Floor. 
   
 "Yes, That Is Settled--I Shall Tell Him To-Morrow," She Said, As If 
 Surrendering Her Future Into The Power Of Chance Or God Or Whatever 
 Stood Outside Herself, "It Will Happen As It Must, I Cannot Change It." 
 For A Moment There Was Some Comfort In The Fatalism Of This Thought, And 
 After Blowing Out The Candle, She Turned Her Face To The Wall And Fell 
 At Last Into A Troubled Sleep. But Her Sleep Even Was Filled With 
 Perplexing Questions, Which She Continued To Ask Herself With The Same 
 Piercing Mental Clearness That Tormented Her When She Was Awake; And She 
 Passed Presently Into A Vivid Dream, In Which She Rescued The Letter 
 With Burned Hands, From The Fire, And Carried It To Kemper, Who Laughed 
 And Kissed Her Burns And Threw The Letter Back Into The Flames. "It Has 
 Never Really Happened--You Have Imagined It All," He Said, "You've 
 Dreamed Jennie Alta And Now You're Dreaming Me And Yourself Also. Look 
 Up, For You Are Just Beginning To Awake." And When She Looked Up At His 
 Words, His Face Changed Suddenly And She Saw That It Was Roger Adams Who 
 Held Her Hands. 
   
 From This Dream She Awoke With A More Distinct Memory Of Adams Than She 
 Had Had For Many Days; And She Felt Again The Impulse To Unburden Her 
 Heart To Him, Which She Had Resisted On The Afternoon They Walked 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 1 Pg 246 
 Together Down Fifth Avenue. The Dawn Had Begun To Break, And While She 
 Waited Impatiently For The Growing Light, She Resolved With One Of Those 
 Promptings Of Wisdom, In Which Ordinary Reason Appeared To Have No Part, 
 That When The Morning Came She Would Go To Adams' Office Before Seeing 
 Kemper. Then She Remembered The Distance Which Had Sprung Between Them 
 In The Last Few Months, And It Seemed To Her To Have Grown Still More 
 Impassable Since The Evening Before. But Because The Visit Offered An 
 Excuse To Postpone Her Confession To Kemper Until The Afternoon, She 
 Caught At It With An Eagerness, Which Hurried Her Into Her Hat And Coat 
 As Soon As Her Pretence Of Breakfasting With Angela Was At An End. 
   
 The Morning Was Bright And Clear, And As She Walked Through The Early 
 Sunshine In The Street, She Remembered The Day, So Long Ago Now, When 
 She Had Met Adams Going To His Office At This Hour, And She Recalled, 
 With A Smile, That She Had Pitied Him Then Because Of The Worn Places On 
 His Overcoat. She No Longer Pitied Him Now--Gerty, Herself, Perry 
 Bridewell, Even Kemper, She Felt, Might Be Deserving Of Compassion, But 
 Not Adams. Yes, She, Herself, In Spite Of Her Boasted Strength Had Come 
 At Last To Feel The Need Of Being Loved For The Very Weakness She Had 
 Once Despised. But She Knew That, Though Adams Might Understand And 
 Forgive This Weakness, In Kemper It Would Provoke Only The Scorn Which 
 She Had Begun To Fear And Dread. Yet Her Intellect Rather Than Her Heart 
 Told Her That Adams Was A Stronger Man Than Kemper And That His Wider 
 Sympathies Proved Only That He Was, Also, The Larger Of The Two. Was The 
 Difference Between Them Merely One Of Goodness, After All, Her 
 Intellect, Not Her Heart, Demanded, And Was It True That The Perfect 
 Love Could Not Enter Except Where This Goodness Had Been To Blaze The 
 Way Before It In The Soul? 
   
 As She Walked Through The Streets Fanciful Comparisons Between The Two 
 Men Thronged In Her Brain, But When Presently She Reached Adams' Office, 
 And Stood Beside His Desk, With Her Hand In His Hearty Grasp, She 
 Realised All At Once That The Visit Was Useless, And That There Was 
 Nothing She Could Say To Him Which Would Not Sound Hysterical And 
 Absurd. 
   
 "So, Thank Heaven, There's Something I Can Do For You!" He Exclaimed, 
 With His Cordial Smile. "Wait Till I Get Into My Overcoat And Then We'll 
 See About It." 
   
 "No--No," She Protested In A Terror, Which She Could Not Explain Even To 
 Herself, "Don't Come Out With Me--There's Nothing You Can Do. I Came 
 Because I Couldn't Help Myself," She Added, Smiling; "And I'll Go For No 
 Better Reason, In A Little While." 
   
 "Well, I'm Ready Whenever You Say So. If It's To Overturn Brooklyn 
 Bridge, I'll Set About It For The Asking." 
   
 "It Isn't Anything So Serious--There's Nothing Really I Want Done," She 
 Answered Gayly, Though The Pain In Her Eyes Stabbed Him To The Heart, 
 "All I Wanted Was To Make Sure Of You--To Make Sure, I Mean, That You 
 Are Really Here." 
   
 "Oh, I'm Here All Right!" He Replied, With Energy. She Looked At Him 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 1 Pg 247 
 Steadily For A Moment With Her Excited Eyes Which Had Grown Darkly 
 Brilliant. 
   
 "Do You Know What I Sometimes Think?" She Said, Breaking Into A Pathetic 
 Little Laugh, "It Is That I Remind Myself Of One Of Those Angels Who, 
 After Falling Out Of Heaven, Could Neither Get Back Again Nor Reconcile 
 Themselves To The Things Of Earth." 
   
 Her Hand Lay On His Desk, And While She Spoke He Bent Forward And 
 Touched It An Instant With His Own. Light As The Gesture Was, It 
 Possessed A Peculiar Power Of Sympathy; And She Was Conscious As He 
 Looked At Her That There Was No Further Need For Her To Speak, Because 
 He Understood, Not Only All That She Had Meant To Put Into Words, But 
 Everything That Was Hidden In Her Heart As Well. 
   
 "I Can't Preach To You, Laura," He Said, "But--But--Oh, I Can't Express 
 Even What Is In My Mind," He Added. "I Wish I Could!" 
   
 "It Wouldn't Help Me," She Replied, "Because Although I Am Not 
 Reconciled With The Things Of Earth I Want To Be--Oh, How I Want To Be!" 
   
 "But You Can't Be--Not You," He Said. "You're Of That Particular Fibre 
 Which Grows Stronger Through Pain, I Think--And, In The End, How Much 
 Easier It Is To Be Made All Spirit Or All Clay--It's The Combination, 
 Not The Pure Quantity That Hurts." 
   
 "I Wonder If You Ever Know What It Is?" She Rejoined. "Does The Earth 
 Ever Pull You Back When You Want To Climb?" 
   
 His Smile Faded, And He Looked At Her Again With The Sympathy Which 
 Accepted, Without Explanation, Not Only Her Outward Aspect, But The Soul 
 Within. "There's Not Much In My Life That Counts For A Great Deal, 
 Laura," He Said, "But You Come In For Considerably The Larger Share Of 
 It. At This Moment I Am Ready To Do Either Of Two Things, As You May 
 Wish--I Am Ready To Stand Aside And Let Your Future Settle Itself As It 
 Probably Will, Or I Am Ready, At Your Word, To Hear Everything And To 
 Judge For You As I Would Judge For Myself. No--No, Don't Answer Me Now," 
 He Added, "Carry It Away With You, And Remember Or Forget It, As You 
 Choose." 
   
 Though There Were Tears In Her Eyes As She Looked At Him, She Turned 
 Away, After An Instant, With A Flippant Laugh. 
   
 "Why, It All Sounds As If I Were Really Unhappy!" She Exclaimed, "But 
 You Won't Believe That, Will You?" 
   
 "I'll Gladly Believe Otherwise When You Prove It." 
   
 "But Haven't I Proved It? Don't I Prove It Every Day I Live?" 
   
 "You Prove To Me At This Minute That You Are Particularly Wretched," He 
 Returned. 
   
 "I Am Not--I Am Not," She Retorted Angrily, While A Frown Drew Her Dark 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 1 Pg 248 
 Brows Together. "You Have No Right To Think Such Things Of Me--They Are 
 Not True." 
   
 "I Have A Right To Think Anything That Occurs To Me," He Corrected 
 Quietly, "Though I Am Willing To Beg Your Pardon For Putting It Into 
 Words. Well, Since You Assure Me That You Are Entirely Happy, I Can 
 Only Say That I Am Overjoyed To Hear It." 
   
 "I Am Happy," She Insisted Passionately; And A Little Later When She Was 
 Alone In The Street, She Told Herself That A Lie Had Become More 
 Familiar To Her Than The Truth. The Conversation With Adams Appeared A 
 Mistake When She Looked Back Upon It--For Instead Of Lessening It Seemed 
 Only To Increase The Weight Of Her Troubles--So She Determined Presently 
 To Think No More Either Of Adams Or Of The Reasons Which Had Prompted 
 Her Impulsive Visit To Him. To Forget Oneself! Yes, Gerty Was Right In 
 The End, And The Object Of All Society, All Occupations, All Amusements, 
 Showed To Her Now As So Many Unsuccessful Attempts To Escape The 
 Haunting Particular Curse Of Personality. Gerty Escaped It By Her 
 Frivolous Pursuits And Her Interminable Flirtations, Which Meant 
 Nothing; Kemper Escaped It By Living Purely In The Objective World Of 
 Sense; Adams Escaped It--The Name Checked Her Abruptly, And She Stopped 
 In Her Thoughts As If A Light Had Flashed Suddenly Before Her Eyes. 
 Here, At Last, Was The Explanation Of Happiness, She Felt, And Yet She 
 Felt Also, That It Presented Itself To Her Mind In An Enigma Which She 
 Could Not Solve--For Adams, She Recognised, Had Mastered, Not Escaped, 
 His Personality. The Poison Of Bitterness Was Gone, But The 
 Effectiveness Of Power Was Still As Great; And His Temperament, In 
 Passing Through The Fiery Waters Of Experience, Was Mellowed Into A 
 Charm Which Seemed Less A Fortunate Grace Of Aspect Than The Result Of A 
 Peculiar Quality Of Vision. Was It His Own Life That Had Opened His Eyes 
 Until He Could Look Into The Secret Chambers In The Lives Of Others? 
   
 In Gramercy Park She Found Mrs. Payne Waiting For Her With The Carriage, 
 And She Accepted Almost Eagerly The Old Lady's Invitation To Spend The 
 Morning In A Search For Hats. At The Moment It Seemed To Her That Hats 
 Offered As Promising An Aid To Forgetfulness As Any Other, And She Threw 
 Herself Immediately Into The Pursuit Of Them With An Excitement Which 
 Enabled Her, For The Time, At Least, To Extinguish The Fierce Hunger Of 
 Her Soul In Supplying The More Visible Exactions Of Her Body. 
   
 At Luncheon Gerty Appeared, Wearing A Startling French Gown, Which, She 
 Said, Had Just Arrived That Morning. After The First Casual Greeting 
 They Fell Into An Animated Discussion Of The Choice Of Veils, During 
 Which Gerty Declared That Laura Had Never Selected The Particular Spots 
 Which Would Be Most Becoming To Her Features. "You Get Them Too Large 
 And Too Far Apart," She Insisted, Picking Up A Black Net Veil From A 
 Pile On Laura's Table, "Even I With My Silly Nose Can't Stand This 
 Kind." 
   
 Laura's Eyes Were Fixed Upon Her With Their Singular Intensity Of Look, 
 But In Spite Of The Absorption Of Her Gaze, She Had Not Heard A Single 
 Word That Gerty Uttered. 
   
