TheDescentOfManAndOtherStoriesVol.I

ByEdithWharton

TheDescentOfManAndOtherStoriesI

WhenProfessorLinyardcamebackfromhisholidayintheMainewoodstheairofrejuvenationhebroughtwithhimwasduelesstotheinfluencesoftheclimate than to the companionship he had enjoyed on his travels. ToMrs.Linyard's observant eye he had appeared to set out alone; but an invisibletravellerhadinfactaccompaniedhim,andifhisheartbeathighitwassimplyatthepitchofhisadventure:fortheProfessorhadelopedwithanidea.Noonewhohasnottriedtheexperimentcandivineitsexhilaration.ProfessorLinyardwouldnothavechangedplaceswithanyheroofromancepledgedtoaflesh-and-blood abduction. The most fascinating female is apt to beencumberedwithluggageandscruples:totakeupagooddealofroominthepresent and overlap inconveniently into the future; whereas an idea canaccommodate itself to a single molecule of the brain or expand to thecircumference of the horizon. The Professor's companion had to the utmostthis quality of adaptability.As the express trainwhirled him away from thesomewhat inelasticcircleofMrs.Linyard'saffections,his ideaseemedtobesittingoppositehim,and theireyesmeteverymomentor twoinaglanceofjoyouscomplicity;yetwhena friendof the familypresently joinedhimandbegantotalkaboutcollegematters,theideaslippedoutofsightinaflash,andtheProfessorwouldhavehadnodifficultyinprovingthathewasalone.

But if, from the outset, he found his idea the most agreeable of fellow-travellers,itwasonlyinthearomaticsolitudeofthewoodsthathetastedthefull savourofhis adventure.There,during the longcoolAugustdays, lyingfulllengthonthepine-needlesandgazingupintothesky,hewouldmeettheeyesofhiscompanionbendingoverhimlikeanearerheaven.Andwhateyesthey were!clear yet unfathomable, bubbling with inexhaustible laughter, yetdrawing their freshnessandsparkle fromthecentraldepthsof thought!Toamanwhofortwentyyearshadfacedaneyereflectingtheobviouswithperfectaccuracy, these escapes into the inscrutable had always been peculiarlyinviting;buthithertotheProfessor'smentalinfidelitieshadbeenrestrictedbyan unbroken and relentless domesticity. Now, for the first time since hismarriage, chance had given him six weeks to himself, and he was cominghomewithhislungsfullofliberty.ItmustnotbeinferredthattheProfessor'sdomesticrelationsweredefective:theywereinfactsocompletethatitwasalmostimpossibletogetawayfromthem.Itisthehappyhusbandswhoarereallyinbondage;thelittleriftwithinthe lute is often a passage to freedom. Marriage had given the Professorexactlywhathehadsoughtinit;acomfortableliningtolife.Theimpossibilityofrisingtosentimentalcriseshadmadehimscrupulouslycarefulnottoshirkthepracticalobligationsofthebond.Hetookasitwereasociologicalviewofhiscase,andmodestlyregardedhimselfasabrickinthatfoundationonwhichthe state is supposed to rest. Perhaps if Mrs. Linyard had cared aboutentomology,orhad taken sides in thewarover the transmissionofacquiredcharacteristics,hemighthavehadalessimpersonalnotionofmarriage;buthewas unconscious of any deficiency in their relation, and if consultedwouldprobably have declared that he didn't want any woman bothering with hisbeetles. His real life had always lain in the universe of thought, in thatenchantedregionwhich, to thosewhohave lingered there,comes tohavesomuchmore colour and substance than the painted curtain hanging before it.TheProfessor'sparticularveilofMaiawasanarrowstripofhomespunwoveninamonotonouspattern;buthehadonlytoliftittostepintoanempire.This unseen universe was thronged with the most seductive shapes: theProfessormovedSultan-likethroughaseraglioofideas.Butofallthelovelyapparitions that wove their spells about him, none had ever worn quite sopersuasiveanaspectasthislatestfavourite.Fortheothersweremostlyrathergrave companions, serious-minded and elevating enough to have passedmusterinaLadies'DebatingClub;butthisnewfancyoftheProfessor'swassimplyoneembodiedlaugh.Itwas,inotherwords,thesmileofrelaxationattheendofalongday'stoil:theflashofironythatthelaboriousmindprojects,irresistibly,overlabourconscientiouslyperformed.TheProfessorhadalways

beenahardworker.Ifhewasanindulgentfriendtohisideas,hewasalsoastern task-master to them. For, in addition to their other duties, they had tosupport his family: to pay the butcher and baker, and provide for Jack'sschooling and Millicent's dresses. The Professor's household was a modestone,yet it taskedhis ideas tokeepituptohiswife'sstandard.Mrs.Linyardwas not an exacting wife, and she took enough pride in her husband'sattainmentstopayforherhonoursbyturningMillicent'sdressesanddarningJack'ssocks,andgoing to theCollegereceptionsyearafteryear in thesameblacksilkwithshinyseams. Itconsoledher toseeanoccasionalmentionofProfessor Linyard's remarkable monograph on the Ethical Reactions of theInfusoria,oranallusiontohisinvestigationsintotheUnconsciousCerebrationoftheAmoeba.StillthereweremomentswhenthehealthyindifferenceofJackandMillicentreactedonthematernalsympathies;whenMrs.Linyardwouldhavemadeherhusbandarailway-director,ifbythistransformationshemighthaveincreasedherboy'sallowanceandgivenherdaughteranewhat,orasetoffurssuchasthe other girls were wearing. Of such moments of rebellion the Professorhimselfwasnotwhollyunconscious.Hecouldnotindeedunderstandwhyanyone shouldwant a new hat; and as to an allowance, he had hadmuch lessmoney at college than Jack, and had yetmanaged to buy amicroscope andcollect a few "specimens";while Jackwas free from such expensive tastes!ButtheProfessordidnotlethiswantofsympathyinterferewiththedischargeof his paternal obligations.Heworkedhard to keep thewants of his familygratified, and it was precisely in the endeavor to attain this end that he atlengthbrokedownandhadtoceasefromworkaltogether.Toceasefromworkwasnottoceasefromthoughtofit;andintheunwontedpausefromeffort theProfessor foundhimself takingageneralsurveyof thefieldhehadtravelled.Atlastitwaspossibletolifthisnosefromtheloom,tostep amoment in front of the tapestryhehadbeenweaving.From this firstinspectionofthepatternsolongwroughtoverfrombehind,itwasnaturaltoglancealittlefartherandseekitsreflectioninthepubliceye.Itwasnotindeedofhis special task thathe thought in thisconnection.Hewasbutoneof thegreat armyofweavers atwork among the threadsof that cosmicwoof; andwhathesoughtwasthegeneralimpressiontheirlabourhadproduced.WhenProfessorLinyardfirstpliedhismicroscope,theaudienceofthemanofsciencehadbeencomposedofafewfellow-students,sympatheticorhostileastheirhabitsofmindpredetermined,butversedinthejargonoftheprofessionand familiar with the point of departure. In the intervening quarter of acentury,however, this littlegrouphadbeenswallowedup ina largerpublic.Everyonenowreadscientificbooksandexpressedanopiniononthem.The

ladies and the clergy had taken them up first; now they had passed to theschool-room and the kindergarten. Daily life was regulated on scientificprinciples; the daily papers had their "Scientific Jottings"; nurses passedexaminationsinhygienicscience,andbabieswerefedanddandledaccordingtothenewpsychology.Theveryfactthatscientificinvestigationstillhad,tosomeminds,aflavourofheterodoxy,gaveitaperennialinterest.Themobhadbrokendownthewallsoftraditiontobattenintheorchardofforbiddenknowledge.TheinaccessiblegoddesswhomtheProfessorhadservedinhisyouthnowofferedhercharmsin the market-place. And yet it was not the same goddess after all, but apseudo-science masquerading in the garb of the real divinity. This falsegoddesshadherritualandherliterature.Shehadhersacredbooks,writtenbyfalsepriestsandsoldbymillionstothefaithful.Inthemostsuccessfuloftheseworks,ancientdogmaandmoderndiscoveryweredepictedinacloseembraceunderthelime-lightsofahazytranscendentalism;andthetableauneverfailedof its effect. Some of the books designed on this popularmodel had latelyfallen into theProfessor's hands, and they filled himwithmingled rage andhilarity.Theragesoondied:hecametoregardthismassofpseudo-literatureasprotectingthetruthfromdesecration.Butthehilarityremained,andflowedintotheformofhisidea.Andtheideathedivine,incomparableideawassimplythat he should avenge his goddess by satirizing her false interpreters. Hewouldwriteaskitonthe"popular"scientificbook;hewouldsoheapplatitudeon platitude, fallacy on fallacy, false analogy on false analogy, so use hissuperiorknowledgetoaboundinthesenseoftheignorant,thateventhegrosscrowdwould join in the laugh against its augurs. And the laugh should besomething more than the distension of mental muscles; it should be thetrumpet-blastbringingdownthewallsofignorance,oratleastthelittlestonestrikingthegiantbetweentheeyes.

IITheProfessor, onpresentinghis card, had imagined that itwould commandpromptaccess to thepublisher's sanctuary;but theyoungmanwho readhisnamewasnotmovedtoimmediateaction.ItwasclearthatProfessorLinyardofHillbridgeUniversitywasnotaspecificfiguretothepurveyorsofpopularliterature.Butthepublisherwasanoldfriend;andwhenthecardhadfinallydrifted to his office on the languid tide of routine he came forth at once togreethisvisitor.ThewarmthofhiswelcomeconvincedtheProfessorthathehadbeenrightinbringinghismanuscripttoNedHarviss.HeandHarvisshadbeenatHillbridgetogether, and the future publisher hadbeenoneof thewildest spirits in that

bandofcollegeoutlawswhichyearly turnsout somany inoffensivecitizensand kind husbands and fathers. The Professor knew the taming qualities oflife. He was aware that many of his most reckless comrades had beentransformedintoprudentcapitalistsorcowedwage-earners;buthewasalmostsure that he could count on Harviss. So rare a sense of irony, so keen aperceptionofrelativevalues,couldhardlyhavebeenbluntedevenbytwentyyears'intercoursewiththeobvious.Thepublisher'sappearancewasalittledisconcerting.Helookedasifhehadbeenfattenedonpopularfiction;andhisfatwasfullofoptimisticcreases.TheProfessor seemed to see him bowing into his office a long train of spotlessheroinesladenwiththemaidentributeofthehundredththousandvolume.Nevertheless, his welcome was reassuring. He did not disown his earlyenormities, and capped his visitor's tentative allusions by such flagrantreferences to the past that the Professor produced his manuscript without ascruple."Whatyoudon'tmeantosayyou'vebeendoingsomethinginourline?"TheProfessorsmiled."Youpublishscientificbookssometimes,don'tyou?"Thepublisher'soptimisticcreasesrelaxedalittle."H'mitalldependsI'mafraidyou'realittletooscientificforus.Wehaveabigsaleforscientificbreakfastfoods,butnotfortheconcentratedessences.Inyourcase,ofcourse,Ishouldbedelightedtostretchapoint;butinyourowninterestIoughttotellyouthatperhapsoneoftheeducationalhouseswoulddoyoubetter."TheProfessorleanedback,stillsmilingluxuriously."Well,lookitoverIratherthinkyou'lltakeit.""Oh,we'lltakeit,asIsay;butthetermsmightnot""Nomatterabouttheterms"Thepublisher threwhisheadbackwitha laugh. "Ihadno idea that sciencewas so profitable; we find our popular novelists are the hardest hands at abargain.""Scienceisdisinterested,"theProfessorcorrectedhim."AndIhaveafancytohaveyoupublishthisthing.""That's immensely goodof you,mydear fellow.Of course your namegoeswithacertainpublicandIratherliketheoriginalityofourbringingoutaworksooutofourline.Idaresayitmayboomusboth."Hiscreasesdeepenedatthe

thought,andheshoneencouraginglyontheProfessor'sleave-taking.Withinafortnight,alinefromHarvissrecalledtheProfessortotown.Hehadbeen looking forward with immense zest to this second meeting; Harviss'scollege roarwas inhis tympanum,andhepicturedhimself followingup theprotracted chuckle which would follow his friend's progress through themanuscript.HewasproudoftheadroitnesswithwhichhehadkepthissecretfromHarviss, hadmaintained to the last the pretense of a seriouswork, inorder to give the keener edge to his reader's enjoyment. Not since under-graduate days had the Professor tasted such a draught of pure fun as hisanticipationsnowpouredforhim.This time his card brought instant admission.Hewas bowed into the officelikeasuccessfulnovelist,andHarvissgraspedhimwithbothhands."Welldoyoumeantotakeit?"heasked,withalingeringcoquetry."Take it? Take it,my dear fellow? It's in press alreadyyou'll excusemy notwaitingtoconsultyou?Therewillbenodifficultyaboutterms,Iassureyou,andwehadbarely time to catch the autumnmarket.MydearLinyard,whydidn'tyoutellme?"Hisvoicesanktoareproachfulsolemnity,andhepushedforwardhisownarm-chair.TheProfessordroppedintoitwithachuckle."Andmissthejoyoflettingyoufindout?""Wellitwas a joy."Harviss held out a box of his best cigars. "I don't knowwhenI'vehadabiggersensation.Itwassodeucedlyunexpectedand,mydearfellow,you'vebroughtitsoexactlytotherightshop.""I'mgladtohearyousayso,"saidtheProfessormodestly.Harviss laughed in richappreciation."Idon't supposeyouhadadoubtof it;butofcourse Iwasquiteunprepared.And it's soextraordinarilyoutofyourline"TheProfessortookoffhisglassesandrubbedthemwithaslowsmile."Wouldyouhavethoughtitsoatcollege?"Harvissstared."Atcollege?Why,youwerethemosticonoclasticdevil"Therewasaperceptiblepause.TheProfessorrestoredhisglassesandlookedathisfriend."Well?"hesaidsimply."Well?" echoed the other, still staring. "AhI see; youmean that that's what

explainsit.Theswingofthependulum,andsoforth.Well,Iadmitit'snotanuncommon phenomenon. I've conformed myself, for example; most of ourcrowdhave,Ibelieve;butsomehowIhadn'texpecteditofyou."The close observer might have detected a faint sadness under the officialcongratulationofhistone;buttheProfessorwastooamazedtohaveanearforsuchfineshades."Expected itofme?Expectedwhatofme?"hegasped. "What inheavendoyou think this thing is?"Andhe struckhis fist on themanuscriptwhich laybetweenthem.Harvisshad recoveredhisoptimistic creases.He rested abenevolent eyeonthedocument."Why,yourapologiayourconfessionoffaith,Ishouldcallit.Yousurelymusthave seen which way you were going? You can't have written it in yoursleep?""Oh,no,Iwaswideawakeenough,"saidtheProfessorfaintly."Well, then, why are you staring at me as if I were not?" Harviss leanedforward to lay a reassuring hand on his visitor's worn coat-sleeve. "Don'tmistakeme,mydearLinyard.Don't fancy therewas the leastunkindness inmy allusion to your change of front.What is growth but the shifting of thestand-point?Whyshouldamanbeexpectedtolookatlifewiththesameeyesattwentyandatourage?Itneveroccurredtomethatyoucouldfeeltheleastdelicacyinadmittingthatyouhavecomeroundalittlehavefallenintoline,sotospeak."ButtheProfessorhadsprungupasiftogivehislungsmoreroomtoexpand;andfromthemthereissuedalaughwhichshooktheeditorialrafters."Oh,Lord,ohLordisitreallyasgoodasthat?"hegasped.Harvisshadglanced instinctively toward theelectricbellonhisdesk; itwasevidentthathewaspreparedforanemergency."Mydearfellow"hebeganinasoothingtone."Oh,letmehavemylaughout,do,"imploredtheProfessor."I'llI'llquietdowninaminute;youneedn't ringfor theyoungman."Hedropped intohischairagain,andgraspeditsarmstosteadyhisshaking."ThisisthebestlaughI'vehad since college," he brought out between his paroxysms. And then,suddenly,hesatupwithagroan."Butifit'sasgoodasthatit'safailure!"heexclaimed.

