Philip and His Wife

XVII.

“ WHY, but Lyssie, it’s our last evening ; we don’t want to spend it with a lot of gaping people.”

“ Oh, are n’t you ashamed to say such a thing! Miss Susan is so kind to want us.”

“ Well, we don’t want her — I mean we don’t want to go to her old party. It would be a great deal kinder to leave us out! ” Roger grumbled, and tried to console himself by giving his little sweetheart a kiss ; but she repulsed him with firmness.

“ You ’ll crush my dress ; keep away, — yes, at least a yard away. There! there’s my hand. You may kiss that.”

Roger kissed the hand humbly, but, with it in his grasp, took base advantage of her condescension, and caught her in his arms without the slightest consideration for her dress.

“ Oh! ” cried Lyssie, horrified, and then ran to look in the mirror with great concern ; but finding herself quite unruffled, declared that it was time to start. “ And please, Roger, be nice,” she pleaded ; “ try to talk to people, and don’t look bored. Nobody can be so very nice as you — when you want to.” From which it will be seen that Miss Alicia Drayton possessed a weapon used by most intelligent wives in most happy households.

Not even Mrs. Drayton’s gentle resignation at being left alone had dimmed Lyssie’s young joyousness. As for Roger, he had not noticed her resignation ; he had only said, good naturedly, “ I have no doubt you ’re glad to be rid of us, Mrs. Drayton.” But when she was alone, Mrs. Drayton squeezed out a few tears, and sighed, and prayed a little, and enjoyed the sense of being deserted by her child ; when suddenly a pang of reality dried her eyes, and made her sit up straight, while her lip trembled in earnest. The thought had come to her of the time when Lyssie would marry Roger, and go away to be happy in a home of her own ; and she, Lyssie’s mother, who had done everything in the world for her, she would be left alone — alone!

£“ A girl never thinks of anybody hut herself,”Mrs. Drayton thought, with angry apprehension ; then she really and truly cried, and when Esther came in to make her comfortable for the night she waved her away impatiently. “ No ; I must begin to learn to take care of myself. I must get used to being uncomfortable. Go away! ” she gurgled.

But Esther went calmly about her various duties in the invalid’s room, only saying now and then, “ There, now, Mrs. Drayton, I would n’t.”

“ I ’ll never live to bear it,” Mrs. Drayton sobbed. “ Lyssie will have that to think of, — that she just killed her mother. But I don’t suppose it will make the slightest difference to her; she ’ll be happy.”

“ Turn your head a little, m’m, so I can brush the other side,” said Esther.

And Mrs. Drayton turned her head, still weeping, and saying, “ Yes, I had far, far better die, —you ’re pulling, Esther ! — and let her be happy. Ah, Esther Brown, you don’t know what it is to have your child prefer some one else, a stranger, to you ! ”

“No, m’m,” Esther agreed calmly; an assurance scarcely necessary from the sedate spinster who had served Mrs. Drayton since Alicia’s birth.

“ It’s a little bitter to think that she ’s enjoying herself,” said the invalid, “ while I ” —

Yes, Alicia was enjoying herself. For the first time in her young life she was important, and of course that is a great experience; but added to that was the new and exquisite joy of proprietorship. To follow Roger with her happy eyes, as he talked with this or that old friend ; to watch him “ being nice ” to Miss Susan’s guests; to listen, radiant and assenting, to the pleasant things which people said to her of him ; and to feel that he was hers, that he belonged to her, was engaged to her, — ah, it was very wonderful, very uplifting. “ He ’s being appreciated ! ” she said to herself triumphantly.

So far as guests went, Miss Susan s party was a great success. The library, and the two parlors on the other side of the hall, long, cheerless rooms, rarely used, and smelling of linen furniture covers, were comfortably filled. Mercer was represented, and even Ashurst; for Colonel and Mrs. Drayton, of that sleepy town, had come, in spite of the length of the journey, to make the occasion yet more distinguished. Of course all Old Chester was present. Mr. and Mrs. Dove were there, each uncomfortable for the sake of the other, and Mr. Tommy so plainly unhappy, so unconventionally unhappy, that twice his wife found him standing in front of the clock in the hall, gazing wistfully at the stretch between ten and eleven which must be gotten through before they could go home.

Dr. Lavendar had arrived full of fierce good nature and unfailing kindliness. Cecil had come; very late, to be sure, which made Lyssie anxious for appearance’ sake. Mrs. Shore was superb in a gown the color of that green moss that lies deep in wet woods, — moss on which the sunshine, sifting down through the leafy darkness of lacing boughs, strikes faint glints and spangles of light. About her throat was some yellow lace, caught together on her breast by a great square topaz in an old-fashioned setting of pale gold. She did her part nobly. She talked to Mr. Tommy Dove with genuine kindness, and gave the little gentleman, who responded “ Yes, ma’am,” and No, ma’am,” to her remarks, the only happy moment he knew that evening. She was elaborately civil to Mrs. Dale; the more so, perhaps, as that excellent woman’s disappointment in discovering nothing of which she could disapprove in the younger woman’s manner was quite obvious to Mrs. Shore. She stopped and spoke to Dr. Lavendar ; a little nervously, oddly enough, for the old man always made her uncomfortable. He did so now, by his intent, half-pitiful look rather than by his words, which did not impress her, being merely, “ Well, Cecilla, I hope you are a^ good wife ? Your husband has views about marriage which are no credit to his wife.” She was glad to leave him, even though it was to go and sit down by her aunt Maria Drayton. (" I touched my highest level then.” she told Roger Carey afterwards, with entire seriousness.) Colonel Drayton, who never shirked the duty of letting people speak to him, gave his niece his hand, and then left her, while he proceeded to make a tour of Miss Susan’s rooms.

“ You must not mind your uncle’s leaving us. He always tries to speak to every one, he is so considerate,”murmured Mrs. Drayton.

“ He is,” Cecil responded gratefully ; “ so nice to have him go and speak to people.”

“ Ah well, your uncle never hesitates at any duty,” said the other, with that closing of the lips and nodding of the head which means, “I wish as much might be said for you ! ”

Cecil was humbly silent.

“ I heard in Mercer that Joseph Lavendar was very attentive to some Mrs. Pendleton,” Mrs. Drayton digressed. “ Who is she ? ”

“ I beg your pardon ? ” said Cecil.

“ Which is Mrs. Pendleton ? Oh, that little body ? Very nice looking, I’m sure. I hope Mr. Lavendar will be happy. She must be introduced to the Colonel ; it will please her. Cecil, my dear, how is your husband ? ”

Cecil’s pause to remember wras filled by Mrs. Drayton’s expression of opinion about Roger Carey, which turned her niece restless, and made her say that reminded her that she must go and speak to Mrs. Pendleton, if her aunt Maria would excuse her ?

“ It’s the Colonel’s example, you see,” she said indolently ; and Mrs. Drayton told her husband, afterwards, that she really believed there was good somewhere in poor Cecil. “ I always felt that that child’s privilege in living in your house would some time express itself in her life, my dear,” said Mrs. Drayton adoringly.