 "Yes, Yes, You're Right," She Said; But Instead Of Thinking Of The 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 1 Pg 249 
 Veils, She Was Wondering All The Time If Gerty Had Really Forgotten Her 
 Jealousy Of Madame Alta And The Letter She Had Burned. 
   
 "I Shall Tell Him This Afternoon And That Will Make Everything Easy," 
 She Thought; And When, After A Little Frivolous Conversation Gerty Had 
 Remembered An Engagement And Driven Hurriedly Away, The Situation 
 Appeared To Laura To Have Become Perfectly Smooth Again. At The 
 Announcement Of Kemper's Name, She Crossed The Room To Meet Him With 
 This Impulse Still Struggling For Expression. "I Shall Tell Him Now, And 
 Then Everything Will Be Made Easy," She Repeated. 
   
 But When She Opened Her Lips To Speak, She Found That The Confession 
 Would Not Come Into Words, And What She Really Said Was: 
   
 "It Has Been A Century Since Yesterday, For I've Done Nothing But Shop." 
   
 Laughing He Caught Her Hands, And She Saw With Her First Glance, That He 
 Was In One Of His Ironic Moods. 
   
 "I Thought I'd Netted A Wren," He Answered, "But It Seems I've Caught A 
 Bird Of Paradise." 
   
 "Then It Was Your Ignorance Of Natural History, And Not I, That Deceived 
 You," She Retorted Gayly, "Because I Didn't Spread My Wings For You, Did 
 You Imagine That They Were Not Brilliant?" 
   
 There Was A Note Almost Of Relief In Her Voice As She Spoke--For She 
 Knew Now That, So Long As He Refused To Be Serious, She Could Not Tell 
 Him Until To-Morrow. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 2 Pg 250 
 In Which Laura Enters The Valley Of Humiliation 
   
   
 Two Weeks Later Laura Was Still Able To Assure Herself That It Was This 
 Lack Of "Seriousness" In Kemper's Manner Which Had Kept Her From 
 Alluding To The Burned Letter. Since The Morning On Which She Had Seen 
 Adams, She Felt That She Had Merely Skimmed Experience Without Actually 
 Touching It; And Three Days From The Date Of Her Marriage She Was As Far 
 From Any Deeper Understanding Of The Situation As She Had Been In The 
 Beginning Of Her Love. In The End It Was So Much Easier To Ignore Her 
 Difficulties Than To Face Them; And It Seemed To Her Now That She Was 
 Forced Almost In Spite Of Herself Into Gerty's Frivolous Attitude Toward 
 Life. To Evade The Real--To Crowd One's Existence With Little Lies Until 
 There Was No Space Left Through Which The Larger Truth Might Enter--This 
 Was The Only Solution Which She Had Found Ready For Her Immediate Need. 
   
 Adams She Had Not Met Again; Once He Had Called, But Impelled By A 
 Shrinking Which Was Almost One Of Fear, She Had Turned Back On The 
 Threshold And Refused To See Him. Even Gerty She Had Tried To Avoid 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 2 Pg 251 
 Since The Afternoon In Kemper's Rooms, But Gerty, Who Was In Her Gayest 
 Mood, Drove Down Every Day "To Overturn," As She Carelessly Remarked, 
 "The Newest Presents." 
   
 "I'm Heartily Glad You're Going To Europe," She Said, "And I Hope By The 
 Time You Come Back You'll Have Lost That Nervous Look In Your Face. It 
 Never Used To Be There And I Don't Like It." 
   
 At Her Words Laura Threw An Alarmed Glance At The Mirror; Then She 
 Turned Her Head With A Laugh In Which There Was A Note Of Bitterness. 
   
 "It Came There In My Effort To Make Conversation," She Answered. "I've 
 Been Engaged To Arnold Eight Months And We've Talked Out Every Subject 
 That We Have In Common. Do You Know What It Is To Be In Love With A Man 
 And Yet To Rack Your Brain For Something To Say To Him?" She Finished 
 Merrily. 
   
 "That's Because You Ought To Have Married Roger Adams, As I Was The Only 
 One To Suggest," Retorted Gerty, "Then You'd Have Had Conversation 
 Enough To Flow On, Without A Pause, Till Judgment Day. It's A Very Good 
 Thing, Too," She Added Seriously, "Because The Real Bug-A-Boo Of 
 Marriage Is Boredom, You Know." 
   
 "But How Can Two People Bore Each Other When They Are In Love?" Demanded 
 Laura, Almost Indignant. 
   
 The Possibility Appeared To Her At The Moment As Little Short Of 
 Ridiculous, Yet She Knew, In Her Heart Of Hearts, That She Faced, Not 
 Without Approaching Dread, The Thought Of Those Two Months In Europe; 
 And She Admitted Now For The First Time That Beyond The Absorption Of 
 Their Love, She And Kemper Had Hardly An Interest Which They Shared. 
 Even The Eyes With Which They Looked On Europe Would Be Divided By The 
 Space Of That Whole Inner World Which Stretched Between Them. Yet 
 Because Of The Supremacy Of This One Sentiment She Had Striven To Crush 
 Out Her Brain In Order That She Might Have The Larger Heart With Which 
 To Nourish The Emotion Which Held Them Together. In The Pauses Of This 
 Sentiment She Realised That Their Thoughts Sprang As Far Asunder As The 
 Poles, And As She Looked From Gerty To The Wedding Presents Scattered In 
 Satin Boxes On Chairs And Tables, The Fact That The Step She Took Was 
 Irrevocable, That In Three Days She Would Be Kemper's Wife, That There 
 Was No Possible Escape From It Now, Produced A Sudden Sickening Terror 
 In Her Heart. Then With A Desperate Clutch At Her Old Fatalistic 
 Comfort, She Told Herself That It Would All Come Right If She Were Only 
 Patient--That With Her Marriage Everything Would Be Settled And Become 
 Entirely Simple. 
   
 Gerty Was Unpacking A Case From A Silversmith's When Kemper Came In; And 
 He Gave A Low Whistle Of Dismay As He Glanced About The Room Strewn With 
 Boxes. 
   
 "By Jove, I Believe They Think We're Going To Set Up A Business!" He 
 Exclaimed. 
   
 "Oh, You Can't Imagine How All This Comes In For Entertaining," Replied 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 2 Pg 252 
 Gerty, Shaking Out Her Skirt As She Rose From Her Knees. 
   
 Laura's Eyes Were On Kemper's Face, And She Saw That It Wore A Look Of 
 Annoyance Beneath The Conventional Smile With Which He Responded To 
 Gerty's Words. Something Had Evidently Happened To Displease Him, And 
 She Waited A Little Anxiously Half Hoping For, Half Dreading Her 
 Friend's Departure. 
   
 "I Trust You'll Go Through The Ceremony More Gracefully Than Perry Did," 
 Gerty Was Saying With A Teasing Merriment, While She Broke A White 
 Rosebud From The Vase Of Flowers And Fastened It In His Coat. "I Declare 
 He Quite Spoiled The Whole Effect, He Looked So Frightened. I Never 
 Realised How Little Sense Of Humour Perry Has Until I Saw Him At The 
 Altar." 
   
 "Well, It Isn't Exactly A Joke, You Know," Retorted Kemper. 
   
 For The First Time, As Laura Watched Him, She Remembered That He Had 
 Been Through It All Before Without Her; And The Thought Entered Her 
 Heart Like A Dagger, That Even Now There Was Another Woman Alive 
 Somewhere In The World Who Had Been His Wife--Who Had Been Almost As 
 Much Loved, Almost As Close To Him As She Herself Was To-Day. The 
 Thought Sickened Her, And She Felt Again Her Blind Terror Of A Step So 
 Irrevocable. 
   
 Gerty Had Gone At Last; And Kemper, After Walking Twice Up And Down The 
 Room, Stopped To Examine A Silver Coffee Service With An Attention Which 
 Was So Evidently Assumed That Laura Was Convinced He Might As Well Have 
 Fixed His Gaze Upon The Fireplace. His Thoughts Were Busily Occupied In 
 Quite An Opposite Direction From His Eyes, For Turning Presently, He 
 Laid Down The Sugar Bowl He Had Picked Up, And Went Rapidly To The 
 Mantel Piece, Where He Took Down A Photograph Of Roger Adams. 
   
 "You Don't See Much Of Adams Now?" He Remarked Enquiringly. 
   
 "Not Much," She Went Over To The Mantel And Glanced Carelessly At The 
 Picture In His Hand. "I Never Shall Again." 
   
 "How's That? And Why?" 
   
 "Oh, I Don't Know--One Never Sees Much Of One's Friends After Marriage, 
 Somehow. To Supply The World To Me," She Added Gayly, "Is A Part Of The 
 Responsibility Of Your Position." 
   
 Though His Gaze Was Fixed Intently Upon Her Face, She Saw Clearly That 
 He Had Hardly Taken In Her Words, For While She Spoke His Hands Wandered 
 To The Inside Pocket Of His Coat, As If He Wished To Make Sure Of A 
 Letter He Had Placed There. 
   
 "By The Way, Laura, A Queer Thing Happened To-Day," He Said, Frowning. 
   
 She Looked Up A Little Startled. 
   
 "A Queer Thing?" 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 2 Pg 253 
   
 "I Had A Letter From Madame Alta Asking Why I Hadn't Sold Some Stock I'd 
 Been Holding For Her? She Lost A Good Deal By My Not Selling And She Was 
 In A Devilish Temper About It." 
   
 Laura Had Not Lowered Her Eyes, And As He Finished She Smiled Into His 
 Face. 
   
 "And You Did Not Sell?" She Asked. 
   
 "I Never Got The Letter--But The Odd Part Is She Says She Came To See Me 
 About It The Day You Were There With Gerty--That She Saw You And That 
 She Left The Letter With You To Deliver--" 
   
 He Broke Off And Stood Waiting With A Half Angry, Half Baffled Look; And 
 Then As She Was Still Silent He Picked Up A Red Leather Box From The 
 Table, Laid It Down Again And Came Nearer To Where She Stood. 
   
 "Is It All A Lie, Laura?" He Demanded. 
   
 The Justification Which She Had Attempted Alone In The Night Came Back 
 To Her While She Stood There With Her Hands, Which Felt Like Dead 
 Things, Hanging Limp At Her Sides. "It Was So Very Little That It 
 Escaped My Memory," Was What She Had Said To Herself In The Darkness; 
 But Now, Face To Face With Him In The Light Of Day, She Could Not Bring 
 Her Mind To Think These Words Nor Her Lips To Utter Them. 
   
 "No, It Isn't A Lie--It Is True," She Answered. 
   
 "It Is True?" He Repeated In An Astonishment Which Gave Place To Anger 
 As He Went On. "Do You Mean You Really Met Her In My Rooms?" 
   
 "I Met Her There--I Met Her There!" She Rejoined In A Bitter Triumph Of 
 Truth Which Seemed, Somehow, A Relief To Her. 
   
 "And You Did Not Tell Me?" 
   
 She Shook Her Head. "I'd Never Have Told You." 
   
 "But The Letter? What Became Of The Letter?" 
   
 She Had Drawn A Step Away From Him, Not In Any Fresh Spirit Of Evasion, 
 But That She Might Gain A Better View Of The Look With Which He 
 Confronted Her. Her Eyes Had Not Wavered From His Since The First 
 Question He Had Asked, But Her Hands Were Nervously Knotting And 
 Unknotting A Silver Cord Which She Had Picked Up From A Jeweller's Box 
 Upon The Table At Her Side. 
   
 "Why Didn't I Get The Letter, Laura?" He Asked Again. 
   
 "Because I Burned It," She Answered Slowly, "I Burned It In The Fire In 
 Your Room Just Before You Came In--I Burned It," She Repeated For The 
 Third Time, Raising Her Voice To Clearer Distinctness. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 2 Pg 254 
 A Dark Flush Rose To His Face And The Sombre Colour Gave Him An Almost 
 Brutal Look. 
   