Harviss,stiffeningalittle,examinedthetipofhiscigar."MydearLinyard,"hesaidatlength,"Idon'tunderstandawordyou'resaying."The Professor succumbed to a fresh access, from the vortex of which hemanagedtoflingout"Butthat'stheverycoreofthejoke!"Harvisslookedathimresignedly."Whatis?""Why,yournotseeingyournotunderstanding""Notunderstandingwhat?""Why,whatthebookismeanttobe."Hislaughtersubsidedagainandhesatgazing thoughtfully at the publisher. "Unless itmeans," hewound up, "thatI'veover-shotthemark.""IfIamthemark,youcertainlyhave,"saidHarviss,withaglanceattheclock.TheProfessor caught the glance and interpreted it. "The book is a skit," hesaid,rising.Theotherstared."Askit?It'snotserious,youmean?""Nottomebutitseemsyou'vetakenitso.""Younevertoldme"beganthepublisherinaruffledtone."No,Inevertoldyou,"saidtheProfessor.Harvisssatstaringatthemanuscriptbetweenthem."Idon'tpretendtobeupinsuchreconditeformsofhumour,"hesaid,stillstiffly."Ofcourseyouaddressyourselftoaverysmallclassofreaders.""Oh, infinitelysmall,"admitted theProfessor,extendinghishandtoward themanuscript.Harviss appeared to be pursuing his own train of thought. "That is," hecontinued,"ifyouinsistonanironicalinterpretation.""IfIinsistonitwhatdoyoumean?"Thepublisher smiled faintly. "Wellisn't thebook susceptibleof another? If Ireaditwithoutseeing""Well?"murmuredtheother,fascinated."whyshouldn'ttherestoftheworld?"declaredHarviss boldly. "I represent theAverage Readerthat'smy business,that's what I've been training myself to do for the last twenty years. It's a

mission like anotherthe thing is to do it thoroughly; not to cheat andcompromise. I know fellows who are publishers in business hours anddilettantestherestofthetime.Well,theyneversucceed:convictionsarejustasnecessaryinbusinessasinreligion.Butthat'snotthepointIwasgoingtosay that ifyou'll letmehandle thisbookasagenuine thing I'llguarantee tomakeitgo."TheProfessorstoodmotionless,hishandstillonthemanuscript."Agenuinething?"heechoed."Aseriouspieceofworktheexpressionofyourconvictions.Itellyouthere'snothing the public likes asmuch as convictionsthey'll always follow amanwhobelieves in his own ideas.And this book is just on the line of popularinterest.You'vegotholdofabig thing. It's fullofhopeandenthusiasm: it'swritteninthereligiouskey.TherearepassagesinitthatwoulddosplendidlyinaBirthdayBookthingsthatpopularpreacherswouldquoteintheirsermons.If you'd wanted to catch a big public you couldn't have gone about it in abetterway.Thething'sperfectformypurposeIwouldn'tletyoualterawordofit.It'llselllikeapopularnovelifyou'llletmehandleitintherightway."

IIIWhentheProfessorleftHarviss'soffice,themanuscriptremainedbehind.Hethoughthehadbeen takenby thehuge ironyof thesituationby theenlargedcircumferenceofthejoke.Initsoriginalform,asHarvisshadsaid,thebookwouldhaveaddresseditselftoaverylimitedcircle:nowitwouldincludetheworld.Theelectwouldunderstand;thecrowdwouldnot;andhisworkwouldthus serve a double purpose. And, after all, nothing was changed in thesituation;notawordofthebookwastobealtered.Thechangewasmerelyinthepublisher'spointofview,andinthe"tip"hewastogivethereviewers.TheProfessorhadonlytoholdhistongueandlookserious.These arguments found a strong reinforcement in the large premiumwhichexpressedHarviss'ssenseofhisopportunity.Asasatire,thebookwouldhavebrought itsauthornothing; in fact, itscostwouldhavecomeoutofhisownpocket,since,asHarvissassuredhim,nopublisherwouldhaveriskedtakingit. But as a profession of faith, as the recantation of an eminent biologist,whoseleaningshadhithertobeensupposedtobetowardacolddeterminism,itwouldbring inasteady incometoauthorandpublisher.Theoffer found theProfessor in a moment of financial perplexity. His illness, his unwontedholiday, the necessity of postponing a course of well-paid lectures, hadcombinedtodiminishhisresources;andwhenHarvissofferedhimanadvanceofathousanddollarstheesotericsavourofthejokebecameirresistible.Itwas

stillasajokethathepersistedinregardingthetransaction;andthoughhehadpledgedhimselfnottobetraytherealintentofthebook,heheldinpettothenotionofsomedaybeingabletotakethepublicintohisconfidence.Asfortheinitiated, theywould know at once: and however long a face he pulled, hiscolleagues would see the tongue in his cheek. Meanwhile it fortunatelyhappenedthat,evenifthebookshouldachievethekindoftriumphprophesiedbyHarviss, itwouldnotappreciablyinjureitsauthor'sprofessionalstanding.ProfessorLinyardwasknownchieflyasamicroscopist.Onthestructureandhabits of a certain class of coleoptera he was themost distinguished livingauthority;butnonesavehisintimatefriendsknewwhatgeneralizationsonthedestiny of man he had drawn from these special studies. He might havepublishedatreatiseontheFilioquewithoutdisturbingtheconfidenceofthoseonwhose approval his reputation rested; andmoreover hewas sustainedbythethoughtthatoneglanceathisbookwouldletthemintoitssecret.Infact,sosurewasheof this thathewondered theastuteHarvisshadcared to risksuch speedy exposure. But Harviss had probably reflected that even in thisreverberatingagetheopinionsofthelaboratorydonoteasilyreachthestreet;andtheProfessor,atanyrate,wasnotboundtoofferadviceonthispoint.Thedeterminingcauseofhisconsentwasthefactthatthebookwasalreadyinpress.TheProfessorknewlittleabouttheworkingsofthepress,butthephrasegavehimasenseoffinality,ofhavingbeencaughthimselfinthetoilsofthatmysterious engine. If he had had time to think thematter over, his scruplesmighthavedraggedhimback;buthisconsciencewaseasedbythefutilityofresistance.

IVMrs.Linyarddidnotoftenreadthepapers;andtherewasthereforeaspecialsignificance inherapproachingherhusbandoneeveningafterdinnerwithacopyoftheNewYorkInvestigatorinherhand.Herexpressionlentsolemnityto theact:Mrs.Linyardhada limitedbutdistinctivesetofexpressions,andshenowlookedasshedidwhenthePresidentoftheUniversitycametodine."Youdidn'ttellmeofthis,Samuel,"shesaidinaslightlytremulousvoice."Tell you of what?" returned the Professor, reddening to the margin of hisbaldness."ThatyouhadpublishedabookImightneverhaveheardof it ifMrs.Peasehadn'tbroughtmethepaper."Herhusbandrubbedhiseye-glasseswithagroan."Oh,youwouldhaveheardofit,"hesaidgloomily.

Mrs.Linyardstared."Didyouwishtokeepitfromme,Samuel?"Andashemadenoanswer, she addedwith irresistiblepride: "Perhapsyoudon't knowwhatbeautifulthingshavebeensaidaboutit."He took the paper with a reluctant hand. "Has Pease been saying beautifulthingsaboutit?""TheProfessor?Mrs.Peasedidn'tsayhehadmentionedit."Theauthorheavedasighofrelief.Hisbook,asHarvisshadprophesied,hadcaught the autumn market: had caught and captured it. The publisher hadconducted the campaign like an experienced strategist. He had completelysurroundedtheenemy.Everynewspaper,everyperiodical,heldinambushanadvertisementof"TheVitalThing."Weeks inadvance thegreatcommanderhadbeguntoformhislinesofattack.Allusionstotheremarkablesignificanceof the comingworkhad appeared first in the scientific and literary reviews,spreading thence to the supplements of the daily journals. Not a momentpassed without a quickening touch to the public consciousness: seventymillionsofpeoplewereforcedtorememberatleastonceadaythatProfessorLinyard's book was on the verge of appearing. Slips emblazoned with thequestion:Have you read "TheVital Thing"? fell from the pages of popularnovels and whitened the floors of crowded street-cars. The query, in largelettering,assaultedthetravellerattherailwaybookstall,confrontedhimonthewalls of "elevated" stations, and seemed, in its ascending scale, about tosupplanttheinterrogationsastosoapandstove-polishwhichanimateourruralscenery.Onthedayofpublication,theProfessorhadwithdrawntohislaboratory.Theshriekoftheadvertisementswasinhisears,andhisonedesirewastoavoidallknowledgeoftheeventtheyheralded.Areactionofself-consciousnesshadsetin,andifHarviss'schequehadsufficedtobuyupthefirsteditionof"TheVitalThing" the Professorwould gladly have devoted it to that purpose. But thesenseofinevitablenessgraduallysubduedhim,andhereceivedhiswife'scopyoftheInvestigatorwithakindofimpersonalcuriosity.Thereviewwasalongone, fullofextracts:hesaw,asheglancedover them,howwell theywouldlookinavolumeof"Selections."Thereviewerbeganbythankinghisauthor"forsoundingwithnouncertainvoicethatnoteofringingoptimism,offaithinman'sdestinyandthesupremacyofgood,whichhastoolongbeensilencedbythewhiningchorusofadecadentnihilism....Itiswell,"thewritercontinued,"whensuchreminderscometousnotfromthemoralistbutfromthemanofsciencewhenfromthedesiccatingatmosphereofthelaboratorythererisesthisgloriouscryoffaithandreconstruction."

The review was minute and exhaustive. Thanks no doubt to Harviss'sdiplomacy, it had been given to the Investigator's "best man," and theProfessorwas startled by the bold eyewithwhichhis emancipated fallaciesconfronted him. Under the reviewer's handling they made up admirably astruths,and theirauthorbegan tounderstandHarviss's regret that theyshouldbeusedforanylessprofitablepurpose.TheInvestigator,asHarvissphrasedit,"set thepace,"andtheotherjournalsfollowed,findingiteasiertolettheircriticalman-of-all-workplayavariationonthefirstreviewer'sthemethantosecureanexpertto"do"thebookafresh.But it was evident that the Professor had captured his public, for all theresourcesof theprofessioncouldnot, asHarvissgleefullypointedout,havecarried thebook so straight to theheart of thenation.Therewas somethingnobleinthewayinwhichHarvissbelittledhisownshareintheachievement,and insisted on the inutility of shoving a bookwhich had startedwith suchheadwayon."AllIaskyouistoadmitthatIsawwhatwouldhappen,"hesaidwithatouchof professional pride. "I knew you'd struck the right noteI knew they'd bequotingyoufromMainetoSanFrancisco.Goodasfiction?It'sbetterit'llkeepgoinglonger.""Will it?" said the Professor with a slight shudder. He was resigned to anephemeraltriumph,butthethoughtofthebook'spersistencyfrightenedhim."I should say so! Why, you fit in everywherescience, theology, naturalhistoryandthentheall-for-the-bestelementwhichissopopularjustnow.Why,youcomeright inwith theHow-to-Relaxseries,andtheysellwayupin themillions.Andthenthebook'ssofulloftendernesstherearesuchlovelythingsinitaboutflowersandchildren.Ididn'tknowanoldDryasdustlikeyoucouldhavesuchalotofsentimentinhim.Why,Iactuallycaughtmyselfsnivellingoverthatpassageaboutthesnowdropspiercingthefrozenearth;andmywifewassayingtheotherdaythat,sinceshe'sread'TheVitalThing,'shebeginstothinkyoumustwrite the 'What-CheerColumn,' in the Inglenook."He threwbackhisheadwithalaughwhichendedintheinspiredcry:"And,byGeorge,sir,whenthethingbeginstoslowoffwe'llstartsomebodywritingagainstit,andthatwillrunusstraightintoanotherhundredthousand."AndasearnestofthisbeliefhedrewtheProfessorasupplementarycheque.