Mrs. Pendleton was plainly nervous at Mrs. Shore’s attentions, but, with a view to being interesting, she did her best to say pleasant things; and as it was a peculiarity of this amiable woman that she could never say pleasant things to one person without saying unpleasant things of some other person, her conversation was generally interesting, How pretty Molly was, — how much prettier than any of the Old Chester children ! How charming Mrs. Shore’s dress looked ! What a pity that dear Susan Carr had not a handsome dress! She hoped Mrs. Shore would not mind if she told her how beautifully she walked.

“ So gracefully, dear Mrs. Shore. I wish our dear Lyssie had your walk. I hope you are not offended at my speaking out ? I never flatter, but I am very impulsive, and speak right from my heart; I shall outgrow it, no doubt.” Cecil’s involuntary smile and instant gravity made the somewhat mature widow feel uncomfortable, so she made haste, nervously, to speak of other things. She wondered when dear Dr. Lavendar was going to print his book ? He had been so long about it! For her part, she thought it was not well to be too long in writing a book ; there was danger in polishing it too much ; did not Mrs. Shore think so ?

“ It is apt to make it shorter,” said Cecil.

“Exactly ! ” Mrs. Pendleton agreed eagerly; “that’s just it.” And then she said, modestly, that she would like to present Mrs. Shore with a copy of her poems. “ There’s nothing in them that a child may not read,” said Mrs. Pendleton. “Ah, I’m not like the authors of to-day, Mrs. Shore. I would never write anything that could not be put into the hands of the youngest child.”

“ Adults must appreciate that,” Cecil told her, so cordially that Mrs. Pendleton was encouraged to patter on about her “works “ for the next ten minutes. She confessed that she was about to print another book, which she had named — “ so much depends upon the name,” she explained — which she had named Thoughts.

“But whose?” said Mrs. Shore simply.

“ Oh, I shall not sign my name,” Mrs. Pendleton answered, not catching, perhaps, the significance of the question ; “ I sha’n’t even put ‘ Amanda P.,’ though that would insure the book attention from all the readers of the poems. I shall just say, Thoughts: by a Lady. Don’t you think that is a nice, ladylike title?”

“ I never heard anything more ladylike.” Cecil assured her warmly; and Mrs. Pendleton told several persons, afterwards, that poor dear Cecil had a good heart, she was sure.

As for Cecil, she felt her endurance at an end. She excused herself on the ground of wishing to speak to some one, and, unfastening one of the long French windows which opened upon the piazza, stepped out into the August night.

“ Dear me,” she said, “I beg your pardon ! ”

Alicia and Roger, standing by the balustrade, laughed: Lyssie, with pretty consciousness; Roger, with the embarrassment that is angry at being embarrassed.

“ Why, Lys, Lys ! ” Cecil remonstrated, smiling and coming out into the shadows where the lovers stood, “ is this the way you entertain Miss Susan’s company? Mr. Carey, you won’t endear yourself by carrying Lyssie off.”

“ I ought to go in,” Alicia said penitently ; and then, with shy authority, “Roger, you must n’t—I mean, Ceci, don’t say ‘ Mr. Carey.’ Roger, it is n’t ‘ Mrs. Shore ; ’ it’s ‘ Cecil.’ ”

“ Oh, Mrs. Shore thinks me too quarrelsome for such friendliness,” Roger returned, frowning.

Cecil simply ignored the suggestion ; she said something about the heat and being bored to death. Poor little Alicia looked blankly at them. “ Why won’t they ? ” she thought. ” Why don’t they like each other more ? ” Lyssie was stumbling very early in her life of love upon that rock of offense, “ Why do they not love each other, when I love them and they love me ? ” But in love two things which are equal to a third are not necessarily equal to each other, and two hands which, from opposite sides, give themselves to one friend fail sometimes to enter into a friendly clasp on their own account. Too often, with vehement futility, the middleman insists that these two hands must and shall clasp each other, and his endeavor results only in pain to all three.

“ Roger,” the young girl said, too straightforward to know how to keep the disappointment from her voice, and making still another exasperating effort. “ I must go in, but you need n’t; stay out here with — It ‘s cooler here. Ceci, entertain him, won’t you ? ”

“ It is Mr. Carey who entertains me,” Cecil answered, and Roger felt hot. He said to himself that he would much rather go in with Alicia, but of course he must not leave Mrs. Shore alone — confound it!

“ Sha’n’t I get you a wrap? ” he said stiffly.

“ No, thank you.”

She sat down on the balustrade, leaning her head back against one of the big wooden columns that supported the porch roof ; the light from the house fell on her white throat.

“ Did you ever know anything so stupid ? ” she said.

Roger frowned, and appeared not to understand.

Cecil laughed a little under her breath. “ You do it very well, Mr. Carey.”

“ Do what very well ? I ’m enjoying myself, if that’s what you mean. Miss Carr’s kindness in planning pleasure for Lyssie of course makes it pleasant for me.”

“ Do you think, in contrast to my remark, that your flagrant goodness is quite polite ? ” she said, and turned her face away and seemed to forget him.

What was the evil thing about her that made him ashamed of his simple and obvious love-making ? — for he was tingling with the embarrassment of having been, as it were, discovered. He was angry with her in a brutal way that made him feel that impulse of the very fingers to punish her.

“ You don’t seem to credit anybody with simple human feeling in such things,” he told her, wincing at his own tone. “ You may not appreciate Miss Carr’s kindness, but I do.”

Cecil turned and looked at him with interest. “ You speak of virtue as though it were a discovery you had made,” she said, in her slow voice; “ but, do you know, I too, in my humble way, have thought that Miss Susan meant to give pleasure ? Only that does not prevent me from finding the occasion stupid.

If she had not been sitting there before him, the lines of her gracious figure seen faintly in the half-light, and her white throat melting into the lace that filled the bosom of her dress to her waist, his anger might have lasted; but he could not be angry as he looked at her, and he could not take his eyes away from her. His admiration began to speak in his voice,— in the warmer tone, the softer words; but he made his fault-finding raillery instead of rudeness. He teased her, and contradicted her, and laughed at her. When she defended herself, he answered with a man’s good-humored contempt of a woman’s opinion, which, while it made her confused and petulant and half irritated, gave her also that strange pleasure, which only strong women know, of coming, as it were, to heel.

In the midst of it Philip came along the porch, and Cecil called to him to know what time it was.

“Is n’t it almost time to go home?’' she entreated. “Oh, Philip, what bomb have you been exploding at the rectory ? Dr. Lavendar assailed me because of your views about marriage. Really, it does seem hard that I should be held responsible for your opinions ! ”

“ It’s nearly ten. You won’t go before supper, of course ? ”

“Ten! I thought it was two. Oh, must we stay for supper? Mr. Carey, you ’ll have to,” she ended maliciously, “for Lys won’t want to leave until the last moment. How you will appreciate Old Chester’s idea of a salad ! ”

This time Roger Carey had no protest for the violated hospitality. “ I ’ll try what influence can do. Perhaps we can get away right after supper.”

“ It is just ready, I believe,” Philip said, and would have left them, but Cecil stopped him.