 "In God's Name Why Did You Do It?" He Asked; And She Saw The Contempt In 
 His Eyes As She Had Seen It Before In Her Imagination. "I Am To Presume, 
 I Suppose, That You Were Prompted By Jealousy?" He Added. "An Amiable 
 Beginning For A Marriage." 
   
 "I Don't Know Why I Did It," She Replied, In A Voice Which Was So 
 Constrained As To Sound Unfeeling. "I Didn't Know At The Time And I 
 Don't Know Now. Yes, I Suppose Jealousy Is As Good A Reason As Any 
 Other." 
   
 "And Is This What I Am To Expect In The Future?" He Enquired, With An 
 Irony Which He Might As Well Have Flung At A Figure Of Wood. "Good God!" 
 He Exclaimed As His Righteous Resentment Swept From His Mind All 
 Recollection Of His Own Relapses. "Are You Willing To Marry A Man Whom 
 You Can't Trust Out Of Your Sight?" 
   
 The Force With Which He Uttered The Words Drove Them So Deeply Into His 
 Consciousness That He Was Convinced By His Own Violence Of The Justice 
 In The Stand He Took. "Have You Absolutely No Faith In Me?" He Demanded. 
   
 For A Moment The Question Occupied Her Thoughts. 
   
 "No, I Don't Think I Have Any Now," She Answered, "I've Tried To Make 
 Myself Believe I Had--I've Told A Lie To My Conscience About It Every 
 Day I Lived--But I Don't Think I've Ever Really Had Faith In You Since 
 That Night--" 
   
 "And Yet You Are Willing To Marry Me?" He Asked, And The Scorn In His 
 Voice Stung Her Like A Physical Blow. He Looked At Her With An Angry 
 Glance, And While His Eyes Rested Upon Her, She Understood That He Had 
 Never Really Seen Her In His Life--That He Had Never Penetrated Beyond 
 The Outward Aspect, The Trick Of Gesture. 
   
 "No!--No!" She Cried Out Suddenly, As If She Had Awakened In Terror From 
 Her Sleep. At The Instant She Saw Herself Through His Eyes, Humiliated, 
 Beaten Down, Unwomanly, And She Was Possessed By A Horror Of Her Own 
 Individuality Which She Felt In Some Way To Be A Part Of Her Horror Of 
 The Man Who Had Revealed It To Her. 
   
 In His Perplexity He Had Fallen Back A Step And Stood Now Pulling 
 Nervously At His Moustache With A Gesture Which Recalled His Resemblance 
 To Perry Bridewell. This Gesture, More Than Any Words He Spoke, Shocked 
 Her Into An Acuteness Of Perception Which Was Almost Unnatural In Its 
 Vividness. It Was As If Her Soul, So Long Drugged To Insensibility, Had 
 Started Up In The Last Battle For Liberation. 
   
 "No--No--It Is Impossible!" She Repeated. 
   
 "Aren't You Rather Late In Coming To This Decision?" He Enquired With A 
 Short Laugh. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 2 Pg 255 
 But His Irony Was Wasted Upon Her, For She Saw Only The Look In His 
 Eyes, Which Revealed Her Deception To Her In A Blaze Of Scorn--And She 
 Felt That She Hated Him And Herself With An Almost Equal Hatred. 
   
 "I Am Sorry, But--But I Can't," She Stammered. Feeling Her Words To Be 
 Ineffectual She Cast About Wildly For Some Reason, Some Explanation 
 However Trivial--And In The Effort She Found Her Eyes Wandering 
 Aimlessly About The Room, Taking In The Scattered Wedding Presents, His 
 Dejected Yet Angry Look, And The Fading White Rosebud Gerty Had Pinned 
 Jauntily In His Coat. Then At Last She Realised That There Was Nothing 
 Further That She Could Say, So She Stood Helplessly Knotting The Silver 
 Cord While She Watched The Furious Perplexity In Which He Tugged At His 
 Moustache. 
   
 "I Can't For The Life Of Me See Why You Should Be So Damned Jealous, 
 Laura," He Burst Out Presently, Thrust Back From The Surface 
 Conventions Into A Brute Impulse Of Rage. 
   
 "I Told You I Didn't Know," She Answered Irritably, "I Told You That--" 
   
 "Of Course, I'm Willing To Let It Go This Time," He Went On, With What 
 She Felt To Be A Complacent Return To His Lordly Attitude, "There's No 
 Use Making A Fuss, So We May As Well Forget It--But, For Heaven's Sake, 
 Don't Give Me A Jealous Wife. There's Nothing Under Heaven More Likely 
 To Drive A Man Insane." 
   
 Some Elusive Grace In Her Attitude--A Suggestion Of A Wild Thing Poised 
 For Flight--Arrested Him Suddenly As He Looked At Her; And She Saw His 
 Face Change Instantly While The Fire Of Passion Leaped To His Eyes. 
   
 "Be A Darling And We'll Forget It All!" He Exclaimed. 
   
 He Made A Step Forward, But Shrinking Back Until She Appeared Almost To 
 Crouch Against The Wall, She Put Out Her Hands As If Warding Off His 
 Approach. 
   
 "Don't Touch Me!" She Said; And Though She Spoke In A Whisper, Her Words 
 Seemed To Shriek Back At Her From The Air. The Thought That She Was 
 Fighting For The Freedom Of Her Soul Rushed Through Her Brain, And At 
 The Instant, Had He Laid His Hand Upon Her, She Knew That She Would Have 
 Thrown Herself From The Window. 
   
 "I Don't Want To Touch You," He Returned, Cooling Immediately, "But 
 Can't You Come To Your Senses And Be Reasonable?" 
   
 "If You Don't Mind I Wish You'd Go," She Said, Looking At Him With A 
 Smile Which Was Like The Smile Of A Statue. 
   
 "If I Go Now Will You Promise To Get Sensible Again?" He Asked, With 
 Annoyance, For It Occurred To Him That Since He Had Made Up His Mind To 
 Be Magnanimous, She Had Repulsed His Generosity In A Most Ungrateful 
 Fashion. 
   
 "I Am Sensible," She Responded, "I Am Sensible For The First Time For 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 2 Pg 256 
 Months." 
   
 "Well, You've A Pretty Way Of Showing It," He Retorted. His Irritation 
 Got Suddenly The Better Of Him, And Fearing That It Might Break Out In 
 Spite Of His Control, He Turned Toward The Door. "For God's Sake, Let's 
 Make The Best Of It Now," He Added Desperately. 
   
 In His Nervousness He Stumbled Against The Table And Upset The Red 
 Leather Box Which Contained The Coffee Service. 
   
 "I Beg Your Pardon," He Said, And Stooping To Pick It Up, He Replaced 
 The Silver In The Case Before He Went Into The Hall And Closed The Door 
 Behind Him. 
   
   
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 3 Pg 257 
 Proves A Great City To Be A Great Solitude 
   
   
 After He Had Gone Laura Remained Standing Where He Had Left Her, Until 
 The Sound Of The Hail Door Closing Sharply Caused Her To Draw A Breath 
 Of Relief As If There Had Come A Temporary Lifting Of The Torture She 
 Endured. Then, With Her First Movement, As She Looked About The Room In 
 The Effort To Bring Order Into The Confusion Of Her Thoughts, Her Eyes 
 Encountered The Array Of Wedding Presents, And The Expression Of Her 
 Face Changed Back Into The Panic Terror In Which She Had Couched Against 
 The Wall Before Kemper's Approach. She Still Saw Herself Revealed In The 
 Light Of The Scorn Which Had Blazed In His Eyes; And The One Idea Which 
 Possessed Her Now Was To Escape Beyond The Place Where That Look Might 
 Again Reach Her. An Instinct For Flight Like That Of A Wild Thing In A 
 Jungle Shook Through Her Until She Stood In A Quiver From Head To Foot; 
 And Though She Knew Neither Where She Was Going, Nor Of What Use This 
 Flight Would Be To Her, She Went Into Her Bedroom And Began To Dress 
 Herself Hastily In Her Walking Clothes. As She Tied On Her Veil And Took 
 Up Her Little Black Bag From The Drawer She Heard Her Own Voice, Which 
 Sounded To Her Ears Like The Voice Of A Stranger, Repeating The Words 
 She Had Said To Kemper A Little Earlier: "No--No--I Cant. It Is 
 Impossible." And She Said Over These Words Many Times Because They 
 Infused Into Her Heart The Courage Of Despair Which She Needed To Impel 
 Her To The Step Before Her. When The Door Closed After Her And She Went 
 Down Into The Street, She Was Still Speaking Them Half Aloud To Herself: 
 "No--No--It Is Impossible." 
   
 The Dusk Had Already Settled; Ahead Of Her The Lights Of The City Shone 
 Blurred Through The Greyness, While Above The Housetops Auriga Was 
 Driving Higher In The East. With The First Touch Of Fresh Air In Her 
 Face, She Felt Herself Inspired By An Energy; Which Seemed A Part Of The 
 Wind That Blew About Her; And As She Walked Rapidly Through Streets 
 Which She Did Not Notice Toward An End Of Which She Was Still Ignorant, 
 Her Thoughts Breaking From The Restraint Which Held Them, Rushed In An 
 Excited Tumult Through Her Brain. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 3 Pg 258 
   
 "Why Did He Look At Me So?" She Asked, "For It Is This Look Which Has 
 Driven Me Away--Which Has Made Me Hate Both Him And Myself." She Tried 
 To Recall The Other Expression Which She Had Loved In His Face, But 
 Instead There Returned To Her Only The Angry Look With Which He Had 
 Responded To Her Confession. 
   
 As She Thought Of It Now It Appeared To Her That Death Was The Only 
 Means By Which She Could Free Herself And Him From This Marriage; And 
 The Several Ways Of Dying Which Were Possible To Her Crowded Upon Her 
 With The Force Of An Outside Pressure. She Might Be Crushed In The 
 Street? Or Walk On Till She Found The River? But The Different 
 Approaches To Death Showed To Her As So Hideous That She Knew She Could 
 Not Summon The Courage With Which To Select A Particular One And Follow 
 It To The End. "Yet I Shall Never Go Back," She Thought, "He Does Not 
 Love Me--He Wishes Only To Spare Himself The Scandal. If He Loved Me He 
 Could Never Have Looked At Me Like That. And I Loved Him Three Weeks 
 Ago," She Added. Her Love Was Gone Now, And The Memory Of It Had Become 
 Intolerable To Her, Yet The Vacancy Where It Had Been Was So Great That 
 Death Occurred To Her Again As The Only Outcome. "Though I Hate Him It 
 Seems Impossible That I Should Live On Without Him," She Said. 
   
 But The Next Instant When She Endeavored To Recall His Face She Could 
 Remember Him Only By His Casual Likeness To Perry Bridewell, And She Saw 
 Him Standing Upon The Hearthrug While He Pulled In Angry Perplexity At 
 His Moustache. The Words He Had Spoken, The Tones Of His Voice, And Her 
 Own Emotion, Were Blotted From Her Recollection As If A Thick Darkness 
 Had Wiped Them Out, And From The Hour Of Her Deepest Anguish She Could 
 Bring Back Only A Meaningless Gesture And The White Rosebud He Had Worn 
 In His Coat. What She Had Suffered Then Was The Dying Agony Of The Thing 
 Within Her Which Was Really Herself, And There Remained To Her Now Only 
 The Vacant Image From Which The Passion And The Life Had Flown. "How 
 Could It Make So Much Difference When I Can Barely Remember It?" She 
 Asked; And It Seemed To Her At The Instant That Nothing That Could 
 Happen In One's Existence Really Mattered, Since Big And Little Were All 
 Equal, And The Memory Of An Emotion Faded Sooner Than The Memory Of A 
 Gesture. 
   