VMrs. Linyard's knock cut short the importunities of the lady who had beentryingtopersuadetheProfessortobetakenbyflashlightathisstudytablefor

the Christmas number of the Inglenook. On this point the Professor hadfanciedhimselfimpregnable;buttheunwontedsmilewithwhichhewelcomedhiswife'sintrusionshowedthathisdefenceswereweakening.TheladyfromtheInglenooktookthehintwithprofessionalpromptness,butsaidbrightly,asshesnappedtheelasticaroundhernote-book:"Ishan'tletyouforgetme,Professor."The groanwithwhich he followed her retreatwas interrupted by hiswife'squestion:"Dotheypayyoufortheseinterviews,Samuel?"The Professor looked at her with sudden attention. "Not directly," he said,wonderingatherexpression.Shesankdownwithasigh."Indirectly,then?""What is thematter,mydear? IgaveyouHarviss's secondcheque theotherday"Her tears arrested him. "Don't be hard on the boy, Samuel! I really believeyoursuccesshasturnedhishead.""Theboywhatboy?Mysuccess?Explainyourself,Susan!""It'sonlythatJackhashasborrowedsomemoneywhichhecan'trepay.Butyoumustn'tthinkhimaltogethertoblame,Samuel.Sincethesuccessofyourbookhe has been asked about so muchit's given the children quite a differentposition.Millicentsaysthatwherevertheygothefirstquestionaskedis,'Areyouanyrelationoftheauthorof"TheVitalThing"?'Ofcoursewe'reallveryproudofthebook;butitentailsobligationswhichyoumaynothavethoughtofinwritingit."TheProfessorsatgazingatthelettersandnewspaperclippingsonthestudy-table which he had just successfully defended from the camera of theInglenook. He took up an envelope bearing the name of a popular weeklypaper."Idon'tknow that the Inglenookwouldhelpmuch,"he said, "but I supposethismight."Mrs.Linyard'seyesglowedwithmaternalavidity."Whatisit,Samuel?""A series of 'Scientific Sermons' for theRound-the-Gas-Log column of TheWoman'sWorld.Ibelievethat journalhasalargercirculationthananyother

weekly,andtheypayinproportion."HehadnotevenaskedtheextentofJack'sindebtedness.Ithadbeensoeasytorelieverecentdomesticdifficultiesby the timelyproductionofHarviss's twocheques, that itnowseemednatural togetMrs.Linyardoutof the roombypromising further reinforcements. The Professor had indignantly rejectedHarviss'ssuggestionthatheshouldfollowuphissuccessbyasecondvolumeonthesamelines.Hehadswornnottolendmorethanapassivesupporttothefraud of "The Vital Thing"; but the temptation to free himself from Mrs.Linyardprevailedoverhislastscruples,andwithinanhourhewasatworkontheScientificSermons.TheProfessorwasnotanunkindman.He reallyenjoyedmakinghis familyhappy;anditwashisownbusinessifhisrewardforsodoingwasthatitkeptthemoutofhisway.Butthesuccessof"TheVitalThing"gavehimmorethanthisnegativesatisfaction.Itenlargedhisownexistenceandopenednewdoorsintootherlives.TheProfessor,duringfiftyvirtuousyears,hadbeencognizantofonlytwotypesofwomen:thefondandfoolish,whomonemarried,andtheearnestandintellectual,whomonedidnot.Ofthetwo,heinfinitelypreferredthe former, even for conversational purposes. But as a social instrumentwomanwasunknowntohim;anditwasnottillhewasdrawnintotheworldon the tide of his literary success that he discovered the deficiencies in hisclassificationofthesex.Thenhelearnedwithastonishmentoftheexistenceofa third type: the woman who is fond without foolishness and intellectualwithout earnestness. Not that the Professor inspired, or sought to inspire,sentimental emotions; but he expanded in thewarm atmosphere of personalinterestwhichsomeofhisnewacquaintancescontrivedtocreateabouthim.Itwas delightful to talk of serious things in a setting of frivolity, and to bepersonalwithoutbeingdomestic.Even in this new world, where all subjects were touched on lightly, andemphasiswastheonlyindelicacy,theProfessorfoundhimselfconstrainedtoendure an occasional reference to his book. It was unpleasant at first; butgradually he slipped into the habit of hearing it talked of, and grewaccustomedtotellingprettywomenjusthow"ithadfirstcometohim."Meanwhile the success of theScientific Sermonswas facilitating his familyrelations.HisphotographintheInglenook,towhichtheladyofthenote-bookhad succeeded in appending a vivid interview, carried his fame to circlesinaccessible even to "TheVitalThing"; and theProfessor foundhimself themanof thehour.Hesoongrewused to thefunctionsof theoffice,andgaveouthundred-dollarinterviewsoneverysubject,fromlabour-strikestoBabism,with a frequency which reacted agreeably on the domestic exchequer.Presentlyhisheadbegantofigureintheadvertisingpagesofthemagazines.

Admiring readers learned the name of the only breakfast-food in use at histable,oftheinkwithwhich"TheVitalThing"hadbeenwritten,thesoapwithwhichtheauthor'shandswerewashed,andthe tissue-builderwhichfortifiedhimforfurthereffort.TheseconfidencesendearedtheProfessortomillionsofreaders, and his head passed in due course from the magazine and thenewspapertothebiscuit-tinandthechocolate-box.

VITheProfessor, all thewhile,was leading a double life.While the author of"The Vital Thing" reaped the fruits of popular approval, the distinguishedmicroscopist continued his laboratory work unheeded save by the fewwhowere engaged in the same line of investigations.His divided allegiance hadnothithertoaffectedthequalityofhiswork:itseemedtohimthathereturnedtothelaboratorywithgreaterzestafteranafternooninadrawing-roomwherereadingsfrom"TheVitalThing"hadalternatedwithplantationmelodiesandtea.Hehadlongceasedtoconcernhimselfwithwhathiscolleaguesthoughtof his literary career.Of the fewwhomhe frequented, none had referred to"The Vital Thing"; and he knew enough of their lives to guess that theirsilencemight as fairly be attributed to indifference as to disapproval. Theywere intensely interested in theProfessor's viewsonbeetles, but they reallycaredverylittlewhathethoughtoftheAlmighty.TheProfessorentirely shared their feelings,andoneofhischief reasons forcultivating the success which accident had bestowed on him, was that itenabledhimtocommandagreaterrangeofappliancesforhisrealwork.Hehadknownwhatitwastolackbooksandinstruments;and"TheVitalThing"wasthemagicwandwhichsummonedthemtohisaid.Forsometimehehadbeen feeling hisway along the edge of a discovery: balancing himselfwithprofessional skill on a plank of hypothesis flung across an abyss ofuncertainty. The conjecture was the result of years of patient gathering offacts: its corroboration would take months more of comparison andclassification.But at the endof the vista victory loomed.TheProfessor feltwithin himself that assurance of ultimate justificationwhich, to theman ofscience, makes a life-time seem the mere comma between premiss anddeduction. But he had reached the point where his conjectures requiredformulation.Itwasonlybygivingthemexpression,byexposingthemtothecomment and criticismof his associates, that he could test their final value;andthis innerassurancewasconfirmedbytheonlyfriendwhoseconfidenceheinvited.ProfessorPease,thehusbandoftheladywhohadopenedMrs.Linyard'seyesto the triumph of "The Vital Thing," was the repository of her husband's

scientificexperiences.Whathethoughtof"TheVitalThing"hadneverbeendivulged;andhewascapableofsuchvastexclusionsthatitwasquitepossiblethatpervasiveworkhadnotyetreachedhim.Inanycase,itwasnotlikelytoaffecthisjudgmentoftheauthor'sprofessionalcapacity."Youwanttoputthatallinabook,Linyard,"wasProfessorPease'ssumming-up."I'msureyou'vegotholdofsomethingbig;but tosee itclearlyyourselfyouought tooutline it forothers.Takemyadvicechuckeverythingelseandgettoworktomorrow.It'stimeyouwroteabook,anyhow."It's time you wrote a book, anyhow! The words smote the Professor withmingledpainandecstasy:hecouldhaveweptovertheirsignificance.Buthisfriend'sotherphraseremindedhimwithastartofHarviss."Youhavegotholdofabigthing"ithadbeenthepublisher'sfirstcommenton"TheVitalThing."Butwhataworldofmeaninglaybetweenthetwophrases!Itwastheworldinwhich the powerswho fought for theProfessorwere destined towage theirfinalbattle;andforthemomenthehadnodoubtoftheoutcome.ThenextdayhewenttotowntoseeHarviss.Hewantedtoaskforanadvanceonthenewpopulareditionof"TheVitalThing."HehaddeterminedtodropacourseofsupplementarylecturesattheUniversity,andtogivehimselfupforayeartohisbook.Todothis,additionalfundswerenecessary;butthanksto"TheVitalThing"theywouldbeforthcoming.The publisher received him as cordially as usual; but the response to hisdemand was not as prompt as his previous experience had entitled him toexpect."Ofcoursewe'llbegladtodowhatwecanforyou,Linyard;butthefact is,we'vedecidedtogiveuptheideaoftheneweditionforthepresent.""You'vegivenupthenewedition?""Why,yeswe'vedoneprettywellby 'TheVitalThing,' andwe're inclined tothinkit'syourturntodosomethingforitnow."TheProfessor lookedathimblankly. "Whatcan Ido for it?"heasked"whatmore"hisaccentadded."Why, put a little new life in it by writing something else. The secret ofperpetualmotionhasn'tyetbeendiscovered,youknow,andit'soneofthelawsof literature thatbookswhich startwith a rushare apt to slowdownsoonerthanthecrawlers.We'vekept'TheVitalThing'goingforeighteenmonthsbut,hang it, it ain't sovital anymore.Wesimplycouldn't seeourway toanewedition.Oh,Idon'tsayit'sdeadyetbutit'smoribund,andyou'retheonlymanwhocanresuscitateit."

TheProfessorcontinuedtostare."IwhatcanIdoaboutit?"hestammered."Do?Whywriteanotherlikeitgoitonebetter:youknowthetrick.Thepublicisn't tiredofyouby anymeans; but youwant tomakeyourself heard againbeforeanybodyelsecutsin.Writeanotherbookwritetwo,andwe'llsellthemin sets in a box:TheVitalThingSeries.Thatwill take tremendously in theholidays.TryandletushaveanewvolumebyOctoberI'llbegladtogiveyouabigadvanceifyou'llsignacontractonthat."TheProfessorsatsilent:therewastoocruelanironyinthecoincidence.Harvisslookedupathiminsurprise."Well, what's the matter with taking my adviceyou're not going out ofliterature,areyou?"TheProfessorrosefromhischair."NoI'mgoingintoit,"hesaidsimply."Goingintoit?""I'mgoingtowritearealbookaseriousone.""GoodLord!Mostpeoplethink'TheVitalThing''sserious.""YesbutImeansomethingdifferent.""Inyouroldlinebeetlesandsoforth?""Yes,"saidtheProfessorsolemnly.Harviss lookedathimwithequalgravity."Well, I'msorry for that,"hesaid,"becauseittakesyououtofourbailiwick.ButIsupposeyou'vemadeenoughmoneyoutof'TheVitalThing'topermityourselfalittleharmlessamusement.Whenyouwantmorecashcomeback tousonlydon'tput itoff too long,orsome other fellowwill have stepped into your shoes. Popularity don't keep,youknow;andthehotterthesuccessthequickerthecommodityperishes."He leaned back, cheerful and sententious, delivering his axioms withconsciouskindliness.The Professor, who had risen and moved to the door, turned back with awaveringstep."Whendidyousayanothervolumewouldhavetobeready?"hefaltered."I said Octoberbut call it a month later. You don't need any pushing

nowadays.""Andyou'dhavenoobjectiontolettingmehavealittleadvancenow?Ineedsomenewinstrumentsformyrealwork."Harviss extendeda cordialhand. "Mydear fellow, that's talkingI'llwrite thechequewhileyouwait;andIdaresaywecanstartupthecheapeditionof'TheVitalThing'atthesametime,ifyou'llpledgeyourselftogiveusthebookbyNovember.Howmuch?"heasked,poisedabovehischeque-book.In the street, the Professor stood staring about him, uncertain and a littledazed."Afterall,it'sonlyputtingitoffforsixmonths,"hesaidtohimself;"andIcandobetterworkwhenIgetmynewinstruments."Hesmiledandraisedhishattothepassingvictoriaofaladyinwhosecopyof"TheVitalThing"hehadrecentlywritten:Laborestetiamipsavoluptas.