“ What is this thing which has agitated Dr. Lavendar ? Do tell us. Your ideas are always so amusing.”

“ If I amuse you, I have not lived in vain. Carey, will you bring Mrs. Shore in ? ”

“No, no! You must tell us first, Philip. Come ! here is Mr. Carey ; he’s in a most receptive state of mind on the subject of matrimony. Are you going to reform marriage or abolish it ? ”

“ There is room for reform,” he said ; then, as though impatient at his own evasion, he added, “ I was talking about that man Todd and his wife. I told Dr. Lavendar I thought they ought to be separated.”

Cecil looked at him in genuine astonishment. “ Why, really, Philip, I did n’t suppose — why, but that’s quite sensible ! ” She was so much in earnest that she had an instant’s surprise at Roger’s involuntary laugh. “ Why, but it is sensible,” she insisted. “ I should have supposed you would say just the other thing, Philip. Of course Dr. Lavendar was dreadfully shocked ? ”

“ Yes, he did n’t approve of me,” Philip answered, pulling a red carnation down into his buttonhole.

“ I suppose he thought you were advocating free love,” Cecil said lightly. “ Fancy Dr. Lavendar’s dismay ! I have what might be called a respectful dislike for Dr. Lavendar, but I’m sorry for the poor old gentleman’s distress. It was too bad in you, Philip.”

“ Upon my word, the Shore family needs a missionary ! ” Roger declared. “ Do you remember the night you told me you thought the little Todd woman ought to leave her husband, Mrs. Shore ? I did n’t know that Philip shared your perverted views.”

Philip looked at his wife quickly. “ You think s. too ?”

“ Why, certainly I do. I’m sorry to shock you, Mr. Carey, but I believe the world would be much better off if divorce were easier. In fact, I think it’s a pity people have to wait until they actually come to blows before they can separate.”

“ There are blows and blows,” Roger said, in that tone which meant, “ You are charming, but you are not to be taken seriously.” “ Some people’s fists would be luxury compared to other people’s tongues.”

“Ah well,” Cecil commented, “the great thing is to be able to be articulate in one’s woes. We are too polite, even when we use our tongues. The husbands and wives who throw dishes at each other are the really happy people. They are articulate ; they have all the relief of expression.”

“ Might n’t you call it action ? ” Roger suggested.

“You and Lyssie will never throw dishes at each other,” Cecil went on gayly, “ and you ’ll suffer ever so much more on account of your repression. Philip (I never saw anybody so anxious for his supper!), don’t you think it’s a pity that, people have to come to blows before they can separate ? ”

“Yes, I think it’s a pity,” Philip said dryly.

But a certain reality in his voice touched Roger’s meaningless gayety, and made him suddenly interested. “ Why, Shore, do you think divorce should be easier ? ”

“Yes; I think it would conduce to a higher morality.”

“Well, I suppose I’m rather an extremist, but I don’t believe in divorce at all.”

“ Ah, but you’ve never been married,” Mrs. Shore reminded him drolly.

He had turned his shoulder towards her, and did not notice her remark, even to snub her; he was launched into discussion, and he cared more for discussion than for a pretty woman. “ Mind you, I think separation is desirable occasionally, but never divorce. I mean, of course, divorce a vinculo matrimonii, and the right to marry again.”

“ Oh. divorce is concession to human nature, I admit,” said Philip; “ deplorable, but necessary.”

“Never! ” Roger declared, with the joyous dogmatism of the man whose argument has no personal bias. “It’s hard on the innocent, sometimes. If the law frees a woman from a wretch, it’s a pity that she can’t marry some good fellow and be happy; but the individual has got to be subservient to the race. Divorce seems to me like suicide, not inherently or specifically wrong, but socially vicious; both lower just a little the moral tone of society. Besides, our progress is in direct proportion to our idea of the sacredness of marriage ; and even the innocent must n’t tamper with that ideal sacredness. They’ve got to suffer, — that’s all. It’s a pity, but they’ve got to suffer.”

Philip shook his head. “ The idealism of the individual is what has made progress, and that may imply a theory of marriage which necessitates divorce.”

“ Ah, but,” cried Roger, “ that’s just where you make your mistake : divorce can’t be considered from the individual’s standpoint. It’s a social question, a race question. If no man lives to himself or dies to himself, still less does he marry to himself; and besides, abstract idealism must always be subjugated to the needs of living.”

“ I don’t agree with you, I don’t agree with you,” Philip said restlessly.

“ Why, but Shore,” the other persisted, “ just see where your theory leads you. See what a poor, cheap sort of thing it makes of marriage, — a thing dependent on mood.”

“ It is dependent on love,” said Philip Shore.

“ But is n’t duty to be considered ? Is n’t there to be any effort to hold love ? ” Roger protested.

Philip and Cecil both began to speak, and each stopped for the other, both with a certain astonishment in their faces that they thought alike.

“ Love has nothing to do with effort,” said Philip.

“ It is absurd to talk about the duty of loving,” Cecil declared ; and then there was the look at each other, and Cecil laughed. ” Love is as unmoral as art; you can’t talk about the duty of loving.”

“ Love may have nothing to do with morality,” Philip broke in, “ but it has everything to do with spirituality. When love has ceased, marriage has ceased, and separation should be permitted.”

“ It would certainly be more agreeable,” Cecil said. "But do you think a man and woman, even in our class, should part if they are tired of each other ?

Roger Carey made some flippant remark about “ theories.” He was exceedingly uncomfortable, without quite knowing why.

Philip’s face, in the dim light on the porch, looked drawn and pale. “ I don’t know what you mean by a husband and wife being ‘ tired of each other.’ ”

“ Excellent Philip! I mean bored to death. Were you never bored ? Being bored takes the place of having dishes thrown at you in that state of life where it has pleased God to call us. Well, do you think such people ought to part ? Heavens ! society would tremble to its base ; it would be a sort of puss-in-thecorner, would n’t it ? Everybody would run in every direction. Is that what you think, Philip, really ? ”

“ I think a man and woman have no moral right to remain together when they no longer love each other.”

“Well, I believe I agree with you,” Cecil said thoughtfully, — “ if only for the interest which it would impart to one’s immediate circle.” Then she took Roger’s arm, while he, conscious and uncomfortable, declared, in a tone artificial even to his own ears, that they were both wrong.

“ Absolutely wrong ! Come in and have something to eat. Come down to earth. Shore, and teach your wife better sociology. By Jove, though, would n’t the lawyers thrive if your views became general!

XVIII.

“ When you get home, Cecil, I ‘d like to speak to you, if you ‘ll be so good. I won’t detain you very long.”

Philip said this as he helped his wife into the carriage, at the close of Miss Carr’s festivity.