 Pausing For A Moment On The Corner, She Watched Curiously The Faces 
 Moving Under The Electric Lights, And She Found Herself Wondering 
 Presently If Each Man Or Woman In The Crowd Was Loving And Hating Or 
 Seeking An Escape From Both Love And Hatred? A Stout Man Wearing A Red 
 Necktie, A Pretty Woman In A Purple Coat, A Pale Girl Carrying A Heavy 
 Bundle, A Bent Shouldered Clerk Who Walked With A Satisfied And Affected 
 Air--As Each One Passed She Saw His Features And Even His Hidden 
 Thoughts In A Grotesque Clearness Which Seemed To Come Partly From An 
 Illumination Within Herself And Partly From The Glare Of The Lights 
 Without. "The Man In The Red Necktie Is Happy Because He Has Made Money; 
 The Pretty Woman Is Happy Because She Is Loved--But The Pale Girl And 
 The Bent Shouldered Clerk Are Wretched. They Have Neither Love Nor 
 Money, And They Have Not Found Out How Little Either Is Worth." 
   
 For A While She Watched Them, Almost Forgetting Her Own Unhappiness In 
 The Excitement Of Their Discovered Histories; But Wearying Suddenly, She 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 3 Pg 259 
 Turned Away And Entered A Street Where The Darkness Had Already 
 Gathered. Here She Came Close Upon A Pair Of Lovers Who Walked Arm In 
 Arm, But The Sight Irritated Her So She Turned Again At The Next Corner. 
 The Question Whether She Should Go Home Or Not Thrust Itself Upon Her, 
 And It Seemed To Her That It Would Be Better To Die In The Street Than 
 To Return To The Persuasions Of Gerty, The Reproaches Of Mrs. Payne, And 
 The Complacency Of Kemper. As She Hurried On In The Darkness She Saw Her 
 Past As Distinctly As If Her Eyes Were Turned Backward, And In This 
 Vision Of It There Showed To Her The Steep Upward Way Of The Spirit, And 
 She Remembered The Day When Her Destiny Had Seemed To Lie Mapped Out For 
 Her In The Hand Of God. "Was This What God Meant?" She Demanded, And 
 Because There Was No Answer To The Question She Asked It Again And Again 
 The More Passionately. "Or Perhaps There Is No God After All," She 
 Added. 
   
 A Sob Broke From Her Lips, And A Policeman, Who Was Passing, Threw First 
 An Enquiring, Then A Respectful Glance At Her, And Went On Again. A 
 Child Playing In The Street Ran Up To Beg For Some Money, And She Opened 
 Her Bag And Gave Him A Piece Of Silver With A Smile. 
   
 "Thank You, Lady," He Responded, And Ran Back Into The Shadows. As He 
 Crossed The Street She Followed Him With Her Eyes, Seeing Him Hasten, 
 His Palm Outstretched, To An Italian Who Was Roasting Chestnuts In A 
 Charcoal Burner On The Opposite Sidewalk. 
   
 The Darkness Had Grown Heavier And As She Walked Rapidly Through Streets 
 Which She Did Not Know, Her Nervous Energy Failed Her, And She Began To 
 Tremble Presently From Exhaustion. Again She Asked Herself For The Last 
 Time If It Were Possible For Her To Go Home And Face Mrs. Payne And 
 Gerty And Marry Kemper In Three Days. A Fantastic Humour In The 
 Situation Brought A Laugh To Her Lips--For Whenever She Was Confronted 
 By The Hopelessness Of Her Escape, The Arguments For Her Marriage 
 Presented Themselves To Her In The Forms Of Cases Of Silver And Of Her 
 Wedding Dress In Its White Satin Box. Mrs. Payne Had Spent The 
 Afternoon, She Knew, In Arranging This Silver On Covered Tables In An 
 Empty Room, And She Could See Plainly The Old Lady's Animated Movements, 
 The Careful Eye With Which She Estimated The Value Of Each Gift, And 
 The Expression Of Approval Or Contempt With Which She Grouped It 
 According To Its Importance. Then She Thought Of Kemper Held To His Love 
 By The Embarrassment Of These Presents, By The Hopelessness Of Returning 
 Them, And By His Conventional Horror Of "Getting Into Print," And At The 
 Picture The Laugh Grew Almost Hysterical On Her Lips. How Sordid It All 
 Was! This Array Of Silver, Mrs. Payne's Reproachful Comic Mask, And 
 Kemper, Pulling His Moustache As He Stood Upon The Hearthrug, All 
 Whirled Confusedly In The Dimly Lighted Street Before Her. She Felt Her 
 Knees Tremble, And While This Weakness Lasted It Seemed To Her That It 
 Would Be Better To Go Back And Get Warm Again, And Submit To Anything 
 They Forced Upon Her. Her Flesh, In Its Weakness, Would Have Yielded, 
 But Something More Powerful Than The Flesh--The Soul Within Which She 
 Had So Long Rejected--Struggled On After The Impulses Of The Body Had 
 Surrendered. 
   
 The Lights Grew Suddenly Blurred Before Her Eyes, And Looking Up, She 
 Found That She Had Reached A Ferry, And That A Crowd From A Neighbouring 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 3 Pg 260 
 Factory Was Hurrying Through The Open Doors Into The Boat Which Was 
 About To Put Off. For The First Time It Occurred To Her That She Might 
 Leave The City; And Going Inside She Bought A Ticket And Followed The 
 People Who Were Rushing Across The Gangway. Where It Would Take Her She 
 Had No Idea, But When After A Few Minutes The Boat Had Crossed To The 
 Other Side, She Went Out Again With The Crowd, And Then Turning In The 
 Direction Where There Appeared To Be Open Country, She Walked On More 
 Rapidly As If Her Thoughts Flew Straight Ahead Into The Broader Spaces 
 Of The Horizon. 
   
 At First There Were Rows Of Streets, A Few Scattered Shops In Among The 
 Houses, And Groups Of Workmen From The Factories Lounging Upon The 
 Sidewalk. A Child, With A Crooked Back, In A Red Dress, Ran Across The 
 Pavement In Front Of Her And Stopped With An Exclamation Before A Window 
 Which Contained A Display Of Pink And White Candy. Then A Second Child 
 Joined Her, And The Two Fell To Discussing The Various Highly Coloured 
 Sweets Arrayed On Little Fancy Squares Of Paper Behind The Glass. As 
 Laura Watched Them, Pausing Breathlessly In Her Walk, Every Trivial 
 Detail Of This Incident Seemed To Her To Possess An Equal Importance 
 With All Other Happenings Large Or Small: For The Events Of Her 
 Individual Experience Had So Distorted Her Perceptions Of The Ascending 
 Values Of Life, That Her Own Luckless Pursuit Of Happiness Appeared Of 
 No Greater Importance In Her Eyes Than The Child, With The Crooked Back, 
 Making Her Choice Of Sweets. Her Own Emotions, Indeed, Interested Her No 
 Longer, But She Was Aware Of A Dull Curiosity Concerning The Crippled 
 Child. Would Her Whole Life Become Misshapen Because Of The Physical 
 Form Which She Wore Like An Outer Garment? And She Felt, At The Thought, 
 That She Would Like To Stand Upon The Side Of The Child And Upon The 
 Side Of All Who Were Oppressed And Made Miserable By The Crookedness 
 Either Of The Body Or Of Destiny. 
   
 While This Pity Was Still In Her Mind She Tried To Recall Kemper As She 
 Had First Known Him, But It Was To Remember Only That He Had Reddened 
 With Anger As He Spoke To Her, And That The Sunlight, Falling Upon Him, 
 Had Revealed The Gray Hair On His Temples. The Physical Aspect Which Had 
 Meant So Little In Her Love Was All That The Recollection Of Him Could 
 Suggest To Her Now, For She Found That The Visual Memory Still Remained 
 After The Passion Which Had Informed It With Life And Colour Was Blotted 
 Out. 
   
 The Child Interested Her No Longer, And Walking On Again, She Passed, 
 After A Time, The Scattered Houses, And Came Out Upon The Open Road 
 Which Showed White And Deserted Beneath The Stars. Looking Overhead, As 
 She Went On, Her Gaze Swept The Heavens With That Sense Of Absolute 
 Stillness Which Comes Under The Solitude Of The Sky, And Standing 
 Presently In The Dust Of The Road, She Fixed Her Eyes Upon The Pleiades 
 Shining Softly Far Above The Jagged Line Of The Horizon. Her Feet Ached 
 Beneath Her, But Her Head Seemed Suddenly Spinning Through Clear Spaces 
 Among The Stars, And While She Stood There, She Felt That The Distance 
 Between Her And The Sky Existed Only In The Hindrance Of Her Body. With 
 That Laid Aside Might She Not Recover Her Soul And God There As Well As 
 Here? 
   
 Again She Went On, But This Time She Found That Her Limbs Could Make No 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 3 Pg 261 
 Further Effort, And Struggling Step By Step, To A Bend In The Road, She 
 Looked About Her In A Physical Agony Which Left Her Consciousness Only 
 Of Her Desire For Rest. A House, Set Back From The Roadside In A Clump 
 Of Trees, Showed To Her As She Turned, And Going Through The Little 
 Whitewashed Gate And Up The Path, She Knocked At The Door And Then Stood 
 Trembling Before The Threshold. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 4 Pg 262 
 Shows That True Love Is True Service 
   
   
 On The Evening Of The Day Upon Which Laura Was To Have Been Married, 
 Adams Went, As Usual, Into His Study And Lit The Green Lamp Upon His 
 Desk; But His Mind Was So Filled With The Mystery Of Her Absence That 
 Even The Pretence Of Distraction Became Unendurable. Since The News Of 
 Her Broken Engagement And Her Flight Had Reached Him, He Had Spent Three 
 Days In A Fruitless, Though Still Hopeful, Search For Her; And The 
 Nights When He Was Forced To Relax His Efforts Were Filled With Agonised 
 Imaginings Of Her Loneliness At So Great A Distance And Yet In Reality 
 So Near. From The Moment That He Had Heard Through Gerty Of Her 
 Disappearance, There Had Ceased To Exist All Uncertainty As To The 
 Position In Which He Now Stood To Her; And He Reproached Himself, As He 
 Remembered Her Visit To His Office, Because He Had Failed Then To Take 
 Into His Hands A Decision Which From An External View Appeared So Little 
 To Affect Him. 
   
 But The External View, He Realised, Was Nothing To Him To-Night. On That 
 Last Day He Had Penetrated Beneath The Shallow Surface Of The 
 Conventions, And He Had Read In Her Tormented Heart The Whole Story Of 
 The Bitter Disillusionment Which She Did Not Dare To Put In Words. Her 
 Imagination, He Saw, Had Created An Ideal Lover In Kemper's Shape, And 
 In The Moment Of Her Awakening She Had Turned Away Not From The 
 Falsehood, But From The Truth. "Though He Is Not What I Loved Yet I Will 
 Still Love Him!" Her Heart Had Cried, In A Subjection To The Old False 
 Feminine Belief That Faithfulness To A Mistaken Ideal Is Not Weakness 
 But Virtue. Yet In The End She Had Fled From That Ultimate Choice 
 Between The Higher And The Lower Nature. How Could She Have Lived On A 
 Lie When Her Spirit Had Forged So Clear A Path Of Truth Before Her? 
   