THEOTHERTWOI

WAYTHORN,onthedrawing-roomhearth,waitedforhiswifetocomedowntodinner.Itwastheirfirstnightunderhisownroof,andhewassurprisedathisthrillofboyishagitation.Hewasnotsoold, tobesurehisglassgavehimlittlemorethan the five-and-thirtyyears towhichhiswifeconfessedbuthehad fanciedhimselfalready in the temperatezone;yetherehewas listening forherstepwithatendersenseofallitsymbolized,withsomeoldtrailofverseaboutthegarlanded nuptial door-posts floating through his enjoyment of the pleasantroomandthegooddinnerjustbeyondit.They had been hastily recalled from their honeymoon by the illness ofLilyHaskett, the child of Mrs. Waythorn's first marriage. The little girl, atWaythorn'sdesire,hadbeentransferredtohishouseonthedayofhermother'swedding,andthedoctor,ontheirarrival,brokethenewsthatshewasillwithtyphoid,butdeclared thatall thesymptomswerefavorable.Lilycouldshowtwelveyearsofunblemishedhealth,andthecasepromisedtobealightone.Thenursespokeasreassuringly,andafteramomentofalarmMrs.Waythornhadadjustedherselftothesituation.ShewasveryfondofLilyheraffectionforthechildhadperhapsbeenherdecisivecharminWaythorn'seyesbutshehadtheperfectlybalancednerveswhichherlittlegirlhadinherited,andnowoman

everwasted less tissue inunproductiveworry.Waythornwas thereforequitepreparedtoseehercomeinpresently,alittlelatebecauseofalastlookatLily,butassereneandwell-appointedasifhergood-nightkisshadbeenlaidonthebrowof health.Her composurewas restful to him; it acted as ballast to hissomewhat unstable sensibilities.As he pictured her bending over the child'sbed he thought how soothing her presencemust be in illness: her very stepwouldprognosticaterecovery.Hisownlifehadbeenagrayone,fromtemperamentratherthancircumstance,andhehadbeendrawntoherbytheunperturbedgayetywhichkeptherfreshandelasticatanagewhenmostwomen'sactivitiesaregrowingeitherslackorfebrile.Heknewwhatwassaidabouther;for,popularasshewas,therehadalwaysbeenafaintundercurrentofdetraction.WhenshehadappearedinNewYork,nineor tenyearsearlier, as theprettyMrs.HaskettwhomGusVarickhadunearthedsomewherewasitinPittsburghorUtica?society,whilepromptlyacceptingher,hadreservedtherighttocastadoubtonitsowndiscrimination.Inquiry, however, established her undoubted connection with a sociallyreigning family, and explained her recent divorce as the natural result of arunawaymatchatseventeen;andasnothingwasknownofMr.Haskettitwaseasytobelievetheworstofhim.AliceHaskett's remarriagewithGusVarickwas apassport to the setwhoserecognitionshecoveted,andforafewyearstheVarickswerethemostpopularcoupleintown.Unfortunatelythealliancewasbriefandstormy,andthistimethe husband had his champions. Still, even Varick's stanchest supportersadmitted thathewasnotmeant formatrimony,andMrs.Varick'sgrievanceswereofanaturetobeartheinspectionoftheNewYorkcourts.ANewYorkdivorce is in itself a diploma of virtue, and in the semi-widowhood of thissecondseparationMrs.Varicktookonanairofsanctity,andwasallowedtoconfideherwrongstosomeofthemostscrupulousearsintown.ButwhenitwasknownthatshewastomarryWaythorntherewasamomentaryreaction.Her best friends would have preferred to see her remain in the role of theinjuredwife,whichwas as becoming to her as crape to a rosy complexion.True,adecenttimehadelapsed,anditwasnotevensuggestedthatWaythornhadsupplantedhispredecessor.Still,peopleshooktheirheadsoverhim,andonegrudgingfriend,towhomheaffirmedthathetookthestepwithhiseyesopen,repliedoracularly:"Yesandwithyourearsshut."Waythorncouldaffordtosmileattheseinnuendoes.IntheWallStreetphrase,hehad"discounted"them.Heknewthatsocietyhasnotyetadapteditself tothe consequences of divorce, and that till the adaptation takes place everywoman who uses the freedom the law accords her must be her own socialjustification. Waythorn had an amused confidence in his wife's ability to

justify herself.His expectationswere fulfilled, and before thewedding tookplaceAliceVarick's group had rallied openly to her support. She took it allimperturbably:shehadawayofsurmountingobstacleswithoutseemingtobeawareofthem,andWaythornlookedbackwithwonderatthetrivialitiesoverwhichhehadwornhisnervesthin.Hehadthesenseofhavingfoundrefugeinaricher,warmernaturethanhisown,andhissatisfaction,atthemoment,washumorously summedup in the thought thathiswife,when shehaddoneallshe could for Lily,would not be ashamed to come down and enjoy a gooddinner.Theanticipationofsuchenjoymentwasnot,however,thesentimentexpressedbyMrs.Waythorn'scharmingfacewhenshepresentlyjoinedhim.Thoughshehadputonhermostengagingteagownshehadneglectedtoassumethesmilethatwentwithit,andWaythornthoughthehadneverseenherlooksonearlyworried."Whatisit?"heasked."IsanythingwrongwithLily?""No;I'vejustbeeninandshe'sstillsleeping."Mrs.Waythornhesitated."Butsomethingtiresomehashappened."Hehadtakenhertwohands,andnowperceivedthathewascrushingapaperbetweenthem."Thisletter?""YesMr.HasketthaswrittenImeanhislawyerhaswritten."Waythornfelthimselfflushuncomfortably.Hedroppedhiswife'shands."Whatabout?""AboutseeingLily.Youknowthecourts""Yes,yes,"heinterruptednervously.NothingwasknownaboutHaskettinNewYork.Hewasvaguelysupposedtohave remained in theouterdarkness fromwhichhiswifehadbeen rescued,andWaythornwasoneof the fewwhowereaware thathehadgivenuphisbusinessinUticaandfollowedhertoNewYorkinordertobenearhislittlegirl.Inthedaysofhiswooing,WaythornhadoftenmetLilyonthedoorstep,rosyandsmiling,onherway"toseepapa.""Iamsosorry,"Mrs.Waythornmurmured.Herousedhimself."Whatdoeshewant?"

"Hewantstoseeher.Youknowshegoestohimonceaweek.""Wellhedoesn'texpecthertogotohimnow,doeshe?""Nohehasheardofherillness;butheexpectstocomehere.""Here?"Mrs.Waythornreddenedunderhisgaze.Theylookedawayfromeachother."I'mafraidhehastheright....You'llsee...."Shemadeaprofferoftheletter.Waythornmovedawaywith agestureof refusal.He stood staringabout thesoftly lighted room, which a moment before had seemed so full of bridalintimacy."I'msosorry,"sherepeated."IfLilycouldhavebeenmoved""That'soutofthequestion,"hereturnedimpatiently."Isupposeso."Herlipwasbeginningtotremble,andhefelthimselfabrute."Hemustcome,ofcourse,"hesaid."Whenishisday?""I'mafraidto-morrow.""Verywell.Sendanoteinthemorning."Thebutlerenteredtoannouncedinner.Waythorn turned tohiswife."Comeyoumustbe tired. It'sbeastly,but try toforgetaboutit,"hesaid,drawingherhandthroughhisarm."You'resogood,dear.I'lltry,"shewhisperedback.Herfaceclearedatonce,andasshelookedathimacrosstheflowers,betweentherosycandle-shades,hesawherlipswaverbackintoasmile."Howprettyeverythingis!"shesighedluxuriously.He turned to the butler. "The champagne at once, please.Mrs.Waythorn istired."Inamomentortwotheireyesmetabovethesparklingglasses.Herownwerequite clear and untroubled: he saw that she had obeyed his injunction andforgotten.

Waythornmovedawaywithagestureofrefusal

II

WAYTHORN,thenextmorning,wentdowntownearlierthanusual.Haskettwasnot likely tocometill theafternoon,but the instinctof flightdrovehimforth.Hemeanttostayawayalldayhehadthoughtsofdiningathisclub.Ashisdoorclosedbehindhimhereflectedthatbeforeheopeneditagainitwouldhaveadmittedanothermanwhohadasmuchrighttoenteritashimself,andthethoughtfilledhimwithaphysicalrepugnance.Hecaught the "elevated" at the employees' hour, and foundhimself crushedbetween two layersofpenduloushumanity.AtEighthStreet theman facinghimwriggledout andanother tookhisplace.Waythornglancedupand sawthatitwasGusVarick.ThemenweresoclosetogetherthatitwasimpossibletoignorethesmileofrecognitiononVarick'shandsomeoverblownface.Andafterallwhynot?Theyhadalwaysbeenongoodterms,andVarickhadbeendivorcedbeforeWaythorn'sattentionstohiswifebegan.Thetwoexchangedawordon theperennial grievanceof the congested trains, andwhen a seat attheir sidewasmiraculously left empty the instinctof self-preservationmadeWaythornslipintoitafterVarick.Thelatterdrewthestoutman'sbreathofrelief."LordIwasbeginningtofeellikeapressedflower."Heleanedback,lookingunconcernedlyatWaythorn."SorrytohearthatSellersisknockedoutagain.""Sellers?"echoedWaythorn,startingathispartner'sname.Varicklookedsurprised."Youdidn'tknowhewaslaidupwiththegout?""No. I've been awayI only got back last night." Waythorn felt himselfreddeninginanticipationoftheother'ssmile."Ahyes;tobesure.AndSellers'sattackcameontwodaysago.I'mafraidhe'sprettybad.Veryawkwardforme,as ithappens,becausehewas justputtingthrougharatherimportantthingforme.""Ah?"Waythorn wondered vaguely since when Varick had been dealing in"important things." Hitherto he had dabbled only in the shallow pools ofspeculation,withwhichWaythorn'sofficedidnotusuallyconcernitself.ItoccurredtohimthatVarickmightbetalkingatrandom,torelievethestrainoftheirpropinquity.ThatstrainwasbecomingmomentarilymoreapparenttoWaythorn,andwhen,atCortlandtStreet,hecaughtsightofanacquaintance,

and had a sudden vision of the picture he and Varick must present to aninitiatedeye,hejumpedupwithamutteredexcuse."Ihopeyou'llfindSellersbetter,"saidVarickcivilly,andhestammeredback:"IfIcanbeofanyusetoyou"andletthedepartingcrowdsweephimtotheplatform.At his office he heard that Sellers was in fact ill with the gout, andwouldprobablynotbeabletoleavethehouseforsomeweeks."I'm sorry it shouldhavehappened so,Mr.Waythorn," the senior clerk saidwith affable significance. "Mr. Sellers was very much upset at the idea ofgivingyousuchalotofextraworkjustnow.""Oh, that's no matter," said Waythorn hastily. He secretly welcomed thepressure of additional business, and was glad to think that, when the day'sworkwasover,hewouldhavetocallathispartner'sonthewayhome.Hewas late for luncheon, and turned in at the nearest restaurant instead ofgoingtohisclub.Theplacewasfull,andthewaiterhurriedhimtothebackofthe room to capture the only vacant table. In the cloud of cigar-smokeWaythorn did not at once distinguish his neighbors; but presently, lookingabouthim,hesawVarickseatedafewfeetoff.Thistime,luckily, theyweretoo far apart for conversation, and Varick, who faced another way, hadprobablynotevenseenhim;buttherewasanironyintheirrenewednearness.Varickwassaidtobefondofgoodliving,andasWaythornsatdespatchinghishurried luncheon he looked across half enviously at the other's leisurelydegustationof hismeal.WhenWaythorn first sawhimhehadbeenhelpinghimselfwithcriticaldeliberation toabitofCamembertat the idealpointofliquefaction, and now, the cheese removed, he was just pouring his cafedouble from its little two-storied earthen pot. He poured slowly, his ruddyprofilebentabovethetask,andoneberingedwhitehandsteadyingthelidofthecoffee-pot;thenhestretchedhisotherhandtothedecanterofcognacathiselbow,filleda liqueur-glass, tooka tentativesip,andpoured thebrandyintohiscoffee-cup.Waythornwatchedhiminakindoffascination.Whatwashethinkingofonlyoftheflavorofthecoffeeandtheliqueur?Hadthemorning'smeetingleftnomoretraceinhisthoughtsthanonhisface?Hadhiswifesocompletelypassedoutofhislifethateventhisoddencounterwithherpresenthusband,withinaweekafterher remarriage,wasnomore thanan incident inhisday?AndasWaythorn mused, another idea struck him: had Haskett ever met Varick asVarickandhehadjustmet?TherecollectionofHaskettperturbedhim,andherose and left the restaurant, takinga circuitouswayout to escape theplacid

ironyofVarick'snod.ItwasaftersevenwhenWaythornreachedhome.Hethoughtthefootmanwhoopenedthedoorlookedathimoddly."HowisMissLily?"heaskedinhaste."Doingverywell,sir.Agentleman""Tell Barlow to put off dinner for half an hour," Waythorn cut him off,hurryingupstairs.Hewent straight tohis roomanddressedwithout seeinghiswife.Whenhereached the drawing-room she was there, fresh and radiant. Lily's day hadbeengood;thedoctorwasnotcomingbackthatevening.At dinner Waythorn told her of Sellers's illness and of the resultingcomplications.Shelistenedsympathetically,adjuringhimnottolethimselfbeoverworked, and asking vague feminine questions about the routine of theoffice.Then she gavehim the chronicle ofLily's day; quoted the nurse anddoctor,and toldhimwhohadcalled to inquire.Hehadneverseenhermoreserene and unruffled. It struck him,with a curious pang, that shewas veryhappy in being with him, so happy that she found a childish pleasure inrehearsingthetrivialincidentsofherday.After dinner they went to the library, and the servant put the coffee andliqueursonalowtablebeforeherandlefttheroom.Shelookedsingularlysoftand girlish in her rosy pale dress, against the dark leather of one of hisbachelorarmchairs.Adayearlierthecontrastwouldhavecharmedhim.Heturnedawaynow,choosingacigarwithaffecteddeliberation."DidHaskettcome?"heasked,withhisbacktoher."Oh,yeshecame.""Youdidn'tseehim,ofcourse?"Shehesitatedamoment."Iletthenurseseehim."Thatwas all. Therewas nothingmore to ask.He swung round toward her,applyingamatchtohiscigar.Well,thethingwasoverforaweek,atanyrate.Hewouldtrynottothinkofit.Shelookedupathim,atriflerosierthanusual,withasmileinhereyes."Readyforyourcoffee,dear?"

Heleanedagainst themantelpiece,watchingherasshe lifted thecoffee-pot.Thelamplightstruckagleamfromherbraceletsandtippedhersofthairwithbrightness.Howlightandslendershewas,andhoweachgestureflowedintothenext!Sheseemedacreatureallcompactofharmonies.AsthethoughtofHaskett receded, Waythorn felt himself yielding again to the joy ofpossessorship.Theywerehis,thosewhitehandswiththeirflittingmotions,histhelighthazeofhair,thelipsandeyes....She set down the coffee-pot, and reaching for the decanter of cognac,measuredoffaliqueur-glassandpoureditintohiscup.Waythornutteredasuddenexclamation."Whatisthematter?"shesaid,startled."Nothing;onlyIdon'ttakecognacinmycoffee.""Oh,howstupidofme,"shecried.Theireyesmet,andsheblushedasuddenagonizedred.

IIITENDAYSlater,Mr.Sellers,stillhouse-bound,askedWaythorntocallonhiswaydowntown.Theseniorpartner,withhisswaddledfootproppedupbythefire,greetedhisassociatewithanairofembarrassment."I'msorry,mydearfellow;I'vegottoaskyoutodoanawkwardthingforme."Waythornwaited,andtheotherwenton,afterapauseapparentlygiventothearrangementofhisphrases: "The fact is,when Iwasknockedout Ihad justgoneintoarathercomplicatedpieceofbusinessforGusVarick.""Well?"saidWaythorn,withanattempttoputhimathisease."Wellit's this way: Varick came to me the day before my attack. He hadevidently had an inside tip from somebody, and hadmade about a hundredthousand. He came to me for advice, and I suggested his going in withVanderlyn.""Oh,thedeuce!"Waythornexclaimed.Hesawinaflashwhathadhappened.The investment was an alluring one, but required negotiation. He listenedintentlywhile Sellers put the case before him, and, the statement ended, hesaid:"YouthinkIoughttoseeVarick?"