“ Very well,” she said crossly. Her tolerance of his scrupulous politeness failed her for a moment. In that talk upon the porch, she had had, under her careless gayety of argument, a sudden passionate realization of the dreariness of her life. How tired she was of Philip, but how impossible — for she never dreamed of applying the theories she advanced for Eliza to herself — how impossible was any escape from such dreariness! She had a bleak vision of the years before her : the years of hearing him talk to Molly ; the years of seeing his face every day at the opposite end of the table ; the years of dull, necessary household questions, — shall this horse be bought ? shall that servant be discharged ?— long, level, horrible years! She had a swift, angry remembrance of his “ways,” — those harmless, unconscious habits of the body which go so far towards making the individual, and which love finds half touching and wholly dear. She recalled his way of cutting open the pages of his stupid quarterlies and reviews ; of absently twisting his mustache while he read ; of pressing his lips together as though to taste his wine, while putting down his wineglass: all the little mannerisms of the Human suddenly filled her with disgust. Oh, how tired she was of him! Yes, plates as missiles would be far more bearable than this expanse of arid virtue, this monotonous faultlessness. His very courtesy at the carriage door gave her a feeling of irritation.

“ Get in! ” she said impatiently.

But he shook his head. “ I’m going to walk. I ’ll be at home almost as soon as you are. Will you wait for me in the library, please ? ”

Then he shut the door, and turned on his heel into the darkness. An hour before, the difficulty of telling a woman (for Philip, before he was an idealist, was a gentleman) what he thought of their relation — or, to put it crudely, the difficulty of telling his wife that he did not wish to live with her any longer — had appeared to him almost insurmountable. But as he listened to her there on the porch, a sudden determination came to him. Perhaps it was because her carelessness and superficiality seemed absolutely unendurable ; or perhaps it was because she chanced to say, “ I agree with you.” Of course he knew that her agreement with his proposition went no deeper than the effect, and never touched the cause. It indicated no conviction of hers, but it made it easier for him to express a conviction of his own. He went home through the darkness, too absorbed to notice the soft, fine rain that pressed against his face in a steady mist. He carried his stick behind him. gripping it with both hands; his head was bent, and his lips were hardened into a Stern line ; his whole body stooped forward, as though his will and haste outran his hurried stride.

“ Will she consent to a separation ? ”

Over and over he asked himself the question. Not that he expected to put his fate to the touch that night : he only meant to see how deep this flimsy and obviously selfish opinion of hers might be. Would it be strong enough to break down the bars of convention, and give him freedom ? He had never a moment’s hope that it would have in it the strength of any spiritual desire for freedom for herself. He had long since ceased to hope anything like that for her. No ; his only thought, was that he might use her unworthy impulse as a means of escape for his own soul.

When Philip Shore opened the door of his library, he found his wife awaiting him. Her face had cleared in that drive home, — it had been so comfortable among the cushions of her carriage ; and after all, life cannot be absolutely dreary when one has plenty of cushions! She had sent upstairs for a box of candy when she came in, and then she went into the library, and sank down upon a lounge, half reclining, half sitting, her strong white fingers clasped behind her head, and her half-shut eyes full of lazy good nature. Yes, things might be worse ; and besides, everybody else was in the same trap. It was the old miserable but mighty consolation of unhappy souls : every one else is involved in the same calamity ; so bear it, make the best of it, — in fact, be as comfortable as you can.

“And things are pretty comfortable,” she said to herself. “ Oh, what a soup that was at dinner! Jane must never leave me if she can make such soups. She reconciles me to my lot.” Then she heard the door open, and knew that Philip had entered. “ Well ? ” she said, without turning her head.

Philip pushed up a chair, and sat down ; he looked at her in silence. Cecil opened her eyes, and took a piece of candy.

“ It’s about John, I suppose? Is n’t it a nuisance to have him leave ? Don’t give him a character; it’s the only way we can retaliate. Have you any one else in mind ? ”

“ I have spoken to him ; he will stay,” Philip said briefly, and then stopped, and looked down at the floor a moment, and drew in his lips in a hard line. “ I want to speak to you of what you said to-night.”

“ Of what I said ? ” Cecil frowned, and tried to remember. “ Why, what did I say ? Oh, you mean about divorce ? Oh, Philip, now don’t be argumentative at this hour ! ”

She rubbed her foot softly against the lounge, and one slipper dropped with a clatter to the floor ; then she yawned, and stretched herself lazily, and unfastened the square topaz upon her bosom, loosening the yellow lace a little, so that she might feel the cool air upon her throat. Her abandon, her comfort, her look of enjoying her body, strangely disgusted him. He wanted to say to her, “Sit up ; remember you are not alone ! “ He pushed his chair back, and frowned, with lowered eyes.

“Your — dress?” he said, with a gesture.

“No, I never take cold,” she answered. “ Yes, Philip, I supposed for once we agreed : but don’t, for Heaven’s sake, try to prove anything to me now.” She laughed a little, and rubbed her eyes. “ I ’m nearly dead with sleep,” she declared.

“ We do agree,” he returned quickly. “ Only, it seems to me more than a pity that a man and woman must wait until they come to blows, before they can separate. It seems to me a sin.”

“ Oh well, that’s as you look at it,”said Cecil, with a yawn. “ When one says it’s unpleasant, one says the whole thing. If that is all you wanted to tell me, Philip, I ‘m going to bed. I wish there was anything very good to eat in this house, — anything interesting, like mushrooms and aspic, perhaps. I think I ’ll wake Jane and tell her to find something for me ; I ’ll take bread and cheese, if there’s nothing else.”

She sat up, and moved her foot in its thin silk stocking about upon the door to find her slipper ; then a sparkle of laughter flew into her eyes. “ Put it on for me, Philip,” she commanded, and thrust out a charming foot; and as he. his very fingers shrinking, touched the warm, lithe ankle and put the slipper on, she gave him a little poke with the green satin toe. “ You goose ! ” she said drolly ; but there was contempt as well as amusement in her voice.

He understood it, but he replied, quietly enough, “ There is something more than unpleasantness in a marriage where the husband and wife don’t love each other ; ” and then he gave her a look that made the color sweep into her face. But she was too sleepy to lose her temper.

“If you knew how perfectly ridiculous that sounds ! Love ! What do you mean by love ? Exchanging locks of hair and vows of eternal constancy ? ”

“Hardly.”

“ Well,” she answered slowly, “ I don’t believe in love, — except in maternal love. The other kind is nothing but selfishness.”

“ It need not be.”

“ But it is — while it lasts,” she said, sighing, and rose, and stood silent a moment, looking down at the floor; then she said abruptly, “ You wanted to say something, Philip ? I don’t know how we got off on to this subject; it’s disagreeable enough ! What was it ? ”

“ It was of this I wanted to speak,” he answered, rising also: then he took a turn about the room, his hands in his pockets, and came back to her. “ It has been in my mind a very long time.”

“What has been in your mind ? Marriage or love? ”

“ Marriage without love.”

“At least that is more respectable than love without marriage,” she said lazily. “ Well, what about it ? ”

“ I doubt if it is more respectable.”

“ Good heavens, Philip,” she remonstrated, with good-natured amusement, “ what on earth have you got hold of now! Is it some plan for abolishing marriage ? You love to reform things, don’t you? But do undertake something a little more reputable. Now I must go to bed ; I can’t keep my eyes open a minute longer. Do you want some money, to print pamphlets about reforming marriage ? or do you want to start a fund for free divorce, for the unhappily married ? Take it, take it, — only let me go to bed ! ” She turned away, her hand on the door-knob. “ Good-night,” she said.