 Rising From His Chair He Walked For A Few Minutes Rapidly Up And Down 
 The Room. How Far Or How Near Was She To-Night? Had She Remembered Him 
 In Her Misery? Would God Reveal Himself To Her In The Most Terrible 
 Hour? His Trust In Her Final Deliverance Was So Great That Even As He 
 Put The Questions, He Knew In His Heart That She Was One Of Those Who, 
 In The End, "Win Their Own Souls Through Perseverance." His Eyes Fell On 
 Her Picture Above His Desk, And Then Turning Away Rested On Connie's 
 Which Stood Where He Had Placed It In The First Years Of His Marriage. 
 Connie And Her Life With Him Was Like A Half-Forgotten Dream To Him Now, 
 Yet, Looking Back Upon It, He Could Not Tell Himself That There Had Been 
 For Him No Gain Of Strength, For Connie No Growth Of Understanding, In 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 4 Pg 263 
 The Pitiless Failure Of Their Marriage. All Was Softened In His Memory 
 By That Last Afternoon When He Had Seen The Shame Of Experience Wiped 
 From Her Face As They Combed Her Hair Straight Back From Her Forehead In 
 The Old Childish Fashion; And He Had Realised From That Instant That A 
 Soul Had Come To Birth In The Hour Before Her Death. A Single Ray Of The 
 Divine Light Had Dispelled The Thick Darkness, And Her Blind Eyes Were 
 Opened For One Minute Before She Closed Them To The Body Forever. Was 
 That One Minute Not Worth Every Heart Throb He Had Suffered And Every 
 Difficult Hope For Which He Had Battled In His Thoughts? Having Looked 
 Though For A Fleeting Glimpse Only Upon The Unity Of Life, Was Not Her 
 Spirit's Growth Measured In The Instant Of That Flashing Vision? For God 
 Had Worked Here--Had Worked In The Pity Of His Heart, As Well As In The 
 Awakening Gratitude In Connie's; And Because Of The Deeper Insight He 
 Had Attained, He Could Look Back Over The Whole Sordid Tragedy And 
 Discern One Of Those Steep And Arduous Roads By Which The Spirit Mounts 
 To Enlightenment Through The Flesh. And If This Were So Here--If In 
 Ugliness Such As This He Could Find Beauty, Was It Not One And The Same 
 Over The Broad Field Of Human Effort? Had Not His Own Life Proved To Him 
 That Let A Man's Eyes Be Opened, And Even In The Depths Of Abasement He 
 May Look In His Soul And Discover God? 
   
 And Laura? His Heart Was Flooded With Tenderness, And He Felt Again A 
 Confident, An Almost Mystic Assurance That Her Destiny Was One With His. 
 In This Growing Conviction His Anxiety Appeared To Him Suddenly As A 
 Pitiable And Cowardly Denial Of His Faith--And He Was Possessed By The 
 Certainty That He Had Only To Send Out His Will In Order To Smooth The 
 Way Of Her Return To Peace. 
   
 The Room Had Become Warm, And Opening The Window He Stood Looking Beyond 
 The Housetops To The Stars Which Shone Dimly Over The City. The Noise In 
 The Streets Grew Fainter In His Ears, And As He Stood There With His 
 Eyes On The Stars, He Could Tell Himself In The Joy Of His 
 Reconciliation, That The Law By Which They Moved Gloriously Toward 
 Their End Was The Law Which Controlled His Own And Laura's Life. The 
 Sense Which Is Less A Belief Than An Intimate Knowledge Of Immortality 
 Belonged To Him Now, And He Realised That So Far As He Lived At All He 
 Lived Not In The Hour Alone, But In Eternity, That So Far As He Had Won 
 Peace It Was Bound Up In A Passionate Conviction Of The Survival Of The 
 Universe Within His Soul. To-Day Or To-Morrow, In The Minute Or In 
 Eternity, He Saw That Wherever God Is There Will Always Be Immortal 
 Life. 
   
 Turning Back Into The Room He Looked Again At Laura's Picture With A 
 Longing Which Had Not Freed Itself As Yet From The Idea Of Renouncement. 
 Even Now He Realised That He Had Been Strong Enough To Live Without Her, 
 And With The Admission, He Was Aware Again Of That Wider Sympathy Which 
 Had Been His Compensation In A Forefeiture Of Personal Love. His 
 Happiness He Had Told Himself A Year Ago Depended Neither Upon 
 Possession Nor Upon Any Passage Of Events, Yet To-Night His Heart 
 Strained After Her In A Tenderness Which Seemed To Bring Her Visible 
 Presence Before Him In The Room. His Love For Her Appeared Not Only As A 
 Part Of His Love For God, But As A Part, Also, Of His Sorrows, His 
 Bitter Patience, His Renouncement And Of The Compassion Which Had Sprung 
 From The Agony And The Enlightenment Of His Failure. Sorrow He Could 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 4 Pg 264 
 Still Feel--The Deepest Human Grief Might Be His Portion To-Morrow, But 
 While This Unfading Light Shone In His Soul, He Knew That It Was 
 Ordained That He Should Conquer In The End. By This Knowledge Alone He 
 Had At Last Won Through Suffering Into The Open Places Of The Spirit 
 Where Were Joy And Freedom. 
   
 A Ring At The Bell Startled Him From His Abstraction, And With An 
 Impatient Eagerness For News, He Hastened To The Door, Where A Boy 
 Thrust At Him A Small Folded Sheet Of Paper. As He Opened It He Felt 
 That His Had Trembled, For Even Before He Read The Words, He Knew That 
 Laura's Appeal To Him Had Come. 
   
 "I Need A Friend. Will You Help Me?" Was All That She Had Written. 
   
 He Motioned The Boy To Come Inside, And Then Stood Looking At Him 
 Enquiringly As He Got Into His Overcoat. 
   
 "Do You Go Back With Me?" He Asked. 
   
 The Boy Nodded While He Pulled At A Scarlet Handkerchief About His Neck. 
 Adams Noticed That Though He Was Stunted And Anaemic In Appearance, He 
 Wore His Shabby Overcoat With An Almost Rakish Swagger. His Mouth Was 
 Filled With Chewing-Gum Which He Rolled Aside In His Cheek When He 
 Talked. 
   
 "Is It Far?" Adams Enquired In A Hopeless Effort To Extort Information 
 However Meagre. 
   
 The Boy Looked Important, Almost Mysterious. 
   
 "Yep," He Responded, Adding Immediately, "She's The Other Side Of The 
 Ferry." 
   
 "Do You Mean The Lady?" He Opened The Door, And Hurried To The Sidewalk 
 Where He Stopped To Call A Cab From The Corner. 
   
 "She's Been There Three Nights, So Tired She Couldn't Move," Replied The 
 Boy, As He Followed Adams Into The Cab. "A Fine Lady, Too," He Commented 
 With A Wink. 
   
 "Well, She's All Right Now, And I'm Much Obliged To You," Said Adams, 
 But He Asked No Further Questions Until They Were Seated Side By Side In 
 The Ferry, When He Tried Again To Draw Out The Bare Facts Of Laura's 
 Flight. 
   
 During The Walk Through The Town And Along The Country Road, He Learned 
 That Laura Had Reached The House Of The Boy's Mother In An Exhaustion Of 
 Mind And Body Which Had Compelled Them To Harbour Her For The Night. On 
 The Next Day Her Appearance And The Money With Which She Was Supplied 
 Had So Won Upon The Mother's Sympathy That Her Desire To Remain A Few 
 Days Longer Had Been Met Almost With Eagerness By The Older Woman. When 
 He Had, With Difficulty, Extracted This Account Of What Had Passed, 
 Adams Fell A Little Ahead Of His Companion, And They Went On In Silence 
 Until They Came, At The End Of Several Miles, In Sight Of The Cottage 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 4 Pg 265 
 Withdrawn From The Roadside In Its Clump Of Trees. A Single Lighted 
 Window Was Visible Through The Bared Boughs, And Standing Out Clearly 
 From The Interior, Adams Saw A Dark Figure Which His Heart Recognised 
 With A Bound. 
   
 The Boy Pushed Back The Gate And Adams Went Up The Path Inside, And 
 Entering The House Opened The Door Of The Room In Which He Had Seen 
 Laura Standing. She Was Still There, Motionless In The Lamplight, And As 
 He Went Toward Her She Lifted Her Eyes And Gazed Back At Him In The Mute 
 Defiance Which Is The Outward Expression Of Despair. 
   
 "Do You Think You Have Been Quite Just To Me, Laura?" He Asked, Not 
 Tenderly, But With A Stern And Reproachful Face. 
   
 Without Lowering Her Eyes She Looked At Him While She Shook Her Head. 
   
 "I Sent For You Because I Could Not Help It. I Had Nowhere To Go," She 
 Said. 
   
 "Do You Think You Have Been Just To Me?" He Asked Again. 
   
 "You? I Never Thought Of You Until To-Day," She Answered. "I Came Here 
 Because I Had To Go Somewhere--It Did Not Matter Where. I Was Too Tired 
 To Walk Any Farther, So They Were Very Good To Me." 
   
 "And You Have Let Us Search For You Three Days." His Voice Was 
 Constrained, But As He Looked Into Her Wan Face Between The Loosened 
 Waves Of Her Hair, His Heart Melted Over Her In An Agony Of Tenderness. 
 Every Drop Of Blood Appeared To Have Left Her Body, Which Was So Pallid 
 That He Seemed To See The Light Shining Through Her Drawn Features. 
   
 "So They Have Been Looking For Me?" She Observed, With But Little 
 Interest. 
   
 "What Did You Expect?" He Questioned In His Turn. 
   
 "But I Didn't Want To Be Found--I Would Rather Stay Lost," She 
 Responded. Shrinking Away From Him She Went To The Window And Stood 
 There, Pressed Closely Against The Panes, As If In A Blind Impulse To 
 Put The Space Of The Room Between Them. "I Will Not Go Back Even Now--I 
 Will Not Go Back," She Insisted. 
   
 As He Entered He Had Closed The Door Behind Him, And Leaning Against It 
 Now, He Looked At Her With A Flicker Of His Quiet Smile. 
   
 "I'm Not Talking About Going Back, Am I?" He Rejoined. "Heaven Knows You 
 May Stay Here If You Like The Place." He Glanced Quickly About The 
 Crudely Furnished Little Room Hung With Cheap Crayon Portraits. "It's 
 Rather Hard, Though, To Fit You Into These Surroundings," He Remarked 
 With A Flash Of Humour. 
   
 She Shook Her Head. "They Suit Me As Well As Any Other." 
   
 "And The People Who Live Here?--What Of Them?" 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 4 Pg 266 
   
 "I Like Them Because They Are So Near To The Ground," She Answered, 
 "They've No Surface Of Culture, Or Personality, Or Convention To Bother 
 One--They've No Surface, Indeed, Of Any Kind." 
   
 "Well, It's All Very Interesting," He Remarked, Smiling, "But, In Common 
 Decency, Don't You Think You Might Have Sent Me Word?" 
   
 "I Never Thought Of You An Instant," She Replied. 
   
 "You Never Thought Of Me In Your Life," He Retorted, "And Yet When I Say 
 I'm Better Worth Your Thinking Of Than Kemper--God Knows I Don't Pretend 
 To Boast." 
   
 A Weaker Man Would Have Hesitated Over The Name, But He Had Seen At The 
 First Glance That The Way To Save Her Was Not By Softness, And His Lips, 
 After He Had Uttered The Word, Closed Tightly Like The Lips Of A Surgeon 
 Who Applies The Knife. 
   
 "Don't Speak To Me Of Him!" She Cried Out Sharply, "I Had Forgotten!" 
   
 Her Eyes Hung Upon His In A Returning Agony, And It Was Through This 
 Agony Alone That He Hoped To Bring Back Her Consciousness Of Life. 
   
 "This Is Not The Way To Forget," He Answered, "You Are Not A Coward, Yet 
 You Have Chosen The Cowardly Means. There Can He No Forgetfulness Until 
 You Are Strong Enough To Admit The Truth To Your Own Heart--To Say 
 'There Is No Mistake That Is Final, No Wrong Done That Has Power To 
 Crush Me.'" 
   