"I'mafraidIcan'tasyet.Thedoctor isobdurate.Andthis thingcan'twait. Ihatetoaskyou,butnooneelseintheofficeknowstheinsandoutsofit."Waythornstoodsilent.Hedidnotcarea farthing for the successofVarick'sventure,butthehonoroftheofficewastobeconsidered,andhecouldhardlyrefusetoobligehispartner."Verywell,"hesaid,"I'lldoit."Thatafternoon,apprisedby telephone,Varickcalledat theoffice.Waythorn,waiting in his private room, wondered what the others thought of it. Thenewspapers, at the time of Mrs.Waythorn's marriage, had acquainted theirreaderswitheverydetailofherpreviousmatrimonialventures,andWaythorncouldfancytheclerkssmilingbehindVarick'sbackashewasusheredin.Varick bore himself admirably.Hewas easywithout being undignified, andWaythornwasconsciousofcuttingamuchlessimpressivefigure.Varickhadno head for business, and the talk prolonged itself for nearly an hourwhileWaythorn set forth with scrupulous precision the details of the proposedtransaction."I'mawfullyobligedtoyou,"Varicksaidasherose."ThefactisI'mnotusedto having much money to look after, and I don't want to make an ass ofmyself" He smiled, and Waythorn could not help noticing that there wassomething pleasant about his smile. "It feels uncommonly queer to haveenoughcashtopayone'sbills.I'dhavesoldmysoulforitafewyearsago!"Waythornwincedattheallusion.HehadhearditrumoredthatalackoffundshadbeenoneofthedeterminingcausesoftheVarickseparation,butitdidnotoccurtohimthatVarick'swordswereintentional.Itseemedmorelikelythatthedesiretokeepclearofembarrassingtopicshadfatallydrawnhimintoone.Waythorndidnotwishtobeoutdoneincivility."We'lldothebestwecanforyou,"hesaid."Ithinkthisisagoodthingyou'rein.""Oh, I'm sure it's immense. It's awfully good of you" Varick broke off,embarrassed."Isupposethething'ssettlednowbutif""IfanythinghappensbeforeSellersisabout,I'llseeyouagain,"saidWaythornquietly.Hewasglad,intheend,toappearthemoreself-possessedofthetwo.ThecourseofLily'sillnessransmooth,andasthedayspassedWaythorngrewusedtotheideaofHaskett'sweeklyvisit.Thefirsttimethedaycameround,he stayedout late, andquestionedhiswife as to thevisit onhis return.She

replied at once that Haskett had merely seen the nurse downstairs, as thedoctordidnotwishanyoneinthechild'ssick-roomtillafterthecrisis.The followingweekWaythornwas again consciousof the recurrenceof theday,buthadforgottenitbythetimehecamehometodinner.Thecrisisofthediseasecameafewdayslater,witharapiddeclineoffever,andthelittlegirlwaspronouncedoutofdanger. In the rejoicingwhichensued the thoughtofHaskettpassedoutofWaythorn'smindandoneafternoon,lettinghimselfintothe housewith a latchkey, hewent straight to his librarywithout noticing ashabbyhatandumbrellainthehall.Inthelibraryhefoundasmalleffaced-lookingmanwithathinnishgraybeardsittingontheedgeofachair.Thestrangermighthavebeenapiano-tuner,oroneofthosemysteriouslyefficientpersonswhoaresummonedinemergenciesto adjust some detail of the domestic machinery. He blinked at Waythornthrough apair of gold-rimmed spectacles and saidmildly: "Mr.Waythorn, Ipresume?IamLily'sfather."Waythornflushed."Oh"hestammereduncomfortably.Hebrokeoff,dislikingto appear rude. Inwardly he was trying to adjust the actual Haskett to theimage of him projected by his wife's reminiscences. Waythorn had beenallowedtoinferthatAlice'sfirsthusbandwasabrute."Iamsorrytointrude,"saidHaskett,withhisover-the-counterpoliteness."Don't mention it," returned Waythorn, collecting himself. "I suppose thenursehasbeentold?""Ipresumeso.Icanwait,"saidHaskett.Hehadaresignedwayofspeaking,asthoughlifehadworndownhisnaturalpowersofresistance.Waythornstoodonthethreshold,nervouslypullingoffhisgloves."I'msorryyou'vebeendetained.Iwillsendforthenurse,"hesaid;andasheopened thedoorheaddedwithaneffort: "I'mgladwecangiveyouagoodreportofLily."Hewincedas theweslippedout,butHaskett seemednot tonoticeit."Thankyou,Mr.Waythorn.It'sbeenananxioustimeforme.""Ah,well,that'spast.Soonshe'llbeabletogotoyou."Waythornnoddedandpassedout.Inhisownroom,heflunghimselfdownwithagroan.Hehatedthewomanishsensibilitywhichmadehim suffer so acutely from the grotesque chances oflife.Hehadknownwhenhemarriedthathiswife'sformerhusbandswereboth

living,andthatamidthemultipliedcontactsofmodernexistencetherewereathousand chances to one that hewould run against one or the other, yet hefoundhimselfasmuchdisturbedbyhisbriefencounterwithHaskettasthoughthelawhadnotobliginglyremovedalldifficultiesinthewayoftheirmeeting.Waythorn sprang up and began to pace the room nervously. He had notsuffered half somuch from his twomeetings with Varick. It was Haskett'spresenceinhisownhousethatmadethesituationsointolerable.Hestoodstill,hearingstepsinthepassage."Thisway,please,"heheardthenursesay.Haskettwasbeingtakenupstairs,then:notacornerof thehousebutwasopentohim.Waythorndroppedintoanother chair, staring vaguely ahead of him. On his dressing-table stood aphotographofAlice,takenwhenhehadfirstknownher.ShewasAliceVarickthenhow fine and exquisite he had thought her! Those were Varick's pearlsabout her neck. At Waythorn's instance they had been returned before hermarriage. Had Haskett ever given her any trinketsand what had become ofthem,Waythornwondered?He realized suddenly thatheknewvery littleofHaskett'spastorpresentsituation;butfromtheman'sappearanceandmannerof speech he could reconstruct with curious precision the surroundings ofAlice's first marriage. And it startled him to think that she had, in thebackgroundofher life, aphaseofexistence sodifferent fromanythingwithwhichhehadconnectedher.Varick,whateverhisfaults,wasagentleman,intheconventional,traditionalsenseoftheterm:thesensewhichatthatmomentseemed,oddlyenough,tohavemostmeaningtoWaythorn.HeandVarickhadthe same social habits, spoke the same language, understood the sameallusions. But this other man...it was grotesquely uppermost in Waythorn'smind that Haskett had worn a made-up tie attached with an elastic. Whyshould that ridiculous detail symbolize the whole man? Waythorn wasexasperated by his own paltriness, but the fact of the tie expanded, forceditselfonhim,becameasitwerethekeytoAlice'spast.Hecouldseeher,asMrs.Haskett,sittingina"frontparlor"furnishedinplush,withapianola,andacopyof"BenHur"onthecentre-table.HecouldseehergoingtothetheatrewithHaskettorperhapseventoa"ChurchSociable"sheina"picturehat"andHaskett in a black frock-coat, a little creased, with the made-up tie on anelastic.On thewayhome theywouldstopand lookat the illuminatedshop-windows, lingeringover thephotographsofNewYorkactresses.OnSundayafternoonsHaskettwouldtakeherforawalk,pushingLilyaheadoftheminawhiteenameledperambulator,andWaythornhadavisionof thepeople theywouldstopandtalkto.HecouldfancyhowprettyAlicemusthavelooked,inadressadroitlyconstructedfromthehintsofaNewYorkfashion-paper;howshe must have looked down on the other women, chafing at her life, andsecretlyfeelingthatshebelongedinabiggerplace.

ForthemomenthisforemostthoughtwasoneofwonderatthewayinwhichshehadshedthephaseofexistencewhichhermarriagewithHaskettimplied.Itwasas ifherwholeaspect,everygesture,every inflection,everyallusion,were a studied negation of that period of her life. If she had denied beingmarried toHaskett she could hardly have stoodmore convicted of duplicitythaninthisobliterationoftheselfwhichhadbeenhiswife.Waythorn started up, checking himself in the analysis of hermotives.Whatrighthadhe tocreateafantasticeffigyofherandthenpass judgmentonit?She had spoken vaguely of her first marriage as unhappy, had hinted, withbecoming reticence, that Haskett had wrought havoc among her youngillusions....It was a pity for Waythorn's peace of mind that Haskett's veryinoffensivenessshedanewlightonthenatureofthoseillusions.Amanwouldratherthinkthathiswifehasbeenbrutalizedbyherfirsthusbandthanthattheprocesshasbeenreversed."Why,howdoyoudo?"shesaidwithadistinctnoteofpleasure

IV"MR.WAYTHORN,Idon'tlikethatFrenchgovernessofLily's."Haskett, subdued and apologetic, stood before Waythorn in the library,revolvinghisshabbyhatinhishand.Waythorn, surprised in his armchair over the evening paper, stared backperplexedlyathisvisitor."You'llexcusemyaskingtoseeyou,"Haskettcontinued."Butthisismylastvisit,andIthoughtifIcouldhaveawordwithyouitwouldbeabetterwaythanwritingtoMrs.Waythorn'slawyer."Waythornroseuneasily.HedidnotliketheFrenchgovernesseither;butthatwasirrelevant."Iamnotsosureofthat,"hereturnedstiffly;"butsinceyouwishitIwillgiveyourmessagetomywife."HealwayshesitatedoverthepossessivepronouninaddressingHaskett.Thelattersighed."Idon'tknowasthatwillhelpmuch.Shedidn'tlikeitwhenIspoketoher."Waythornturnedred."Whendidyouseeher?"heasked."Not since the first day I came to see Lilyright after she was taken sick. I

remarkedtoherthenthatIdidn'tlikethegoverness."Waythornmadenoanswer.Heremembereddistinctlythat,afterthatfirstvisit,hehadaskedhiswife ifshehadseenHaskett.Shehadlied tohimthen,butshehadrespectedhiswishessince;andtheincidentcastacuriouslightonhercharacter.HewassureshewouldnothaveseenHaskett that firstday if shehaddivinedthatWaythornwouldobject,andthefactthatshedidnotdivineitwasalmostasdisagreeable to the latteras thediscovery that shehad lied tohim."Idon't like thewoman,"Haskettwas repeatingwithmildpersistency. "Sheain'tstraight,Mr.Waythornshe'llteachthechildtobeunderhand.I'venoticedachangeinLilyshe'stooanxioustopleaseandshedon'talwaystellthetruth.Sheusedtobethestraightestchild,Mr.Waythorn"Hebrokeoff,hisvoicealittlethick."NotbutwhatIwanthertohaveastylisheducation,"heended.Waythornwastouched."I'msorry,Mr.Haskett;butfrankly,Idon'tquiteseewhatIcando."Haskett hesitated. Then he laid his hat on the table, and advanced to thehearth-rug,onwhichWaythornwasstanding.Therewasnothingaggressiveinhismanner;buthehad the solemnityof a timidman resolvedonadecisivemeasure."There'sjustonethingyoucando,Mr.Waythorn,"hesaid."YoucanremindMrs.Waythornthat,bythedecreeofthecourts,IamentitledtohaveavoiceinLily'sbringingup."Hepaused,andwentonmoredeprecatingly:"I'mnotthekind to talk about enforcingmy rights,Mr.Waythorn. I don't knowas Ithinkaman isentitled to rightshehasn'tknownhowtoholdon to;but thisbusinessofthechildisdifferent.I'veneverletgothereandInevermeanto."The scene leftWaythorn deeply shaken. Shamefacedly, in indirectways, hehadbeenfindingoutaboutHaskett;andallthathehadlearnedwasfavorable.The littleman, in order to be near his daughter, had sold out his share in aprofitablebusiness inUtica,andacceptedamodestclerkshipinaNewYorkmanufacturing house. He boarded in a shabby street and had fewacquaintances. His passion for Lily filled his life. Waythorn felt that thisexplorationofHaskettwaslikegropingaboutwithadark-lanterninhiswife'spast;buthesawnowthattherewererecesseshislanternhadnotexplored.Hehadneverinquiredintotheexactcircumstancesofhiswife'sfirstmatrimonialrupture. On the surface all had been fair. It was she who had obtained thedivorce,andthecourthadgivenherthechild.ButWaythornknewhowmanyambiguitiessuchaverdictmightcover.ThemerefactthatHaskettretainedarightoverhisdaughterimpliedanunsuspectedcompromise.Waythornwasan

idealist.Healwaysrefusedtorecognizeunpleasantcontingenciestillhefoundhimself confrontedwith them, and then he saw them followed by a specialtrainofconsequences.Hisnextdayswerethushaunted,andhedeterminedtotrytolaytheghostsbyconjuringthemupinhiswife'spresence.WhenherepeatedHaskett'srequestaflameofangerpassedoverherface;butshe subdued it instantly and spoke with a slight quiver of outragedmotherhood."Itisveryungentlemanlyofhim,"shesaid.The word grated on Waythorn. "That is neither here nor there. It's a barequestionofrights."Shemurmured:"It'snotasifhecouldeverbeahelptoLily"Waythorn flushed. This was even less to his taste. "The question is," herepeated,"whatauthorityhasheoverher?"Shelookeddownward,twistingherselfalittleinherseat."IamwillingtoseehimIthoughtyouobjected,"shefaltered.InaflashheunderstoodthatsheknewtheextentofHaskett'sclaims.Perhapsitwasnotthefirsttimeshehadresistedthem."Myobjectinghasnothingtodowithit,"hesaidcoldly;"ifHasketthasarighttobeconsultedyoumustconsulthim."She burst into tears, and he saw that she expected him to regard her as avictim.Haskett did not abuse his rights. Waythorn had felt miserably sure that hewouldnot.Butthegovernesswasdismissed,andfromtimetotimethelittlemandemandedan interviewwithAlice.After thefirstoutburstsheacceptedthesituationwithherusualadaptability.HasketthadonceremindedWaythornofthepiano-tuner,andMrs.Waythorn,afteramonthortwo,appearedtoclasshimwith that domestic familiar.Waythorn could not but respect the father'stenacity.AtfirsthehadtriedtocultivatethesuspicionthatHaskettmightbe"upto"something,thathehadanobjectinsecuringafootholdinthehouse.But inhisheartWaythornwas sureofHaskett's single-mindedness;he evenguessedinthelatteramildcontemptforsuchadvantagesashisrelationwiththe Waythorns might offer. Haskett's sincerity of purpose made himinvulnerable,andhissuccessorhadtoaccepthimasalienontheproperty.Mr.Sellerswassent toEurope to recover fromhisgout,andVarick'saffairshungonWaythorn'shands.Thenegotiationswereprolongedandcomplicated;