But he stopped her. “ We’ve begun to speak of this, let us go on. I might as well say now — I ought to have said it long ago — that this is a very real and terrible question to me.”

“Oh, Philip, must you be ecstatic? Consider the hour.”

“ For God’s sake, drop your flippancy ! ” he said, with such sudden passion that she looked at him apprehensively. Was he going to have an attack of soul on the question of marriage ? “ I think the time has come when we must talk this out. You and I have failed as husband and wife. Of course we both know that perfectly well. Where the greater blame lies does n’t matter now. The fact is the important thing.”

“Failed?” Cecil repeated, with that surprise which is uncertain whether or not to be anger, — “ failed ? Do you mean we don’t love each other ? Why, Philip, you are letting truthfulness get the better of politeness. Well, I don’t know; you may not love me, but I — I don’t mind you, Philip.” Then it occurred to her that he wanted her love ; was this what he had been leading up to ? She felt the color come into her face ; she was very much amused. But his next words enlightened her.

“ You and I can’t talk of love. Forgiveness is all I. can ask you for. But there’s the fact, — we’ve failed ; the question is whether our failure involves any duty.”

She was standing with her hands behind her, leaning back against the table ; the light from the lamp beside her gilded the long line of her moss-green gown from her shoulder to her heel; the topaz caught it, and gleamed suddenly, like a watchful eye. Her face was full of delicate color, and her neck and bosom were as white as down ; about her forehead, warm still from the cushions of the sofa, her hair broke into shining rings. She caught a shadowy glimpse of herself in the long mirror between the windows, and she thought, with whimsical contempt, that Philip would have been just as indifferent to the beauty imaged there had it belonged to some other woman instead of to his wife, — his wife, to whom he was so rude as to comment upon an obvious enough fact: that he and she did not love each other.

“Well,” she said scornfully, “you are perfectly absurd about some things, Philip. So long as you seem to be saying disagreeable things, I might as well tell you that you are perfectly absurd. We get along as well as most people. I don’t know what you mean by a duty that may be involved. The only duty I know anything about is to have good manners, even though you bore me to death. And you do, you know, Philip, — I’m sorry to seem rude, but you have introduced truth, — you do bore me very much, sometimes. What do you want me to do ? Try and take up love’s young dream ? Why can’t you reconcile yourself to the fact that every marriage is a failure, in the sense you mean ? ”

“Other people’s marriages are not our affair,” he answered harshly; “ and it is n’t true, anyhow. But because we are miserable we need not blaspheme.”

“There was something in his voice that made her turn and face him. For a moment there was silence ; then she said, in a very low voice, “ Are you — are you — making this question of divorce personal ? ”

“ How can it be anything but. personal, when you and I talk of the immorality of a marriage without love ? ”

Cecil made no reply.

“ You said, — I don’t know how deeply you meant it, — but you said that you thought that when a husband and wife did not love each other they ought to part.”

Cecil, her head bent upon her breast, watched him closely, but did not speak.

“ I, also, think they ought to part; because a marriage without love is legalized baseness, or else it is a lie.”

Cecil, looking up at him, said distinctly, “ Who is the woman, Philip ?”

He looked at her, with a broken word of disgust, and turned away.

A flame leaped in Cecil’s eyes; she stood upright, and struck the table violently with her clenched hand. “ You come to me,” she cried, her voice tingling with passion, “ to me, to prate about the sanctity of marriage and the duty of separation ! You want to be free, for reasons of your own, — illegal baseness, perhaps? But no! You? You have n’t blood enough in your veins for that. I know you ! Good heavens, you are not a man ! But there is some reason under this fine talk, some ulterior motive. What is it ? ”

“ You know better,"’ he said, between his teeth.

She laughed loudly. “ I know there ‘s no woman, because you have n’t it in you ! But when you come here and whimper about morality, I know there ’s some cold-blooded reason behind it all. I’m not a fool, Philip Shore. You put off our marriage on the ground of duty, — you wanted to go to Paris to study. You gave up your art because of duty, — you wanted to dabble, in your dilettante way, in politics. Now you come and talk of "the duty of divorce! What do you want ? ”

It was terrible to see flash out through the refinement of tradition and training this loud vulgarity of soul.

“ Well, answer, answer ! Can’t you ? Of course we don’t love each other ; how could I love you ? But I don’t see what you want. I don’t see how we can be any more separated than we are. You are perfectly free ; you can go to Paris and study again, if you wish! ”

Philip looked at her, and looked away for very shame of what he saw; under his breath he said, with sudden passionate pity, “ Oh, you poor soul! ” For an instant the tears stood in his eyes. “ But I can’t talk to her,” he thought desperately. Yet when she said again, furiously, something of this separation which had existed in fact for three years, he tried to tell her, curtly, with averted eyes, that such a condition was a lie.

“ We pretend to be married,” he said, — “ we are separated ; we both know it, but no one else knows it.”

And you want it known ? ” she cried, — “ you want to take the world into your confidence ? ” She was so amazed that she forgot her anger.

“ You and I are living a lie ” — he began; but she interrupted him.

“ Be explicit, be explicit,” she said sternly; “don’t rhapsodize. You offer me an insult. At least state it plainly.”

“ I think we ought to separate, openly.”

“ Do you mean be divorced ? ”

“ There is no such thing as divorce in anything but a legal sense. I admit its propriety, its necessity, even, for some people. But I don’t think we need concern ourselves with that. Our business is, whether we shall continue to profane a sacrament.”

He seemed to her so absolutely preposterous that her anger broke into a laugh.

“ Sit down; there ‘s no use standing here as though we were on the stage. You use fine words, Philip; I don’t, though I know the jargon. I prefer the stupid truth : we ’re tired of each other. But there is one thing you overlook : we are so unfortunate as to have been born in a class where a prejudice exists against publicity. We don’t talk of our diseases or our infelicities ; yet we have our doctors, and though we don’t ‘ separate,’ we ‘ travel,’ —like my dear papa.”

It was a curious scene: these two, the woman in her lace and jewels, the man with the red carnation in his buttonhole, with every suggestion about them of the reserves, and dignities, and conventions of living, standing there face to face, speaking passionately the primitive realities of life! Cecil sat down opposite her husband at the library table; a shaded lamp burned between them ; except for its soft glow, the room, with its book - covered walls, was full of shadowy dusk. One window was open, a black oblong of rainy night, and through it the smell of wet leaves wandered in from the garden, and sometimes a faint, cool breath of air, although there was no wind ; there was no sound, either, except for Philip’s voice and Cecil’s playing with a paper cutter, — lifting it and letting it drop between her fingers, and then lifting it and dropping it again. She was perfectly calm ; she rested her chin in one hand, and watched him closely ; only, when he came to speak of Molly, her eyes blazed. He told her that the existence of the child made their duty greater in this matter. And then he said that, under circumstances such as theirs, neither father nor mother could claim the right to the child, and therefore, if they should decide to separate, the only thing to do was to divide Molly’s time ; they should each have her for half the year.