 "But There Is No Truth In My Heart," She Answered, With Sudden Energy, 
 "It Is All A Lie--I Am A Lie All Over, And It Makes No Difference 
 Because I Have Ceased To Care. I Used To Think That People Only Died 
 When They Were Put In Coffins, But I Know Now That You Can Be Dead And 
 Yet Move And Walk About And Even Laugh And Pretend To Be Like All The 
 Rest--Some Of Whom Are Dead Also. And I Didn't Die Slowly," She Added, 
 With A Vague Impersonal Interest, Which Impressed Him As Almost 
 Delirious In Its Detachment, "I Wasn't Killed In A Year, But In A 
 Minute. One Instant I Was Quite Alive--As Alive As You Are Now--And The 
 Next I Was As Dead As If I Had Been Buried Centuries Ago." 
   
 "And Who Is To Blame For This?" He Demanded, White To The Lips. 
   
 "Oh, It Wasn't He--It Was Life," She Went On Calmly, "He Couldn't Help 
 It, Nor Could I--Nobody Can Help Anything. Do You Understand That?" She 
 Asked, With The Searching Mental Clearness Which Seemed Always Lying 
 Behind Her Dazed Consciousness, "That We're All Drawn By Wires Like 
 Puppets, And The Strongest Wire Pulls Us In The Direction In Which We 
 Are Meant To Go? It's Curious That I Should Never Have Known This Before 
 Because It Has Become Perfectly Plain To Me Now--There Is No Soul, No 
 Aspiration, No Motive For Good Or Evil, For We're Every One Worked By 
 Wires While We Are Pretending To Move Ourselves." 
   
 "All Right, But It's My Turn At The Wire Now," Responded Adams, Smiling 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 4 Pg 267 
   
 At His Words She Broke Out Into Little Hard Dry Sobs, Which Had In Them 
 None Of The Softness Of Tears. "Nobody Is To Blame For Anything," She 
 Repeated, Still Striving, In A Dazed Way, To Be Just To Kemper. 
   
 Even More Than Her Face And Her Voice, This Pathetic Groping Of Her 
 Reason, Moved Him Into A Passion Of Sympathy; And While He Looked At 
 Her, He Resisted An Impulse To Gather Her, In Spite Of Her Coldness, 
 Against His Breast. 
   
 "What Is It, Laura, That Has Made You Suffer Like This?" He Asked. 
   
 But His Words Made No Impression Upon Her, Perhaps Because They Could 
 Not Penetrate The Outer Husk Of Deadness Which Enveloped Her. 
   
 "Do You Know What It Is To Feel Ashamed?" She Demanded Suddenly, "To 
 Feel Ashamed, Not In A Passing Quiver, But In A Settled State Every 
 Instant That You Live? Do You Know What It Is To Have Every Sensation Of 
 Your Body Merged Into This One Feeling Of Shame--To Be Ashamed With Your 
 Eyes And Hands And Feet As Well As With Your Mind And Heart And Soul? I 
 Could Have Stood Anything But This," She Added, Pressing Closer Against 
 The Window. 
   
 An Exclamation Which Was Almost One Of Anger Burst From Him, And Going 
 To Where She Stood, He Laid His Hand Upon Her Arm As If In The Effort To 
 Recall Her Reason By Physical Force. But With His First Touch His Grasp 
 Lost Its Energy And Grew Gentle, For Her Anguish Appeared To Him, As He 
 Held Her, To Be Only The Instinctive Crying Out Of A Child That Is Hurt. 
 His Hold Slipped From Her Arm, And Taking Her Hands, He Bent Over And 
 Kissed Them Until They Lay Quiet In His Own. 
   
 "Laura, Do You Trust My Love For You?" He Asked. 
   
 "I Trust You, Yes," She Answered, "But Not Love--It Is Only One Of The 
 Wires By Which We Are Moved." 
   
 "Trust Anything You Please About Me, So Long As You Trust--That Is All I 
 Ask," He Let Her Hands Fall From His And Looked Into Her Face. "Promise 
 Me That You Will Be Here Waiting When I Return." 
   
 "There's No Place For Me To Go--I Shall Be Here," She Answered. 
   
 Her Eyes Followed Him With A Pathetic Child-Like Fear While He Crossed 
 The Room And Went Out Leaving Her Alone. 
   
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 5 Pg 268 
 Between Laura And Gerty 
   
   
 Did He Possess The Strength As Well As The Love That She Needed? Adams 
 Asked Himself A Little Later As He Walked Back Under The Stars. He Saw 
 Her As He Had Just Left Her--Wan, Despairing; So Bloodless That The 
 Light Seemed Shining Through Her Features, And Then He Remembered The 
 Radiant Smile Which She Had Lost, The Glorious Womanhood Obscured Now By 
 Humiliation. An Assurance, In Which There Was Almost Exultation, Flooded 
 His Thoughts, And He Was Aware That The Passion He Felt For Her Had Been 
 Suddenly Strengthened By An Emotion Of Equal Power--By The Longing Born 
 In His Heart To Afford Protection To Whatever Suffered Within His Sight. 
   
 Never For An Instant, Since He Had Entered The Room Where She Retreated 
 Before Him, Had He Doubted Either His Appointed Mission Or His Power Of 
 Renewal. His Whole Experience, He Understood Now, Had Directed Him To 
 This Hour Which He Had Not Foreseen, And The Worldly Success For Which 
 He Had Once Struggled Meant To Him At Last Only That He Might Bring Hope 
 Where There Was Failure. Even Connie--Her Love, Her Tragic History, Her 
 Pitiable Reliance Upon Him At The End--Showed To Him In The Aspect Of A 
 Human Revelation--For His Fuller Understanding Of Connie Had Confirmed 
 Him In The Patience By Which Alone He Might Win Back Laura To The 
 Happiness Which She Had Lost. 
   
 The Road Stretching Ahead Of Him Was No Longer Obscured, But Shone 
 Faintly Luminous Out Of The Surrounding Darkness. Not The Future Alone 
 But The Desert Places Through Which He Had Come Had Blossomed, And The 
 Beauty Which Was Revealed To Him At Last Was The Beauty In All Things 
 That Have Form Or Being--In The Earth No Less Than In The Sky, In The 
 Flesh No Less Than In The Spirit, For Were Not Earth And Flesh, After 
 All, Only Sky And Spirit In The Making? The Perfect Plan, He Had 
 Learned, In The End, Is Not For Any Part But For The Whole. 
   
 Across The Ferry, He Found A Cab Which Took Him To Gerty's House, And In 
 Response To His Message, She Came Down Immediately, Looking Excited And 
 Perturbed, In An Evening Gown Of Black And Silver. 
   
 "Have You Brought Me News Of Laura?" She Asked Breathlessly. "Perry's 
 Dragging Me To A Dinner, But If She's Ill, I Can't Go--I Won't." 
   
 "Don't Go," He Answered, "She's Not Ill, But If She Were It Would Be 
 Better. Will You Come With Me Now And Bring Her Back With You?" 
   
 Without Replying To His Question, She Ran From The Room And Returned, In 
 A Moment, Wearing A Hat And A Long Coat Which Covered Her Black And 
 Silver Dress. 
   
 "The Carriage Is Waiting Now," She Said, "We Can Take It And Let Perry 
 Go To His Dinner In A Cab." 
   
 "But--Good Lord, Gerty--What Am I To Say To Them?" Demanded Perry While 
 He Shook Hands With Adams. "I Never Could Make Up An Excuse In My Life, 
 You Know." 
   
 Then His Eyes Blinked Rapidly And He Fell Back With Merely A Muttered 
 Protest, For Gerty Shone, At The Instant, With A Beauty Which Neither He 
 Nor Adams Had Ever Seen In Her Before. The Wonderful Child Quality 
 Softened Her Look, And They Watched Her Soul Bloom In Her Face Like A 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 5 Pg 269 
 Closed Flower That Expands In Sunlight. 
   
 "I Don't Know, My Dear," She Responded Gently, And With Her Hand On 
 Adams's Arm, She Ran Down The Steps And Into The Carriage Before The 
 Door. As They Drove Away, She Looked Up At Him With A Tender Little 
 Smile. 
   
 "I Am So Glad That She Has You," She Said. 
   
 "In Having You, She Has A Great Deal More." 
   
 "It Is You Who Have Done It All--You Expected Me To Have Courage, So I 
 Have It. Had You Expected Me To Be Cowardly, I Should Have Been So." 
   
 "Well, I Expect You To Save Her," He Answered Quietly. 
   
 "Does She Need It? What Was It? What Does It Mean?" 
   
 "You'll Know To-Night, Perhaps. I Shall Never Know, But What Does It 
 Matter?" 
   
 "I Saw Arnold To-Day," She Said, "He Is Terribly--Terribly--" She 
 Hesitated For A Word, "Cut Up About It. Yet He Swears He Can't For The 
 Life Of Him See That He Was To Blame. Had He Been To Blame, He Says, He 
 Would Have Shot Himself." 
   
 "Would He?" He Remarked Indifferently. 
   
 "He Sails For Europe On Saturday--If He Hears She's Found." 
   
 He Bit Back An Exclamation Of Anger. 
   
 "What, Under Heaven, Has He To Do With It?" He Asked. 
   
 "A Great Deal, One Would Think. But Have You Seen Her? Tell Me Of Her." 
   
 "Be Good To Her," He Answered, "She Is In A Hard Place And Needs A Great 
 Deal Of Love." 
   
 "And We Can Give It To Her, You And I?" 
   
 "Mine Is Hers Already, If It's Any Help." 
   
 "Was It Hers Before She Knew Arnold Even?" 
   
 "Long Before--Before He Or You Or I Were Born." 
   
 "And Does She Understand?" 
   
 "She Doesn't Know--But What Difference Does That Make?" 
   
 Her Eyes, In The Flickering Light, Gave Him An Impression Of Remoteness 
 As Of Dim Stars. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 5 Pg 270 
 "I Wonder How It Feels To Be Loved Like That?" She Said, A Little 
 Wistfully. 
   
 "You Would Never Have Cared For It," He Answered, With A Flash Of His 
 Penetrating Insight, "For The Kind Of Man Who Could Have Loved You In 
 That Way You Couldn't Have Loved." 
   
 "You Mean That I Was Born To Adore The God In The Brute?" She Asked. 
   
 "Oh, Well, So Long As It's The God!" He Retorted Laughing. 
   
 But She Paid No Heed To His Remark, And Drawing Her Coat About Her As If 
 She Were Cold, She Sat In Silence Until The Carriage Was Driven Upon The 
 Ferry And They Began The Trip Across. 
   
 "She Came This Way All Alone And At Night?" She Said. 
   
 "How Or Why We Shall Probably Never Know Entirely," He Answered. "I 
 Doubt If She Realised Herself Where She Was Going." 
   
 "It Looks Meaningless From A Distance, But, I Suppose, In Reality, It 
 Was A Courageous Flight?" 
   
 "Yes, I Think There Was Courage In It," He Responded Quietly. 
   
 She Turned Her Eyes Away, Looking Out As They Drove Through The Open 
 Country Upon The Black Fields And The Stars. Neither Of Them Spoke Again 
 Until The Carriage Stopped And The Footman Jumped Down To Ask For Some 
 Directions. Then As They Drew Up Presently Before The Little Gate, Adams 
 Helped Her Out And Along The Path Into The House. 
   
 "She Is In There," He Said, Pointing To A Closed Door, "When You See Her 
 You Will Understand." 
   
 "But You Will Come, Too?" She Asked, Hesitating. 
   
 He Shook His Head. "Her Heart Is Bleeding--It's A Woman That She Wants." 
   
 Then He Opened The Door, And Pushing Her Gently Inside, Closed It After 
 Her. 
   