theynecessitatedfrequentconferencesbetweenthetwomen,andtheinterestsof the firm forbadeWaythorn's suggesting that his client should transfer hisbusinesstoanotheroffice.Varickappearedwell in the transaction. Inmomentsof relaxationhiscoarsestreakappeared,andWaythorndreadedhisgeniality;butintheofficehewasconciseandclear-headed,withaflatteringdeferencetoWaythorn'sjudgment.Their business relations being so affably established, it would have beenabsurdforthetwomentoignoreeachotherinsociety.Thefirsttimetheymetinadrawing-room,Varicktookuptheirintercourseinthesameeasykey,andhishostess'sgratefulglanceobligedWaythorntorespondtoit.Afterthattheyran across each other frequently, and one evening at a ball Waythorn,wandering through the remoter rooms, came upon Varick seated beside hiswife. She colored a little, and faltered in what she was saying; but VaricknoddedtoWaythornwithoutrising,andthelatterstrolledon.Inthecarriage,onthewayhome,hebrokeoutnervously:"Ididn'tknowyouspoketoVarick."Hervoicetrembledalittle."It'sthefirsttimehehappenedtobestandingnearme;Ididn'tknowwhattodo.It'ssoawkward,meetingeverywhereandhesaidyouhadbeenverykindaboutsomebusiness.""That'sdifferent,"saidWaythorn.She paused a moment. "I'll do just as you wish," she returned pliantly. "Ithoughtitwouldbelessawkwardtospeaktohimwhenwemeet."Herpliancywasbeginningtosickenhim.Hadshereallynowillofherownnotheoryaboutherrelationtothesemen?ShehadacceptedHaskettdidshemeantoacceptVarick?Itwas"lessawkward,"asshehadsaid,andherinstinctwastoevadedifficultiesortocircumventthem.WithsuddenvividnessWaythornsawhowtheinstincthaddeveloped.Shewas"aseasyasanoldshoe"ashoethat toomany feet hadworn.Her elasticitywas the result of tension in toomany different directions. Alice HaskettAlice VarickAliceWaythornshe hadbeeneachinturn,andhadlefthangingtoeachnamealittleofherprivacy,alittle of her personality, a little of the inmost self where the unknown godabides."Yesit'sbettertospeaktoVarick,"saidWaythornwearily."Earth'sMartyrs."ByStephenPhillips.

V

THE WINTER wore on, and society took advantage of the Waythorns'acceptanceofVarick.Harassedhostessesweregrateful to them for bridgingoverasocialdifficulty,andMrs.Waythornwasheldupasamiracleofgoodtaste. Some experimental spirits could not resist the diversion of throwingVarick and his former wife together, and there were those who thought hefound a zest in the propinquity. But Mrs. Waythorn's conduct remainedirreproachable. She neither avoided Varick nor sought him out. EvenWaythorn could not but admit that she had discovered the solution of thenewestsocialproblem.He had married her without giving much thought to that problem. He hadfanciedthatawomancanshedherpastlikeaman.ButnowhesawthatAlicewasboundtohersbothbythecircumstanceswhichforcedherintocontinuedrelationwith it, andby the traces it had left onher nature.With grim ironyWaythorn compared himself to amember of a syndicate. He held somanyshares inhiswife'spersonalityandhispredecessorswerehispartners in thebusiness.Iftherehadbeenanyelementofpassioninthetransactionhewouldhave felt less deteriorated by it. The fact that Alice took her change ofhusbands like a change of weather reduced the situation to mediocrity. Hecouldhave forgivenher forblunders, for excesses; for resistingHackett, foryielding to Varick; for anything but her acquiescence and her tact. Sheremindedhimofa juggler tossingknives;but thekniveswerebluntandsheknewtheywouldnevercuther.Andthen,gradually,habitformedaprotectingsurfaceforhissensibilities.Ifhepaidforeachday'scomfortwiththesmallchangeofhisillusions,hegrewdailytovaluethecomfortmoreandsetlessstoreuponthecoin.HehaddriftedintoadullingpropinquitywithHaskettandVarickandhe tookrefuge in thecheap revenge of satirizing the situation. He even began to reckon up theadvantageswhichaccruedfromit,toaskhimselfifitwerenotbettertoownathirdofawifewhoknewhowtomakeamanhappythanawholeonewhohadlackedopportunitytoacquiretheart.Foritwasanart,andmadeup,likeallothers,ofconcessions,eliminationsandembellishments;oflightsjudiciouslythrownandshadowsskillfullysoftened.Hiswifeknewexactlyhowtomanagethelights,andheknewexactly towhat trainingsheowedherskill.Heeventried to trace the source of his obligations, to discriminate between theinfluences which had combined to produce his domestic happiness: heperceivedthatHaskett'scommonnesshadmadeAliceworshipgoodbreeding,while Varick's liberal construction of the marriage bond had taught her tovaluetheconjugalvirtues;sothathewasdirectlyindebtedtohispredecessorsforthedevotionwhichmadehislifeeasyifnotinspiring.From this phase he passed into that of complete acceptance. He ceased to

satirizehimselfbecausetimedulledtheironyofthesituationandthejokelostitshumorwithitssting.EventhesightofHaskett'shatonthehall tablehadceasedtotouchthespringsofepigram.Thehatwasoftenseentherenow,forithadbeendecidedthatitwasbetterforLily'sfathertovisitherthanforthelittle girl to go to his boarding-house.Waythorn, having acquiesced in thisarrangement,hadbeensurprisedtofindhowlittledifferenceitmade.Haskettwas never obtrusive, and the few visitors who met him on the stairs wereunawareofhisidentity.WaythorndidnotknowhowoftenhesawAlice,butwithhimselfHaskettwasseldomincontact.Oneafternoon,however,helearnedonenteringthatLily'sfatherwaswaitingto see him. In the library he found Haskett occupying a chair in his usualprovisionalway.Waythornalwaysfeltgratefultohimfornotleaningback."Ihopeyou'llexcuseme,Mr.Waythorn,"hesaidrising."IwantedtoseeMrs.WaythornaboutLily,andyourmanaskedmetowaitheretillshecamein.""Ofcourse,"saidWaythorn,rememberingthatasuddenleakhadthatmorninggivenoverthedrawing-roomtotheplumbers.He opened his cigar-case and held it out to his visitor, and Haskett'sacceptance seemed to mark a fresh stage in their intercourse. The springeveningwaschilly,andWaythorninvitedhisguesttodrawuphischairtothefire.Hemeant to find an excuse to leaveHaskett in amoment; but hewastiredandcold,andafterallthelittlemannolongerjarredonhim.Thetwowereinclosedintheintimacyoftheirblendedcigar-smokewhenthedooropenedandVarickwalkedintotheroom.Waythornroseabruptly.Itwasthe first time thatVarick had come to the house, and the surprise of seeinghim, combinedwith the singular inopportuneness of his arrival, gave a newedge to Waythorn's blunted sensibilities. He stared at his visitor withoutspeaking.Varickseemedtoopreoccupiedtonoticehishost'sembarrassment."Mydearfellow,"heexclaimedinhismostexpansivetone,"Imustapologizefortumblinginonyouinthisway,butIwastoolatetocatchyoudowntown,andsoIthought"Hestoppedshort,catchingsightofHaskett,andhissanguinecolordeepenedtoaflushwhichspreadvividlyunderhisscantblondhair.Butinamomenthe recoveredhimself andnoddedslightly.Haskett returned thebowinsilence,andWaythornwasstillgropingforspeechwhenthefootmancameincarryingatea-table.TheintrusionofferedawelcomeventtoWaythorn'snerves."Whatthedeuceareyoubringingthisherefor?"hesaidsharply.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but the plumbers are still in the drawing-room, andMrs.Waythornsaidshewouldhaveteainthelibrary."Thefootman'sperfectlyrespectfultoneimpliedareflectiononWaythorn'sreasonableness."Oh,verywell,"saidthelatterresignedly,andthefootmanproceededtoopenthe folding tea-table and set out its complicated appointments. While thisinterminable process continued the threemen stoodmotionless, watching itwith a fascinated stare, till Waythorn, to break the silence, said to Varick:"Won'tyouhaveacigar?"He held out the case he had just tendered to Haskett, and Varick helpedhimselfwithasmile.Waythorn lookedabout foramatch,and findingnone,proffered a light from his own cigar. Haskett, in the background, held hisgroundmildly,examininghiscigar-tipnowandthen,andsteppingforwardattherightmomenttoknockitsashesintothefire.Thefootmanatlastwithdrew,andVarickimmediatelybegan:"IfIcouldjustsayhalfawordtoyouaboutthisbusiness""Certainly,"stammeredWaythorn;"inthedining-room"Butasheplacedhishandon thedoor it opened fromwithout, andhiswifeappearedonthethreshold.Shecameinfreshandsmiling,inherstreetdressandhat,sheddingafragrancefromtheboawhichsheloosenedinadvancing."Shall we have tea in here, dear?" she began; and then she caught sight ofVarick.Hersmiledeepened,veilingaslighttremorofsurprise."Why,howdoyoudo?"shesaidwithadistinctnoteofpleasure.As she shook handswithVarick she sawHaskett standing behind him.Hersmile faded for a moment, but she recalled it quickly, with a scarcelyperceptibleside-glanceatWaythorn."Howdoyoudo,Mr.Haskett?"shesaid,andshookhandswithhimashadelesscordially.Thethreemenstoodawkwardlybeforeher,tillVarick,alwaysthemostself-possessed,dashedintoanexplanatoryphrase."WeIhad to seeWaythorn amomentonbusiness," he stammered, brick-redfromchintonape.Haskettsteppedforwardwithhisairofmildobstinacy."Iamsorrytointrude;

but you appointed five o'clock" he directed his resigned glance to the time-pieceonthemantel.Shesweptasidetheirembarrassmentwithacharminggestureofhospitality."I'm so sorryI'm always late; but the afternoon was so lovely." She stooddrawingherglovesoff,propitiatoryandgraceful,diffusingaboutherasenseof ease and familiarity in which the situation lost its grotesqueness. "Butbeforetalkingbusiness,"sheaddedbrightly,"I'msureeveryonewantsacupoftea."She dropped into her low chair by the tea-table, and the two visitors, as ifdrawnbyhersmile,advancedtoreceivethecupssheheldout.SheglancedaboutforWaythorn,andhetookthethirdcupwithalaugh.

EXPIATIONI.

"ICANnever,"saidMrs.Fetherel,"hearthebellringwithoutashudder."Her unruffled aspectshe was the kind of woman whose emotions nevercommunicatethemselvestoherclothesandtheconventionalbackgroundoftheNewYorkdrawing-room,withitspervadingimplicationofanimminent tea-trayandofanatmosphere inwhich thesocial functionshavebecomepurelyreflex,lenttoherdeclarationareliefnotlostonhercousinMrs.Clinch,who,fromtheothersideofthefireplace,agreedwithaglanceat theclock,that itwasthehourforbores."Bores!" criedMrs. Fetherel impatiently. "If I shuddered at them, I shouldhaveachronicague!"She leaned forwardand laida sparkling fingeronhercousin's shabbyblackknee."Imeanthenewspaperclippings,"shewhispered.Mrs.Clinchreturnedaglanceofintelligence."They'vebegunalready?""Notyet;butthey'resuretonow,atanyminute,mypublishertellsme."Mrs. Fetherel's look of apprehension sat oddly on her small features,whichhadanairofneatsymmetrysomehowsuggestiveofbeingsetinordereverymorning by the housemaid. Some one (there were rumors that it was hercousin)hadoncesaidthatPaulaFetherelwouldhavebeenveryprettyifshehadn'tlookedsolikeamoralaxiominacopy-bookhand.Mrs.Clinchreceivedherconfidencewithasmile."Well,"shesaid,"Isuppose

youwerepreparedfortheconsequencesofauthorship?"Mrs. Fetherel blushed brightly. "It isn't their coming," she owned"it's theircomingnow.""Now?""TheBishop'sintown."Mrs.Clinchleanedbackandshapedherlipstoawhistlewhichdeflectedinalaugh."Well!"shesaid."Yousee!"Mrs.Fethereltriumphed."Wellweren'tyoupreparedfortheBishop?""Notnowatleast,Ihadn'tthoughtofhisseeingtheclippings.""Andwhyshouldheseethem?""Bellawon'tyouunderstand?It'sJohn.""John?""Who has taken the most unexpected toneone might almost say out ofperversity.""Oh, perversity"Mrs. Clinchmurmured, observing her cousin between lidswrinkledbyamusement."WhattonehasJohntaken?"Mrs. Fetherel threw out her answer with the desperate gesture of a womanwho lays bare the traces of amarital fist. "The tone of being proud ofmybook."ThemeasureofMrs.Clinch'senjoymentoverflowedinlaughter."Oh, youmay laugh,"Mrs. Fetherel insisted, "but it's no joke tome. In thefirstplace,John'slikingthebookissososuchafalsenoteitputsmeinsucharidiculousposition;andthenithassethimwatchingforthereviewswhowouldever have suspected John of knowing that bookswere reviewed?Why, he'sactuallyfoundoutabouttheClippingBureau,andwheneverthepostmanringsIhearJohnrushoutofthelibrarytoseeifthereareanyyellowenvelopes.Ofcourse,when theydocomehe'llbring theminto thedrawing-roomandreadthem aloud to everybodywho happens to be hereand the Bishop is sure tohappentobehere!"Mrs.Clinchrepressedheramusement."Thepictureyoudrawisaluridone,"