When he said this, his wife flung her head back and laughed silently. He saw it; he sat there speaking from the depths of his soul, speaking with terrible restraint, speaking as a man speaks for his life; he saw the laugh, and knew what it meant. The hopelessness of the situation took him by the throat. What was the use ? He had no words : he and she spoke a different language.

Cecil tapped her lip with her paper cutter thoughtfully. “ I can take Molly abroad to school. I suppose, though she ‘s rather young for that.”She did not even notice his concession : then she looked over at him, and laughed angrily.

“ You hypocrite! you have n’t told me the truth yet."’

He looked at her with a kind of terror. “ My God ! she can’t understand ! “ he said, almost in a whisper.

“Oh, you need n’t doubt my intelligence. I merely want to know the object of all this. What is at the root of this passion for duty ? You know. Philip, I have seen it in you before. I tell you that I am willing to travel, — so drop that; now tell me the meaning of it. all.”

“ Cecil,” he said, with great gentleness, “ you know that I have never lied to you, and ” —

“Never!” she agreed dryly; “you would have been so much more attractive if you had.” —“ so believe me, even if you can’t understand me : your proposal of a secret separation has no hearing on the purpose in my mind.”

“ It is, however, the only ground on which I will consent to your suggestion,”Cecil answered calmly. “ I am quite willing to travel. In fact, if it were not impolite, I should say that I would be glad to travel. Oh, and about Molly. Of course that is perfectly absurd. I should n’t think of giving her up, — I should n’t think of such a thing ! ”

The blood rushed into Philip’s face. “ What! do you think I will allow you to have her ? ”

The threat in his eyes made her shrink back, as though he were going to strike her.

“ I am responsible for Molly’s soul! ” he said ; and then into the moment of tingling silence between them came the sudden banging of the front door, and Roger Carey’s step in the hall.

“ Hello, Eric, old man ! Don’t knock me down ! “ they heard him say. “Shore! Philip! what are you burning the midnight oil for ? ” He whistled, and shoved the library door open, and came in and saw them, the husband and wife : Philip, ghastly pale ; Cecil, crimson and panting, her lips parted for some furious word. But in a flash the vision was gone. He heard, in his embarrassed dismay, his hostess murmuring something about Lyssie and the rain, and the voice of his host declaring that Eric ought to have been locked up in the barn. For his own part, he was able to observe, sleepily, that it was funny how late twelve seemed in the country; and then he said good-night with careful unconcern, and went out and left them, saying under his breath, “ Good Lord ! ”

They heard his door close ; they heard the clock in the hall begin to strike twelve. Cecil suddenly drew the lace together across her throat; her breath caught in a sob ; she leaned both hands upon the table and bent over towards her husband; the light shone up upon her trembling lip, upon the fierce tears in her eyes, upon the anger and terror in her face.

“Oh, Philip Shore, Philip Shore!” she said in a whisper, “ can you never think of anything but yourself ? Yes. we ’ll separate. I agree, I agree ! ”

XIX.

Roger was to go away the next day, but he did not have to start until late in the afternoon, so he and Lyssie had planned to take a long walk in the morning. They were to go over to the hills on the other side of the river. There was a road there that Lyssie knew, — a road where the grass grew tall between the wheel ruts, and the wayside bushes pressed close upon the passer-by, and the trees dropped pleasant shadows all along the grassy track ; a road where two might walk very close together, and know that no eye more curious than a squirrel’s would be apt to pry upon them ; the very road for a long talk, the very place for endless variations upon three noble words, “ I love you ! ”

The thought of having Lyssie all to himself for a whole, still, sunshiny morning enchanted Roger Carey, and he was, not unnaturally, annoyed to have her come downstairs and say that her mother was so fatigued by the party that she had a bad headache. “ And of course,” Alicia ended, “ I must sit with her ; so I can’t go out to walk. I ’m so sorry!

“ Why, but Lyssie! ” said Roger blankly. Why, this is our last chance for a month. Your mother fatigued by the party ? How can she be fatigued by the party ? She did n’t go. It ’s just a headache, and ” —

“Yes, that’s all; ray going excited her. you know.”

“ Can’t Esther take care of her ? You seem to forget that I ’m going away this afternoon ! ”

“ Esther ? Esther can’t take my place. Or perhaps you think anybody can take my place, sir !

To contradict this gave Roger some pleasure ; and when Lyssie, with glowing face, slipped out of his arms, he supposed he had gained his point. But she shook her head, and sighed. “ Oh, Roger, don’t encourage me to be selfish. I ‘d like to go; that shows you how selfish I am. Selfishness is my besetting sin,” she informed him sadly ; “ you ought, to help me to be good.’’

“ You selfish? ” Roger cried. “ You are an angel !

” I ? I am not good at all — if you only knew! Why, Roger, I can’t imagine what you ever saw in me to love.”

“ Bless your little heart ! It was your goodness that made me love you. For me. I ’m like a crow beside you.”

Thus and thus the regal humility of love ! What a pity it is that so often, when marriage has given two perfect beings each other, admiration should be exchanged for criticism.

“ You know, Lyssie ” (confession is delightful when one’s sweetheart is the priest, and her absolving, unbelieving, happy eyes look up and smile denial of the fault confessed), “ I don’t pretend to any great goodness, and I have a nasty temper ; but there is one good thing about me, — I am reasonable ; I don’t insist on having my own way, unless, as a pure matter of reason, I know I m right.”

“ Of course,” Alicia agreed eagerly. “ But then you always are right, Roger.”

Roger whistled. “ Lys, the king can do no wrong. But is it prudent to let him know you think so ? ”

” Yes ! ” said the girl proudly. “ I ’m not afraid to tell you all I think of you. I think nothing but what is true. And I see all your faults. No one is more critical of you than I.”

“Well, you shall tell me all about them,” Roger assured her. “ We ‘ll talk of my faults all the morning ; it will take all the morning. Now go and get your hat; it will be too hot soon to climb the hill.”

“ But Roger — mother ? ” Alicia’s smile vanished.

Roger looked annoyed. “ Well, I ’m sure she would n’t want you to stay at home on her account ? ”

“ I know she would n’t; but it’s my duty, don’t you see ? ”

“ No. I think you have some duty to me ; though that does n’t seem to strike you.”

“ Oh, Roger ! ” said poor little Lyssie, her eyes full of reproach. “ Mother is ill, and you know that is very different from just a mere walk.”

“ Well, of course, —just a mere walk with me,” he began crossly. “ You don’t care about it as I do, that’s plain enough.”

“ Roger! ”

“ Then come. Don’t be foolish, Lyssie.” But he was beginning to lose his interest; insistence, after a certain point, does lose its interest.

“ Please don’t urge me ! ”

He drew back stiffly. “ Oh, certainly not. I suppose I may come in after dinner and say good-by ? ”

She looked at him, and her lip shook. “Oh, please! ” she said despairingly.

But Roger turned on his heel, with a concise though unuttered epithet in his own mind, coupled with the name of Mrs. Drayton.