 At First Gerty Could See But Faintly By The Light Of A Lamp Which 
 Smoked, But As She Went Quickly Forward, Laura Rose From The Sofa Upon 
 Which She Had Been Lying, And Came A Step To Meet Her. 
   
 "Why Did You Come? I Didn't Want You--I Didn't Want Anyone," She Said. 
   
 Before The Hard Tones Of Her Voice, Gerty Stood Still, Shrinking 
 Slightly Away In Her Baffled Splendour. Her Heart Strained Toward Her 
 Friend, Yet When She Tried To Think Of Some Comforting Word That She 
 Might Utter, She Found Only A Vacancy Of Scattered Phrases. What Would 
 Words Mean To Laura Now? What Word Among All Others Was There That She 
 Could Speak To Her? 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 5 Pg 271 
 For A Moment, Groping Blindly For Light, She Hesitated; Then Her Arms 
 Opened, And She Caught Laura Into Them In Spite Of Her Feeble Effort At 
 Resistance. 
   
 "Dearest! Dearest! Dearest!" She Repeated, For She Had Found The Word At 
 Last. 
   
 Partly Because She Was A Woman And Partly Because Of Her Bitter 
 Triumphs, She Had Understood That The Wisdom In Love Is The Only Wisdom 
 Which Avails In The Supreme Agony Of Life. Neither Philosophy Nor 
 Religion Mattered Now, For Presently She Felt That Her Bosom Was Warm 
 With Tears, And When Laura Lifted Her Head, The Two Women Kissed In That 
 Intimate Knowledge Which Is Uttered Without Speech. 
   
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 6 Pg 272 
 Renewal 
   
   
 In That Strange Spiritual Death--Which Was Still Death Though The 
 Members Of Her Body Lived--Laura Seemed To Lose Gradually All Personal 
 Connection With The Events Through Which She Had Passed; And When After 
 Three Months She Turned Again To Look Back Upon Them, She Found That 
 They Stood Out, Clear, Detached, And Remote As The Incidents Of History. 
 She Was Not Only Dead Herself, But The Whole World About Her Showed To 
 Her In A Curious Aspect Of Unreality, As If A Thin Veil Obscured It, And 
 There Were Moments When Even Adams And Gerty Seemed To Her To Be Barely 
 Alive To The Last She Had Refused To Return To Gramercy Park, And On The 
 Night That She Reached Gerty's House She Had Been Aware That She Was 
 Slipping Away From Any Actual Contact With Her Former Life. Her Body 
 Might Breathe And Move, But Her Soul And Even Her Senses Had Become 
 Inanimate, And She Felt That They Had Ceased To Take Part In Any Words 
 She Uttered. 
   
 Though She Had Persistently Denied Herself To Her Aunts, She Sent For 
 Mr. Payne On The First Day That She Was Able To Sit Up, And The Only 
 Softness She Showed Was In Answer To The Compassionate Kiss He Placed 
 Upon Her Forehead. 
   
 "My Child, My Child, What Did I Tell You?" He Asked Gently. 
   
 "It Is Because Of That I Wanted To See You," She Said, "Because You Are 
 The Only Person, I Believe, Who Can Really Understand." 
   
 "I Think I Can, My Dear." 
   
 "You Have Had Beautiful Dreams, Too, That Were False Ones?" 
   
 "It Isn't That The Dreams Are False," He Replied, "But That The Stuff Of 
 This Earth Isn't The Kind To Grow Illusions. They Must Either Wither In 
 The Bud Or Be Wrenched Up Root And Branch." 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 6 Pg 273 
   
 "And There's Only The Ugly Reality, After All?" 
   
 "There's Only The Reality, But It Isn't Ugly When One Grows Accustomed 
 To It. You'll Find It Good Enough For You Yet, My Child." 
   
 "No--No," She Said, "I've Always Lived On Pretty Lies, I See That 
 Now--I've Always Had To Find An Outlet For My Imagination, However 
 False. My Poetry Was Never More Than This--It Was All Quotation--All A 
 Reflection Of The Things I Had Wanted To Feel In Life. I Never Wrote A 
 Sincere Line," She Added. 
   
 He Pressed Her Hand--It Was His Way Of Showing That He Loved Her None 
 The Less Because She Was Not A Poet--And Then As The Unnatural Wanness 
 Overspread Her Face, He Went Out Softly, Leaving Her In Gerty's Care. By 
 Different Roads They Had Come At Last To The Same Place In Life--She 
 With Her Blighted Youth And He With His Beautiful Old Age And His 
 Disappointed Hopes. 
   
 With The Beginning Of The Year Gerty Went South With Her, But The Soft 
 Air Or The Cold Made Little Difference To Laura, When, As She Said, She 
 Could Feel Neither. There Had Been No Outburst Of Grief; Since The Night 
 When She Had Wept On Gerty's Bosom, She Had Not Shed A Tear; And Once 
 When Gerty Had Alluded To Kemper In Her Hearing, She Had Listened With 
 The Polite Attention She Might Have Bestowed Upon The Name Of A 
 Stranger. At Gerty's Bidding She Came Or Went, Admired Or Disapproved, 
 But Of Her Old Impulsive Energy There Was So Little Left That Gerty 
 Sometimes Wondered If Her Friend Had Really, As She Insisted, "Turned To 
 Stone." For Laura's Face Even Had Frozen Until It Wore The Impassive 
 Smile Of A Statue, And There Was In Her Movements And Her Voice 
 Something Of The Insensibility Of Extreme Old Age. She Was No Longer 
 Young, Nor Was She Middle-Aged; It Was As If She Had Outlived, Not Only 
 The Emotions, But The Years Of Life. 
   
 In April They Came Back Again, And On The Morning After Their Return 
 Gerty Paid A Dejected Visit To Adams In His Office. 
   
 "I Can Do Nothing With Her--She's Turned To Stone," She Said. 
   
 "Oh, She'll Come Alive Again," He Responded. "Where Is She?" 
   
 "In Gramercy Park. It Makes No Difference To Her Now Where She Is, Nor 
 Whether She Sees Mrs. Payne Or Not. She Even Sits For Hours And Listens 
 To Uncle Percival Play Upon His Flute." 
   
 "It Will Be The Death Of Her," He Answered Gravely. "Is There Nothing We 
 Can Do?" 
   
 "Nothing. I've Done Everything--She's Really Stone." 
   
 "Well, We'll Bring Her Round," Said Adams Cheerfully; But When He Saw 
 Laura Herself In The Afternoon, He Instinctively Turned His Eyes Away 
 From The Frozen Sweetness In Her Look. He Was Aware That She Made An 
 Effort To Be Pleasant, But Her Pleasantness Reminded Him Of An 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 6 Pg 274 
 Artificial Light On A Figure Of Snow. 
   
 "I Had Hoped You Would Grow Stronger In The South," He Said, Though All 
 Conversation Seemed To Him To Have Become Suddenly The Most Impersonal 
 Thing On Earth. 
   
 "But I Am Strong," She Answered, "I Am Never Ill A Day." 
   
 "There's Something About You, All The Same, That I Don't Like," He 
 Responded Frankly. 
   
 "I Know," She Nodded, Smiling, "You Aren't Used To Seeing A Dead Person 
 Walk About. But It's Very Comfortable When You Grow Accustomed To It," 
 She Added, With A Laugh. 
   
 At This He Would Have Brought A More Intimate Note Into His Voice, But 
 She Evaded His First Hint Of Earnestness By A Cynical Little Jest She 
 Had Picked Up From Gerty. Her Intention--If She Intended Anything--He 
 Saw Clearly Now Was To Confine Her Perceptions To The Immediate Surface 
 Of Life Presented Before Her Eyes. She Spoke With Animation Of The 
 Country She Had Left, Of Gerty's Gayeties, Of The Wonderful Brightness 
 Of The Weather; But When By A More Serious Question He Sought To 
 Penetrate Below This Fluency Of Words, He Was Repelled Again By The 
 Impression Of A Mere Hollow Amiability In Her Manner. After A Few Casual 
 Remarks He Left Her With The Most Hopeless Feeling He Had Known For 
 Months, And When, As The Days Went On, He Endeavored Fruitlessly To 
 Arouse In Her A Single Sincere Interest In Human Affairs, He Found 
 Himself Wondering If It Were Possible For Any Creature To Be Still Alive 
 And Yet To Resemble So Closely A Figure Of Marble. Day After Day He Came 
 Only To Yield At Last To His Baffled Efforts; And The Thin Cold Smile 
 With Which She Responded To His Words Appeared To Him Sadder Than Any 
 Passionate Outburst Of Tears. Even Connie On That Last Afternoon Had 
 Seemed To Him More Human And Less Unapproachable Than Laura Now. 
   
 Through The Spring He Saw Her Almost Every Day, And When In June He Put 
 Her On The Train With Gerty For The Adirondacks, He Came Away With The 
 Clutch, As If From A Hand Of Ice, At His Heart. He Had Given Her His 
 Best And Yet He Had Not Penetrated By Word Or Look Beneath The Unnatural 
 Gentleness Which Enveloped Her Like An Outer Covering. Then His Heart 
 Hardened And He Felt That He Cursed Kemper For The Thing Which He Had 
 Killed. 
   
 Back Again In The Forest, Under The Green And Gold Of The Leaves, Laura 
 Asked Herself Why The Associations Of That Last Summer Failed So 
 Strangely To Disturb Her As She Looked On The Familiar Road And 
 Mountains? A Single Year Or A Whole Lifetime Ago, It Was All One To Her 
 Now, And While She Wandered Along The Paths Down Which She Had Walked 
 With Kemper In The Most Blissful Hours Of Her Love, She Found Herself 
 Almost Regretting That She Had Ceased To Suffer--That Since Her Heart 
 Was Broken It Had Lost Even The Power To Throb. In The City She Had Felt 
 Herself To Be A Part Of The Houses And The Streets, And As Perfectly 
 Indifferent To The Passage Of Life As They; But Here With Her Heart 
 Against Nature's She Would Have Liked To Pulsate With The Other Live 
 Things In The Forest. For The First Time For Months She Began As The 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 6 Pg 275 
 Days Went By, To Quicken To An Interest In The Songs Of The Birds, Or 
 The Sunsets On The Mountains, Or The Springing Up Of A New Flower Beside 
 The Doorstep. And As In Every Rebound Of The Emotions From Extreme 
 Despair, Her Connection With Life Came At Last Through The Eye Of The 
 Mind Rather Than Through The Heart, And The Lesson Was Taught Her 
 Neither By Gerty Nor By Adams, But Through An Awakening To The Beauty In 
 The Sights And The Sounds Of The Green Natural World About Her. 
   