she conceded, "but your modesty strikes me as abnormal, especially in anauthor. The chances are that some of the clippings will be rather pleasantreading.Thecriticsarenotallunionmen."Mrs.Fetherelstared."Unionmen?""Well, I mean they don't all belong to the well-known Society-for-the-Persecution-of-Rising-Authors.Someofthemhaveevenbeenknowntodefyitsregulationsandsayagoodwordforanewwriter.""Oh, I dare say," said Mrs. Fetherel, with the laugh her cousin's epigramexacted. "Butyoudon't quite seemypoint. I'mnot at all nervous about thesuccessofmybookmypublishertellsmeIhavenoneedtobebutIamafraidofitsbeingasuccesdescandale.""Mercy!"saidMrs.Clinch,sittingup.Thebutlerandfootmanatthismomentappearedwiththetea-tray,andwhentheyhadwithdrawn,Mrs.Fetherel, bendingher brightly rippledhead abovethe kettle, continued in a murmur of avowal, "The title, even, is a kind ofchallenge.""'FastandLoose,'"Mrs.Clinchmused."Yes,itoughttotake.""I didn't choose it for that reason!" the author protested. "I should havepreferredsomethingquieterlesspronounced;butIwasdeterminednottoshirkthe responsibility ofwhat I hadwritten. I want people to know beforehandexactlywhatkindofbooktheyarebuying.""Well,"saidMrs.Clinch,"that'sadegreeofconscientiousnessthatI'venevermet with before. So few books fulfil the promise of their titles thatexperiencedreadersneverexpectthefaretocomeuptothemenu.""'Fast and Loose' will be no disappointment on that score," her cousinsignificantly returned. "I'vehandled the subjectwithoutgloves. I've called aspadeaspade.""Yousimplymakemymouthwater!AndtothinkIhaven'tbeenabletoreadityetbecauseevery spareminuteofmy timehasbeengiven tocorrecting theproofsof'HowtheBirdsKeepChristmas'!There'saninstanceofthehardshipsofanauthor'slife!"Mrs. Fetherel's eye clouded. "Don't joke, Bella, please. I suppose toexperiencedauthors there'salwayssomethingabsurd in thenervousnessofanewwriter,butinmycasesomuchisatstake;I'veputsomuchofmyselfintothis book and I'm so afraidof beingmisunderstood...of being, as itwere, in

advanceofmytime...likepoorFlaubert....Iknowyou'llthinkmeridiculous...and if only my own reputation were at stake, I should never give it athought...buttheideaofdraggingJohn'snamethroughthemire..."Mrs.Clinch,whohadrisenandgatheredhercloakabouther,stoodsurveyingfromhergenialheighthercousin'sagitatedcountenance."WhydidyouuseJohn'sname,then?""That'sanotherofmydifficulties!Ihadto.Therewouldhavebeennomeritinpublishingsuchabookunderanassumedname;itwouldhavebeenanactofmoralcowardice.'FastandLoose'isnotanordinarynovel.Awriterwhodarestoshowupthehollownessofsocialconventionsmusthavethecourageofherconvictionsandbewillingtoaccepttheconsequencesofdefyingsociety.CanyouimagineIbsenorTolstoywritingunderafalsename?"Mrs.Fetherelliftedatragiceyetohercousin."Youdon'tknow,Bella,howoftenI'veenviedyousinceIbegantowrite.Iusedtowondersometimesyouwon'tmindmysayingso?why, with all your cleverness, you hadn't taken up some more excitingsubject than natural history; but I see now how wise you were. Whateverhappens,youwillneverbedenouncedbythepress!""Isthatwhatyou'reafraidof?"askedMrs.Clinch,asshegraspedthebulgingumbrellawhichrestedagainstherchair."Mydear,ifIhadeverhadthegoodlucktobedenouncedbythepress,mybroughamwouldbewaitingatthedoorformeatthisverymoment,andIshouldn'thavetoruinthisumbrellabyusingit in the rain. Why, you innocent, if I'd ever felt the slightest aptitude forshowing up social conventions, do you suppose I should waste my timewriting 'NestsAjar' and 'How toSmell theFlowers'?There's a fairly steadydemandforpseudo-scienceandcolloquialornithology,butit'snothing,simplynothing, to the ravenous call for attacks on social institutionsespecially bythoseinsidetheinstitutions!"Therewasoften, to her cousin, a lackof taste inMrs.Clinch's pleasantries,andonthisoccasiontheyseemedmorethanusuallyirrelevant."'FastandLoose'wasnotwrittenwiththeideaofalargesale."Mrs.Clinchwasunperturbed."Perhapsthat'sjustaswell,"shereturned,withaphilosophic shrug. "The surprise will be all the pleasanter, I mean. For ofcourse it's going to sell tremendously; especially if you canget the press todenounceit.""Bella,howcanyou?Isometimesthinkyousaysuchthingsexpresslytoteaseme;andyetIshouldthinkyouofallwomenwouldunderstandmypurposeinwriting such a book. It has always seemed tome that themessage I had to

deliverwasnotformyselfalone,butforalltheotherwomenintheworldwhohavefeltthehollownessofoursocialshams,theignominyofbowingdowntothe idols of themarket, but have lacked either the courage or the power toproclaim their independence; and I have fancied, Bella dear, that, howeverseverelysocietymightpunishmeforrevealingitsweaknesses,Icouldcounton the sympathy of those who, like you"Mrs. Fetherel's voice sank"havepassedthroughthedeepwaters."Mrs.Clinchgaveherselfakindofcanineshake,asthoughtofreeherampleshouldersfromanydropoftheelementshewassupposedtohavetraversed."Oh, call themmuddy rather than deep," she returned; "and you'll find,mydear, thatwomenwho'vehadanywading todoare rather shyof stirringupmud.Itsticksespeciallyonwhiteclothes."Mrs.Fetherelliftedanundauntedbrow."I'mnotafraid,"sheproclaimed;andat thesameinstantshedroppedher tea-spoonwithaclatterandshrankbackintoherseat."There'sthebell,"sheexclaimed,"andIknowit'stheBishop!"Itwas infact theBishopofOssining,who, impressivelyannouncedbyMrs.Fetherel's butler, now made an entry that may best be described as notinadequate to the expectations the announcement raised.TheBishop alwaysenteredaroomwell;but,whenunannounced,orprecededbyaLowChurchbutlerwhogavehimhis surname, his appearance lacked the impressivenessconferredon it by thedue specificationof his diocesandignity.TheBishopwasveryfondofhisnieceMrs.Fetherel,andoneofthetraitshemostvaluedinherwasthepossessionofabutlerwhoknewhowtoannounceabishop.Mrs.Clinchwasalsohisniece;but,asidefromthefactthatshepossessednobutler at all, she had laid herself open to her uncle's criticism by writinginsignificant littlebookswhichhadawayofgoing into fiveor teneditions,while the fruits of his own episcopal leisure"The Wail of Jonah" (twentycantosinblankverse),and"ThroughaGlassBrightly;or,HowtoRaiseFundsfora Memorial Window"inexplicably languished on the back shelves of apublisher noted for his dexterity in pushing "devotional goods." Even thisindiscretiontheBishopmight,however,havecondoned,hadhisniecethoughtfittoturntohimforsupportandadviceatthepainfuljunctureofherhistorywhen, inherownwords, itbecamenecessaryforher to inviteMr.Clinch tolook out for another situation. Mr. Clinch's misconduct was of the kindespeciallydesignedbyProvidencetotestthefortitudeofaChristianwifeandmother,andtheBishopwasabsolutelydistendedwithseasonableadviceandedification; so that when Bella met his tentative exhortations with the curtremarkthatshepreferredtodoherownhousecleaningunassisted,heruncle'sgriefatheringratitudewasnotuntemperedwithsympathyforMr.Clinch.

Itisnotsurprising,therefore,thattheBishop'swarmestgreetingswerealwaysreserved for Mrs. Fetherel; and on this occasion Mrs. Clinch thought shedetected,inthesalutationwhichfelltohershare,apronouncedsuggestionthather own presence was superfluousa hint which she took with her usualimperturbablegoodhumor.

II

Left alone with the Bishop, Mrs. Fetherel sought the nearest refuge fromconversation by offering him a cup of tea. The Bishop accepted with thepreoccupiedairofaman towhom, for themoment, tea isbuta subordinateincident.Mrs. Fetherel's nervousness increased; and knowing that the surestwayofdistractingattention fromone'sownaffairs is to affect an interest inthoseofone'scompanion,shehastilyaskedifherunclehadcometotownonbusiness."On businessyes" said the Bishop in an impressive tone. "I had to see mypublisher,whohasbeenbehavingratherunsatisfactorily inregardtomylastbook.""Ahyour last book?" faltered Mrs. Fetherel, with a sickening sense of herinability to recall the name or nature of thework in question, and amentalvowneveragaintobecaughtinsuchignoranceofacolleague'sproductions."'ThroughaGlassBrightly,'" theBishopexplained,with an emphasiswhichrevealedhisdetectionofherpredicament."YoumayrememberthatIsentyouacopylastChristmas?""OfcourseIdo!"Mrs.Fetherelbrightened."Itwasthatdelightfulstoryofthepoorconsumptivegirlwhohadnomoney,andtwolittlebrotherstosupport""Sistersidiotsisters"theBishopgloomilycorrected."I mean sisters; and who managed to collect money enough to put up abeautifulmemorialwindowtoherhergrandfather,whomshehadneverseen""Butwhose sermons had been her chief consolation and support during herlongstrugglewithpovertyanddisease."TheBishopgavethesatisfiedsighoftheworkmanwhoreviewshiscompletedtask."Atouchingsubject,surely;andIbelieveIdiditjustice;atleast,somyfriendsassuredme.""Why,yesIremembertherewasasplendidreviewofitinthe'Reredos'!"criedMrs.Fetherel,movedbytheincipientinstinctofreciprocity.

"Yesby my dear friend Mrs. Gollinger, whose husband, the late DeanGollinger, was under very particular obligations to me.Mrs. Gollinger is awomanof rare literaryacumen, andherpraiseofmybookwasunqualified;but the public wants more highly seasoned fare, and the approval of athoughtfulchurchwomancarrieslessweightthanthesensationalcommentsofan illiterate journalist." The Bishop lent a meditative eye on his spotlessgaiters."Attheriskofhorrifyingyou,mydear,"headded,withaslightlaugh,"Iwillconfide toyou thatmybestchanceofapopularsuccesswouldbe tohavemybookdenouncedbythepress.""Denounced?"gaspedMrs.Fetherel."Onwhatground?""Onthegroundofimmorality."TheBishopevadedherstartledgaze."Suchathing is inconceivable to you, of course; but I am only repeating what mypublishertellsme.If,forinstance,acriticcouldbeinducedImean,ifacriticwere to be found, who called in question the morality of my heroine insacrificing her own health and that of her idiot sisters in order to put up amemorial window to her grandfather, it would probably raise a generalcontroversy in thenewspapers, and Imight countona saleof tenor fifteenthousandwithin the next year. If he described her asmorbid or decadent, itmighteven run to twenty thousand;but that ismore than Ipermitmyself tohope.Infact,Ishouldbesatisfiedwithanygeneralchargeofimmorality."TheBishop sighed again. "I need hardly tell you that I am actuated by nomereliteraryambition.ThosewhoseopinionImostvaluehaveassuredmethatthebookisnotwithoutmerit;but,thoughitdoesnotbecomemetodisputetheirverdict, I can truly say thatmy vanity as an author is not at stake. I have,however,aspecialreasonforwishingtoincreasethecirculationof'ThroughaGlassBrightly';itwaswrittenforapurposeapurposeIhavegreatlyatheart""Iknow,"criedhisniecesympathetically."Thechantrywindow?""Is still empty, alas! and I had great hopes that, underProvidence,my littlebookmightbethemeansoffillingit.Allourwealthyparishionershavegivenlavishlytothecathedral,anditwasforthisreasonthat,inwriting'ThroughaGlass,' I addressed my appeal more especially to the less well-endowed,hopingbytheexampleofmyheroinetostimulatethecollectionofsmallsumsthroughout theentirediocese,andperhapsbeyond it. Iamsure," theBishopfeelinglyconcluded,"thebookwouldhaveawide-spreadinfluenceifpeoplecouldonlybeinducedtoreadit!"His conclusion touched a fresh thread of association in Mrs. Fetherel'svibratingnerve-centers."Ineverthoughtofthat!"shecried.TheBishoplookedatherinquiringly.