“ All right ; I’ve nothing more to say. I think you are wrong ; but never mind. I ’ll come in this afternoon and say good-by before the stage starts. I suppose you can leave your mother long enough for that ? There ! I ’m a brute, Lyssie, I ‘m ashamed of myself ; but you are all wrong, darling.”

Then, still irritated in spite of being ashamed of himself, he left her, and Lyssie, after she had swallowed some tears, went up and spent the morning in the darkened bedroom, where the air was heavy with the sickly scent of cologne, and where she listened to feeble sobbings of reproach that she had stayed downstairs so long. In the afternoon it all came right, of course. Roger was repentant and Lyssie forgiving, but somehow the parting was less perfect than it should have been. A bewildered dismay still lingered in Alicia’s eyes, and Roger was dully unhappy, with a self-reproach which took no definite form ; he only knew it had nothing to do with his unreasonable temper in the morning.

Now, the stings of conscience are had enough, as everybody knows, when they are definite; but when the still, small voice only mutters, when the stings are wandering pains which refuse to localize themselves and be treated, remorse is a little more unbearable by the addition of an irritated bewilderment.

Roger’s self-reproach was connected with his manner of spending the morning after he left Alicia. Yet he could not say why he was dissatisfied with himself. When he tried to analyze his conduct, he found nothing definite ; only a vague uneasiness, an intangible disapproval. Smarting at Lyssie’s slight,— for so he chose to consider it, — he had gone back to the Shores’, meaning to make his host entertain him. Philip had not appeared at breakfast, which Roger had taken early, so that he might be at Alicia’s door by nine; and now he was shut up in his library, — “ very much engaged,” John said.

Roger wondered, moodily, if he had not better have taken the morning stage.

“ I’ve stayed one day too long in this place,” he reflected. He wished Mrs. Shore would appear ; he wanted to talk to her of Lyssie’s foolish self-sacrifice ; not that he meant to complain of Alicia, but it would be a relief to say how, for Mrs. Drayton’s own sake, he wished Lyssie were wiser in her devotion to her mother. It is strange how rarely we recognize in ourselves the meaning of this impulse to find fault with those we love to a third person. We call it sincerity, sometimes, — sometimes, duty : we are mightily serious in our task of justifying to ourselves our disloyalty.

Mrs. Shore did not appear, however. The day seemed to Roger to stretch interminably before him. He had really nothing to do but think how badly he had been treated ; he even said savagely, “ Very likely I’ve been a fool to think she cares for me at all. I don’t know why she should, of course.” This with that angry humility which is so amusing to the persons who do not feel it.

A little later he went out into the garden. for want of something better to do, and walked down to the stone seat by the pool. It was very still here. There was a sleepy blur of sunshine on the meadow opposite, where the grass was scorched into fading yellow and bronze by the August droughts ; here and there, a patch of intense, vivid, almost wet green held its own under the shadow of an apple - tree or along the edge of the water. There was the drone of bees in a little border of sweet alyssum, whose faint, clean perfume came to him in hot, wandering breaths ; the shimmering haze on the water was laced by the noiseless zigzag of dragonflies ; sometimes a yellow leaf floated slowly down through the still air, to make a silent anchorage on the silent water. The warmth and the play of shadows from the faintly moving leaves above him soothed him, so that, in spite of his injured feelings, Roger would no doubt have taken a nap, if Eric, with Molly pulling at his collar, had not walked majestically down the path, and, catching sight of his friend, poked a cold nose under his relaxed hand; at which Roger was instantly awake and good natured. “ You rascal,” he said affectionately, taking the great, anxious, friendly face in his two hands, “ you scoundrel, how dare you wake me up ? ”

“ He would do it,” Molly explained. “ I was coming to fish for crayfish, an’ he came. He lets me hang ’em on his ears by their pincers. He does n’t mind.”

“ Do you suppose the crayfish mind ? ” Roger asked. But that did not interest Molly. Instead of discussing the feelings of the crayfish, she climbed up on the seat beside him.

“ Tell me a story.”

“ Don’t know any,” said Roger, beginning to get sleepy again.

“ Everybody’s so unobliging,” Molly assured him : “ mamma’s awfully cross, and father won’t let me talk at all. It is n’t very pleasant for me,” she ended sadly.

“ Well, perhaps you ’d better go and make it pleasant for the crayfish,” Roger suggested, yawning. Then he looked at his watch, and discovered that it was only ten minutes past eleven. “ Confound it ! ” he said. “ Molly, where is your father? In the library still? ”

“I don’t know. Maybe he is. Father was out of doors all last night, walking and walking around in the rain. Rosa told me so. John told her. And I told mamma, and she said ” —

“ Never mind ! ” Roger broke in hastily.

And Molly, with great cheerfulness, changed the subject. “ I ’ll show you something. Mr. Carey,—somethingI’ve got in a box in my pocket. Want to see it ? ”

“ Oh, very much,” said poor Roger; but did n’t Molly think she ’d like to catch some crayfish ? And then, with an eye to the interrupted nap, he made several suggestions for her diversion : Rosa? The nursery and her paper dolls ? “ That would be delightful,” he said, with insidious enthusiasm. “ Just think ! playing with those nice dolls in the nursery. Dear me ! how pleasant that would be! ”

“ It’s pleasanter with you,” Molly informed him, hugging him with much affection; and Roger sighed, and said, “ Well,” and submitted to many caresses, and showed his watch and Lyssie’s picture, and yawned a good deal.

“ What’s in the mysterious box ? ” he asked.

And Molly, her little face very serious and eager, took a small ring-box from her pocket and shook it close against his ear. “ Guess ! ”

“ A rocking-cliair ? ” said Roger.

Why, there could n’t be a rockingchair in this little box, Mr. Carey. Guess again.”

“ Can’t imagine. Show us.”

Molly, twinkling with excitement and the pleasure of giving pleasure, opened the box a very little way. “ Look ! it ‘s my tooth. Rosa pulled it yesterday.”

“ Great Cæsar’s ghost! ”

“ I thought I ’d keep it for the Resurrection,” Molly explained shyly.

“ Oh, you ’ll have nice false teeth by that time, Molly,” Roger told her gravely.

“ Well, but God will know where this is, if I keep it in my pocket,” the child said simply, and grew red and resentful when Roger laughed long and loud. He was so wide awake now that he suggested they should hunt somebody up.

” Come and see if your mother is downstairs yet. Have you told her about the Resurrection ? ”

Molly replied coldly, “ No; father knows.” But her little anger burned out in a moment, and she was eager and confidential again. “ Let’s go up to the porch. I guess mamma’s on the porch by this time. Mamma said maybe she ’d take me to Europe in a ship ; but father is n’t coming. Father is going to stay at home.”

“ By Jove ! ” Roger thought, with real concern, “ has their squabble gone as far as that?” He found himself thinking what Cecil must be in a passion ; and his eyes brightened a little and his jaw set.