 Gerty Had Left Her One Afternoon, And As The Cart Drove Away She Went 
 Out Of The House And Sat Down In The Sun Upon The Roadside Which 
 Bordered The Edge Of The Wood. Behind Her Was The Silence Of The Forest, 
 And Straight Ahead The Faint Purple Hills Rose Against A Pale Sky Above 
 Which The White Clouds Sailed Like Birds. For A While She Gazed With 
 Blind Eyes At The View For The Sake Of Which The Spot Was Chosen, But 
 The Mountains And The Sky Left Her Unmoved, And Leaning Her Arm 
 Presently Upon The Warm Earth, She Lay Looking At A Little Blue Flower 
 Blooming In The Sand At Her Feet. Her Shadow Stretched Beside Her In The 
 Road, And It Seemed To Her That There Was As Little Difference, Save In 
 Her Consciousness, Between Her And Her Shadow, As There Was Between Her 
 Shadow And The Flower. Even Her Love And Her Disillusion Showed To Her 
 Now As Of No Larger Consequence Than The Wind Blowing Upon Her Shadow Or 
 The Dew And The Storm Falling Upon The Flower. Then As The Minutes 
 Passed And Her Gaze Did Not Waver From The Blue Petals Filled With 
 Sunshine, She Was Aware Gradually, As If Between Dream And Waking, Of A 
 Peculiar Deepening Of Her Mental Vision, Until There Was Revealed To 
 Her, While She Looked, Not Only The Outward Semblance, But The Essence 
 Of The Flower Which Was Its Soul. And This Essence Of The Flower Came 
 Suddenly In Contact With The Dead Soul Within Her Bosom, While She Felt 
 Again The Energy Which Is Life Flowing Through Her Body. At This 
 Instant, By That Divine Miracle Of Resurrection She Began To Live 
 Anew--To Live Not Her Old Life Alone, But A Life That Was Larger And 
 Fuller Than The One Which Had Been Hers. She Began To Live Anew In 
 Herself As Well As In The Sky And In Humanity And In The Songs Of Birds; 
 And In This Ecstasy Of Recovered Life, She Felt Her Soul To Be Of One 
 Substance, Not Only With God And The Stars, But With The Flower And The 
 Child In The Street As Well. For That Love Which Had Recoiled From Its 
 Individual Object Overflowed Her Heart Again Until She Felt That It Had 
 Touched The Boundaries Of The World. 
   
 When Adams Saw Her In The Autumn, He Discovered The Change Almost With 
 The First Touch Of Her Hand. Not Only The Outward Form, But The 
 Indwelling Intellect Was Alive Again, And All That Reminded Him Of Her 
 Past Anguish Were A Deeper Earnestness In Her Smile And A Faint 
 Powdering Of Silver On The Dark Wing-Like Waves Of Her Hair. That Veiled 
 Joy Which Is The Expression Of The Soul That Has Found Peace Shone In 
 Her Face With A Radiance Which If Less Bright Was To Him More Beautiful 
 Than The Sparkling Energy She Had Lost. For The Life And The Passion Of 
 Her Womanhood Were Still There, Mellowed And Ennobled By That Shadow Of 
 Experience Without Which Mere Beauty Of Feature Had Always Seemed To Him 
 A Meaningless And Empty Shape. His Belief Was Justified Forever In That 
 Instant, And He Recognised In Her Then One Of Those Nobler Spirits Who 
 In Passing Through The Tragedy Of Disillusionment Drain From It The 
 Strength Without The Bitterness That Is Its Portion. 
   
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 6 Pg 276 
 "I Want To Work, To Help," She Said Eagerly, Almost With Her First 
 Breath, And While He Listened With A Tenderness Tinged With Amusement, 
 She Described To Him The Elaborate Plans She Had Made For Going Among 
 The Poor. "It Isn't That The Poor Need Help Any More Than The Rich," 
 She Added, "But The Poor Are The Only Ones That I Can Reach." 
   
 He Nodded, Smiling, While He Watched The Animated Gestures Of Her Hands. 
 Her Poetry, Her Groping For Love, Her Longing At Last To Give Help To 
 The Oppressed, Each Phase Of Thought Or Feeling Through Which She Had 
 Passed, Showed To Him Only As The Effort Of The Soul Within Her To Find 
 Expression. In This Passionate Search After The Eternal Upon Earth Was 
 She Not, In Reality, Only Seeking In Outward Forms The Thing Which Was 
 Herself? 
   
 "I Will Help You, Of Course," He Answered, With A Gravity Which He Found 
 It Difficult Afterward To Maintain, For From That Moment She Had Thrown 
 Her Heart Into The Work Of Uplifting Until Her Whole Existence Appeared 
 To Round Presently About This New Point Of Interest. While He Could 
 Follow Her Here, He Waited Almost Impatiently For The Reaction Of Her 
 Temperament Which Would Bring Her Back To Him, He Felt, As Inevitably As 
 The Changes Of The Seasons Would Bring The Spring Again To The Earth. 
   
 On Christmas Eve She Had Arranged For Some Celebration Among The Poor On 
 The East Side, And When They Came Away Together, She Asked Him To Take 
 Her To Gerty's House Instead Of To Gramercy Park. Then As They Walked 
 Along The Cross-Town Blocks From The Elevated Road, She Alluded For The 
 First Time To The Evening A Year Ago When He Had Found Her In Her 
 Deepest Misery. 
   
 "I Thought Then That My Life Was Over," She Said, "But To-Day I Have Put 
 My Foot Upon My Old Grief And It Has Helped Me To Spring Upward. The 
 World Is So Full For Me Now That I Can Hardly Distinguish Among So Many 
 Vivid Interests--And Yet Nothing In It Is Changed Except Myself. Do You 
 Know What It Is To Feel Suddenly That You Have Found The Key?" 
   
 "I Know," He Replied, "For I Have Found It, Too, And It Is Love." 
   
 "Love For The World--For All Mankind," She Corrected. "No, Don't Look At 
 Me Like That," She Added, "I Am Perfectly Happy To-Day, But It Is The 
 Happiness Of Freedom." 
   
 For A Moment He Did Not Answer; Then He Turned His Eyes Upon The Bright 
 Pallor Of Her Cheek Showing Above The Dark Furs She Wore, And There Was 
 A Smile In His Eyes Though His Voice, When He Spoke, Was Grave. 
   
 "Do You Know What I Have Sometimes Thought About That, Laura," He Said, 
 "It Is That I All Along, From First To Last, Have Known Your Heart 
 Better Than You Knew It For All Your Desperate Certainty." 
   
 "I Never Knew It," She Responded; "I Do Not Know It Now." 
   
 "And Yet I Think I Do," He Answered. 
   
 She Shook Her Head. "It Is No Longer A Mystery--There Is Only Light In 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 6 Pg 277 
 It To-Day." 
   
 "I Never Thought You Loved Kemper," He Went On. "What You Built Your 
 Dream Upon Was An Imaginary Image That Wore His Shape. In My Heart, Even 
 When I Stood Aside--When I Was Forced To Stand Aside Because Of Other 
 Claims Upon Me--I Think I Was Sure All The Time That Your Love Was Meant 
 For Me At Last." 
   
 "For You? Oh, No, Not Now," She Answered. 
   
 "It's A Bold Way Of Saying It, I Suppose," He Pursued, "Here I Am 
 Neither Rich Nor Successful As The World Counts These Things--In Debt 
 Probably For Several Years To Come, And With Not So Much As An Athletic 
 Lustre To My Name. It's Not A Cheerful Picture I'm Drawing, But Because 
 There's A Struggle In It I Am Not Afraid To Ask You To Come And Share 
 It. I Wonder If You Know How I Have Loved You, Laura." 
   
 "I Have Known Since--Since That Night," She Replied. 
   
 "The One Argument I Have To Offer," He Said, Smiling, "Is That In Spite 
 Of The Unpromising Outlook, I Happen To Be The Only Man On Earth Who 
 Could Make You Happy." 
   
 "You Might Have Been Once," She Responded. 
   
 "And If Once, Why Not Now? Is Not Forever As Good As Yesterday?" 
   
 "Do You Know Why?" She Answered, Turning Upon Him In Sudden Passion. 
 "You Think I Am Brave And Yet I Am Afraid--Afraid, Though I Won't Admit 
 It, Every Minute That I Live. I Walk The Streets In Terror Of A Memory." 
   
 "But I Do Not," He Answered Quietly. "Do You Doubt My Power To Keep What 
 I Have Won--My Dearest?" 
   
 At The Word The Colour Rose To Her Cheek, But As They Reached Gerty's 
 Door, She Stopped And Put Her Hand Into The One Which He Held Out. 
   
 "Like Everything Else It Has Come Too Late," She Said. 
   
 He Shook His Head, And Then Pressing Her Hand, Let It Fall. 
   
 "I Can Be Patient A Little Longer," He Responded Before He Turned Away. 
   
 His Words Were Still In Her Thoughts When She Entered The House; And As 
 She Went Quickly Upstairs To Gerty's Sitting-Room, She Wondered What 
 Counsel Of Indecision She Would Content Herself With At Last? Then As 
 She Crossed The Threshold Into The Warm Firelight, She Discovered That 
 Gerty Was Absent And That Arnold Kemper Was Standing Upon The Hearth 
 Rug. 
   
 As He Recognised Her He Came Forward, Smiling, And Held Out His Hand. 
   
 "So We've Met Again, After All, Laura," He Remarked, Without 
 Embarrassment. 
 
 
 
 Volume 56 Part 4 (Reconciliation) Chapter 6 Pg 278 
 At The Sound Of His Voice There Had Come A Single High Throb Of Her 
 Heart And Immediately Afterward She Was Aware Of An Exultation Which 
 Showed In The Uplifting Of Her Head And In Her Shining Eyes--For As She 
 Looked Into His Face She Measured For The First Time The Distance Which 
 Divided Her Dream From Her Awakening. 
   
 "One Always Meets Again, You Know," She Answered, "But If You're Waiting 
 For Gerty Now, She Is Usually After Time." 
   
 "Women Always Are," He Commented Gayly, With His Foreign Shrug. 
   
 The Window Was Just Behind Him, And As He Glanced Out Into The Street, 
 She Looked At Him In The Puzzled Wonder With Which One Seeks In 
 Unchanged Features; A Discernible Justification Of A Passion Which Is 
 Altered. Where Was The Power To-Day Against Which Her Heart Had Beat So 
 Helplessly A Year Ago? Was It Possible That She Had Felt The Charm In 
 This Man Who Was Already Middle-Aged, Who Was Satisfied With The Mere 
 Concrete Form Of Life, And In Whose Eyes She Could See Now The Heaviness 
 Which Grows Through Self-Indulgence? His Old Intimate Smile, His 
 Disturbing Ironic Glance, Even The Quickening Of His First Passive 
 Interest Into The Emotional Curiosity Which Was The Strongest Impulse 
 His World-Weariness Had Left Alive--Each And All Of These Effects Which 
 She Remembered Impressed Her As Little To-Day As Did The Bulky 
 Fascination Of Perry Bridewell. When At Last She Could Escape In The 
 Flutter Of Gerty's Entrance, She Left The Room And The House With A 
 Tremor Of Her Pulses Which Was Strangely Associated With A Delicious 
 Sense Of Peace--For This Chance Meeting Had Revealed To Her Not Only 
 Kemper But Herself. 
   
 As She Walked Slowly Toward The Golden Circle Of The Sky Which Was 
 Visible Through The Bared Trees In The Park, She Recognised With Every 
 Fibre Of Her Body As Unerringly As With Her Intellect That She Had Come 
 At Last Into That Knowledge Which Is The Centre Of Outgoing Life. And As 
 Adams Had Seen In His Deeper Vision, That All Life Is An Evolution Into 
 The Consciousness Of God, So She Divined Now Through Her Mere Vague 
 Instinct For Light, That All Emotion Is But The Blind Striving Of Love 
 After The Consciousness Of Itself. Her Whole Experience Flashed Back 
 Before Her, And In That Swiftness Of Memory Which Prefigures Either An 
 Accession Of Vitality Or A Tragic Death, She Understood That Both Her 
 Illusion And Her Disenchantment Were Necessary To The Building Of The 
 Structure Within Her Soul. She Had Mounted By Her Mistake As Surely As 
 By Her Aspiration, And Every Pang Which She Had Suffered Was But The 
 Rending Of The Veil Between Her Flesh And Spirit. 
   
 Looking Up As She Walked She Saw, Without Surprise, That Adams Was 
 Standing Under The Bared Trees Before Her; And With Her First Glance 
 Into His Face She Realised That There Are Moments Charged With So Deep A 
 Meaning That All Explanations, All Promises, All Self-Reproaches Become 
 Only Such Vain And Barren Things As Words. 
   
   
 
 
 Publication Date: June 29th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-azbdcf75988b535