When he and Molly reached the house, and found Mrs. Shore on the porch, he was full of interest in her. It is very subtle, but it is very real, that interest which a man feels in a woman who is quarreling with her husband. Perhaps it is because, when a woman marries, she shuts the door of her possibilities; but, when she quarrels with her husband, she opens it a little, and archly peers out again into men’s faces, if only for a moment.

Cecil hardly looked at Roger when he came up the steps, Molly dragging at iiis hand, and Eric close to his heels. She was sitting in a big reclining-chair which was full of yellow cushions ; the old bamboo, smooth as golden lacquer, yielded to every movement, and was as absolutely comfortable as even Cecil could desire. Generally, when she sat thus on the porch, with, very likely, some deeply fragrant flowers at her elbow, she had an air of absolute, delicious comfort, the luxurious satisfaction one sees in an animal basking in the sunshine. But to-day she was unconscious of her comfort, apparently ; a dull anger was smouldering in her eyes, and there was a heavy look about them as of fierce, unshed tears. Now, in a weak woman a man finds the hint of tears repulsive ; but in a strong woman they rouse only a consciousness of his own strength, or a leaping impulse of tenderness. Her sullenness bites into his thought like some teasing, stimulating, exquisite pain. He would like at once to comfort and to hurt her.

Roger, sitting down beside her, had no longer any inclination to resent Alicia’s slight. In Cecil’s presence it seemed too small, too silly. He half smiled at himself for having felt it. Alicia, with her droll little obstinacy, was only a child, after all, so ignorant, so foolish, and so sweet! He felt that he loved her very much, and might therefore say to Mrs. Shore this and that of her sister’s fantastic idea of duty.

Yes, yes, it was a great pity that Mrs. Drayton should have had a headache that morning !

Cecil made but little response. Roger, disappointed, but desiring sympathy, found himself inviting it by a hint of his conviction that “ votre belle mère “ — this with a hesitating look at Molly — was very — he supposed it was the result of illness, but she was not what one might call unselfish ?

“ Scarcely,” said Mrs. Shore.

Roger felt, resentfully, that he had been encouraged to express an unworthy sentiment, and now his instigator stepped from under, as it were, and declined responsibility. “ At least, you have given me that impression.” he added.

“ The woman tempted you ? ” Cecil commented.

“ It’s a way she has had from the beginning,” Roger declared more good naturedly, and added frankly, “ It was shabby in me to say that: the fact is, I suppose, I am out of temper because 1 lost my walk.”

Cecil showed no interest in his penitence. She looked sullenly straight in front of her; she answered shortly, “ yes ” or “ no,” when he went on talking ; she seemed to shrink a little when he brought his chair to her side, as though she were half afraid of him. But after a while, quite suddenly, and with a curious fierceness, she turned, and began to talk with a recklessness which Roger had never before seen in her ; it was as though she had slipped some leash which had been holding her back. She said she was sorry he was going away ; that Lyssie had been very foolish not to walk with him ; that Mrs. Drayton was really “ impossible.” In fact, she condoled with him so warmly upon his prospective mother-in-law that he grew uncomfortable.

“ Mrs. Drayton has a talent for tears,” she said, “ and Lyssie believes in them. Is n’t it funny ? ”

“ Well, weakness is a great bully without knowing it,” Roger defended Alicia’s mother, “ and she’s in wretched health, you know.”

Molly, lounging on Roger’s knee, announced that mamma said that grandmamma was as well — oh, as anybody, if she just would n’t pretend to be sick. At which Cecil laughed, but Roger said abruptly, “ You ought n’t to let that child know how you feel ! ” and Cecil, sobering, winced at his tone.

” I suppose I ought n’t,” she acknowledged. “ Molly, never say anything about grandmamma that mamma has said. M ill you remember ? I’m very fond of her.”

“ You ’re making fun.” Molly said.

“ You naughty little girl! ” cried Cecil, much amused. “ Of course I love grandmamma, and so must you ; remember you’ve only one grandmother, so you must make the most of her, and love her very much.”

“ Oh, she’s only a step,” said Molly, with contempt. “ Step - grandmothers don’t count.”

“ What shall I do with her ? ” said Cecil, in despair.

“ Your sin has found you out! ” Roger commented significantly.

But his reproof annoyed her, and she dropped the subject of Mrs. Drayton.

“ Is n’t it funny how they understand the things we don’t say ? ” she remarked. “ Really, we ought to converse in another language after children are five years old.”

“ Would n’t it be just as well to let the Young Person have a reforming effect upon our conversation ? ” he suggested.

“ It would be a little dull.”

“ Perhaps so,” he admitted, and added that then, probably, slander and impropriety would become extinct.

“ That would be dull! ” Cecil said.

Roger looked at her thoughtfully. “ Why do you say things like that ? You don’t mean them. And” —

“ Well ? ”

“ Well, I think they are rather silly,” he explained cheerfully. “ Would you mind if I lighted a cigar, Mrs. Shore?”

Again, as a dozen times during these last six weeks, his indifference touched her like some fine and stinging lash. She colored, and defended herself gayly, but with an undertone of eagerness. She was full of that spirited docility which is so flattering to a man ; she wanted to know his opinion on a dozen topics, and yet she had her own opinions, and held them with a charming and feminine insistence, which, however, was always based upon intelligence, and which put her companion on his mettle. He grew keen and interested. He overlooked his grievances. He did not have to forgive Lyssie ; he forgot her. Perhaps the spiritual as well as the material world has its spring and autumn, its summer and winter, its seasons of alert life, its time when virtue hibernates. It would seem so when one watches the hardening of a sensitive honor, the wavering lassitude of a hitherto robust conscience.

But to the vigorous soul the approach of such torpidity is attended with more or less discomfort. Roger, thinking this talk over afterwards, was vaguely uncomfortable; he could not put his finger on any one thing that he wished he had not done, unless indeed it were his first impatient speech about Mrs. Drayton. But he had apologized for that, and defended her ; he had overcome, yes, even forgotten, his resentment at Alicia. To be sure, he had seen with a fierce appreciation the whiteness of Cecil Shore’s throat, the color of her lip; he would have been a fool, or blind, not to have seen them; and they certainly had not prevented him from giving her a piece of his mind, once or twice, in good, hard words. She had looked tired and unhappy, and he had been sorry ; it would have been brutal not to be sorry. Lyssie would have been the first to wish him to be sympathetic. No, he had not a thing with which to reproach himself ; yet he felt dull and irritable ; he was inclined to blame everybody about him, which is a state of mind characteristic of an uneasy conscience. He looked back, in his thoughts, to the disappointment of the morning, and wished that Alicia had just a little less of that feminine obstinacy in the matter of duty which is so aggravating to the masculine mind, — unless indeed the feminine idea of duty and the masculine idea of comfort chance to be synonymous. He said to himself that he hoped she was not going to be like her mother. Now, this is a most significant wish in an engaged man, and one which, if he is wise, will turn him to examining the quality of his love.

When he went, later in the day, to say good-by to Lyssie, Roger was very penitent for his crossness of the morning, and confessed it humbly enough ; for even the reasonableness of his position did not excuse crossness, he said. But his penitence did not lighten his conscience of an uncommitted fault.

Margaret Deland.