"Thatone'sbooksmaynotbereadatall!Howdreadful!"sheexclaimed.Hesmiledfaintly."IhadnotforgottenthatIwasaddressinganauthoress,"hesaid."Indeed,Ishouldnothavedaredtoinflictmytroublesonanyonenotofthecraft."Mrs. Fetherelwas quiveringwith the consciousness of her involuntary self-betrayal."Oh,uncle!"shemurmured."In fact," theBishopcontinued,withagesturewhichseemed tobrushawayherscruples,"Icameherepartlytospeaktoyouaboutyournovel. 'FastandLoose,'Ithinkyoucallit?"Mrs.Fetherelblushedassentingly."Andisitoutyet?"theBishopcontinued."Itcameoutaboutaweekago.Butyouhaven'ttouchedyourtea,anditmustbequitecold.Letmegiveyouanothercup...""My reason for asking," theBishopwent on,with the bland inexorablenesswithwhich, in his younger days, he had been known to continue a sermonafter the senior warden had looked four times at his watch"my reason forasking is, that I hoped Imight not be too late to induce you to change thetitle."Mrs.Fetherelsetdownthecupshehadfilled."Thetitle?"shefaltered.The Bishop raised a reassuring hand. "Don't misunderstandme, dear child;don't for amoment imagine that I take it to be in anyway indicative of thecontentsofthebook.Iknowyoutoowellforthat.MyfirstideawasthatithadprobablybeenforcedonyoubyanunscrupulouspublisherIknowtoowelltowhatignoblecompromisesonemaybedriveninsuchcases!..."Hepaused,asthough to give her the opportunity of confirming this conjecture, but shepreserved an apprehensive silence, and hewent on, as though taking up thesecondpoint in his sermon"Or, again, the namemayhave takenyour fancywithout your realizing all that it implies tomindsmore alive than yours tooffensive innuendoes. It isahemexcessively suggestive, and I hope I am nottoolatetowarnyouofthefalseimpressionitislikelytoproduceontheveryreaderswhoseapprobationyouwouldmostvalue.MyfriendMrs.Gollinger,forinstance"Mrs.Fetherel,asthepublicationofhernoveltestified,wasintheoryawomanofindependentviews;andifinpractiseshesometimesfailedtoliveuptoherstandard, it was rather from an irresistible tendency to adapt herself to her

environment than from any conscious lack of moral courage. The Bishop'sexordiumhadexcitedinherthatsenseofoppositionwhichsuchadmonitionsareapttoprovoke;butashewentonshefeltherselfgraduallyenclosedinanatmosphereinwhichhertheoriesvainlygaspedforbreath.TheBishophadtheimmense dialectical advantage of invalidating any conclusions at variancewithhisownbyalwaysassumingthathispremiseswereamongthenecessarylaws of thought. This method, combined with the habit of ignoring anyclassificationsbuthisown,createdanelementinwhichthefirstconditionofexistencewas the immediateadoptionofhisstandpoint;so thathisniece,asshe listened, seemed to feel Mrs. Gollinger's Mechlin cap spreading itsconventualshadowoverherrebelliousbrowandthe"RevuedeParis"atherelbowturningintoacopyofthe"Reredos."Shehadmeanttoassureherunclethatshewasquiteawareofthesignificanceofthetitleshehadchosen,thatithadbeendeliberatelyselectedasindicatingthesubjectofhernovel,andthatthe book itself hadbeenwritten indirect defianceof the class of readers forwhose susceptibilities shewas alarmed. Thewordswere almost on her lipswhenthe irresistiblesuggestionconveyedbytheBishop's toneandlanguagedeflected them into the apologetic murmur, "Oh, uncle, you mustn't thinkInevermeant"Howmuch farther this current of reactionmight have carriedher,thehistorianisunabletocomputer,foratthispointthedooropenedandherhusbandenteredtheroom."Thefirstreviewofyourbook!"hecried,flourishingayellowenvelope."MydearBishop,howluckyyou'rehere!"Though the trials of married life have been classified and catalogued withexhaustiveaccuracy,thereisoneformofconjugalmiserywhichhasperhapsreceivedinadequateattention;andthatisthesufferingoftheversatilewomanwhosehusbandisnotequallyadaptedtoallhermoods.Everywomanfeelsforthe sisterwho is compelled towear a bonnetwhich does not "go"with hergown; but how much sympathy is given to her whose husband refuses toharmonizewiththeposeofthemoment?Scantjusticehas,forinstance,beendonetothemisunderstoodwifewhosehusbandpersistsinunderstandingher;to the submissive helpmate whose taskmaster shuns every opportunity ofbrowbeatingher;andtothegenerousandimpulsivebeingwhosebillsarepaidwith philosophic calm.Mrs. Fetherel, as wives go, had been fairly exemptfromtrialsof thisnature, forherhusband, ifundistinguishedbypronouncedbrutality or indifference, had at least the negative merit of being herintellectualinferior.Landscapegardeners,whoareawareoftheusefulnessofavalleyinemphasizingtheheightofahill,canformanideaoftheaccounttowhich an accomplished woman may turn such deficiencies; and it needscarcelybesaidthatMrs.Fetherelhadmadethemostofheropportunities.Itwas agreeably obvious to every one, Fetherel included, that hewas not the

mantoappreciatesuchawoman;but therearenolimits toman'sperversity,and he did his best to invalidate this advantage by admiring her withoutpretending tounderstandher.What shemost suffered fromwas this fatuousapproval:themaddeningsensethat,howeversheconductedherself,hewouldalways admire her. Had he belonged to the class whose conversationalsuppliesaredrawnfromthedomesticcircle,hiswife'snamewouldneverhavebeen off his lips; and to Mrs. Fetherel's sensitive perceptions his frequentsilenceswereindicativeofthefactthatshewashisonetopic.Itwas,inpart,theattempttoescapethispersistentapprobationthathaddrivenMrs. Fetherel to authorship. She had fancied that even the most infatuatedhusbandmight be counted onto resent, at least negatively, an attack on thesanctityofthehearth;andheranticipationswereheightenedbyasenseoftheunpardonablenessofheract.Mrs.Fetherel'srelationswithherhusbandwereinfactcomplicatedbyanirrepressibletendencytobefondofhim;andtherewas a certain pleasure in the prospect of a situation that justified the mostexplicitexpiation.ThesehopesFetherel's attitudehad alreadydefeated.He read thebookwithenthusiasm,hepresseditonhisfriends,hesentacopytohismother;andhisverysoulnowhungontheverdictofthereviewers.Itwasperhapsthisproofofhisgeneralineptitudethatmadehiswifedoublyalivetohisspecialdefects;sothathisinopportuneentrancewasaggravatedbytheverysoundofhisvoiceand the hopeless aberration of his smile.Nothing, to the observant, ismoreindicativeofaman'scharacterandcircumstances thanhiswayofenteringaroom. The Bishop of Ossining, for instance, brought with him not only anatmosphere of episcopal authority, but an implied opinion on the verbalinspirationoftheScriptures,andontheattitudeofthechurchtowarddivorce;while the appearance of Mrs. Fetherel's husband produced an immediateimpressionofdomesticfelicity.Hismereaspectimpliedthattherewasawell-fillednurseryupstairs;thatthiswife,ifshedidnotsewonhisbuttons,atleastsuperintended the performance of that task; that they both went to churchregularly, and that they dined with his mother every Sunday eveningpunctuallyatseveno'clock.Allthisandmorewasexpressedintheaffectionategesturewithwhichhenowraised the yellow envelope above Mrs. Fetherel's clutch; and knowing theuselessnessofbegginghimnottobesilly,shesaid,withadrydespair,"You'reboringtheBishophorribly."Fetherel turned a radiant eye on that dignitary. "She bores us all horribly,doesn'tshe,sir?"heexulted."Haveyoureadit?"saidhiswife,uncontrollably.

"Read it? Of course notit's just thisminute come. I say, Bishop, you're notgoing?""NottillI'veheardthis,"saidtheBishop,settlinghimselfinhischairwithanindulgentsmile.Hisnieceglancedathimdespairingly."Don'tletJohn'snonsensedetainyou,"sheentreated."Detainhim?That'sgood,"guffawedFetherel. "It isn't as longasoneofhissermonswon't take me five minutes to read. Here, listen to this, ladies andgentlemen:'Inthisageoffesteringpessimismanddecadentdepravity,itisnosurprisetothenauseatedreviewertoopenonemorevolumesaturatedwiththefetidemanationsofthesewer'"Fetherel,whowasnotinthehabitofreadingaloud,pausedwithagasp,andtheBishopglancedsharplyathisniece,whokepthergazefixedon the tea-cupshehadnotyetsucceededintransferringtohishand."'Ofthesewer,'"herhusbandresumed;"'buthiswonderisproportionatelygreatwhenhelightsona novel as sweetly inoffensive as Paula Fetherel's "Fast and Loose." Mrs.Fetherel is,webelieve,anewhandat fiction,andherworkrevealsfrequenttracesof inexperience;but thesearemore thanatonedforbyherpure, freshview of life and her altogether unfashionable regard for the reader's moralsusceptibilities. Let no one be induced by its distinctly misleading title toforegotheenjoymentofthispleasantpictureofdomesticlife,which,inspiteofatotallackofforceincharacter-drawingandofconsecutivenessinincident,maybedescribedasadistinctlyprettystory.'"

IIIItwas severalweeks later thatMrs.Clinch oncemore brought the plebeianaromaofheatedtram-carsandmuddystreet-crossingsintotheviolet-scentedatmosphereofhercousin'sdrawing-room."Well," she said, tossing a damp bundle of proof into the corner of a silk-cushionedbergere,"I'vereaditatlastandI'mnotsoawfullyshocked!"Mrs.Fetherel,whosatnearthefirewithherheadproppedonalanguidhand,lookedupwithoutspeaking."Mercy,Paula,"saidhervisitor,"you'reill."Mrs.Fetherelshookherhead."Iwasneverbetter,"shesaid,mournfully.

"ThenmayIhelpmyselftotea?Thanks."Mrs.Clinchcarefullyremovedhermendedglovebeforetakingabutteredtea-cake;thensheglancedagainathercousin."It'snotwhatIsaidjustnow?"sheventured."Justnow?""About'FastandLoose'?Icametotalkitover."Mrs. Fetherel sprang to her feet. "I never," she cried dramatically, "want tohearitmentionedagain!""Paula!"exclaimedMrs.Clinch,settingdownhercup.Mrs.Fetherelslowlyturnedonheraneyebrimmingwiththeincommunicable;then, dropping into her seat again, she added, with a tragic laugh, "There'snothinglefttosay.""Nothing?"falteredMrs.Clinch,longingforanothertea-cake,butfeelingtheinappropriateness of the impulse in an atmosphere so charged with theportentous. "Do you mean that everything has been said?" She lookedtentativelyathercousin."Haven'ttheybeennice?""They've been odiousodious" Mrs. Fetherel burst out, with an ineffectualclutchatherhandkerchief."It'sbeenperfectlyintolerable!"Mrs. Clinch, philosophically resigning herself to the propriety of taking nomore tea, crossed over to her cousin and laid a sympathizing hand on thatlady'sagitatedshoulder."It isaboreatfirst,"sheconceded;"butyou'llbesurprisedtoseehowsoononegetsusedtoit.""Ishallnevergetusedtoit"Mrs.Fetherelbrokenlydeclared."Havetheybeensoverynastyallofthem?""Everyoneofthem!"thenovelistsobbed."I'msosorry,dear;itdoeshurt,Iknowbuthadn'tyouratherexpectedit?""Expectedit?"criedMrs.Fetherel,sittingup.Mrs.Clinchfeltherwaywarily."Ionlymean,dear,thatIfanciedfromwhatyou said before the book came outthat you rather expectedthat you'd rather

discounted""Theirrecommendingittoeverybodyasaperfectlyharmlessstory?""Goodgracious!Isthatwhatthey'vedone?"Mrs.Fetherelspeechlesslynodded."Everyoneofthem?""Everyone""Whew!"saidMrs.Clinch,withanincipientwhistle."Why,you'vejustsaidityourself!"hercousinsuddenlyreproachedher."Saidwhat?""Thatyouweren'tsoawfullyshocked""I?Oh,wellyousee,you'dkeyedmeuptosuchapitchthatitwasn'tquiteasbadasIexpected"Mrs.Fetherelliftedasmilesteeledfortheworst."Whynotsayatonce,"shesuggested,"thatit'sadistinctlyprettystory?""Theyhaven'tsaidthat?""They'veallsaidit.""MypoorPaula!""EventheBishop""TheBishopcalleditaprettystory?""HewrotemeI'vehislettersomewhere.Thetitleratherscaredhimhewantedmetochangeit;butwhenhe'dreadthebookhewrotethatitwasallrightandthathe'dsentseveralcopiestohisfriends.""The old hypocrite!" criedMrs. Clinch. "Thatwas nothing but professionaljealousy.""Doyouthinkso?"criedhercousin,brightening."Sureofit,mydear.Hisownbooksdon'tsell,andheknewthequickestwaytokillyourswastodistributeitthroughthediocesewithhisblessing.""Thenyoudon'treallythinkit'saprettystory?"

"Dearme,no!Notnearlyasbadasthat""You'resogood,Bellabutthereviewers?""Oh, the reviewers,"Mrs.Clinch jeered. She gazedmeditatively at the coldremainsofhertea-cake."Letmesee,"shesaid,suddenly;"doyouhappentorememberifthefirstreviewcameoutinanimportantpaper?""Yesthe'Radiator.'""That'sit!Ithoughtso.Thentheotherssimplyfollowedsuit:theyoftendoifabigpapersetsthepace.Savesalotoftrouble.Nowifyoucouldonlyhavegotthe'Radiator'todenounceyou""That'swhattheBishopsaid!"criedMrs.Fetherel."Hedid?""Hesaidhisonlychanceofselling'ThroughaGlassBrightly'wastohaveitdenouncedonthegroundofimmorality.""H'm," saidMrs.Clinch. "I thought he knewa trick or two."She turned anilluminatedeyeonher cousin. "Youought togethim todenounce 'Fast andLoose'!"shecried.Mrs.Fetherellookedathersuspiciously."Isupposeeverybookmuststandorfallonitsownmerits,"shesaidinanunconvincedtone."Bosh!Thatviewisasextinctasthepost-chaiseandthepacket-shipitbelongstothetimewhenpeoplereadbooks.Nobodydoesthatnow;thereviewerwasthefirsttosettheexample,andthepublicwereonlytoothankfultofollowit.Atfirsttheyreadthereviews;nowtheyreadonlythepublishers'extractsfromthem.Eventhesearerapidlybeingreplacedbyparagraphsborrowedfromthevocabularyofcommerce.IoftenhavetolooktwicebeforeIamsureifIamreadingadepartment-storeadvertisementortheannouncementofanewbatchofliterature.Thepublisherswillsoonbehavingtheir'fallandspringopenings'andtheir'specialimportationsforHorse-ShowWeek.'ButtheBishopisright,ofcoursenothinghelpsabooklikearousingattackonitsmorals;andasthepublisherscan'texactlyproclaimtheimproprietyoftheirownwares,thetaskhastobelefttothepressorthepulpit.""Thepulpit?"Mrs.Fetherelmused."Why,yeslookatthosetwonovelsinEnglandlastyear"Mrs.Fetherelshookherheadhopelessly."There issomuchmore interest in

literatureinEnglandthanhere.""Well,we'vegottomakethesupplycreatethedemand.TheBishopcouldrunyournovelupintothehundredthousandsinnotime.""Butifhecan'tmakehisownsell?""Mydear,amancan'tverywellpreachagainsthisownwritings!"Mrs.Clinchroseandpickedupherproofs."I'mawfullysorryforyou,Pauladear,"sheconcluded,"butIcan'thelpbeingthankful that there'snodemandforpessimismin the fieldofnaturalhistory.Fancyhavingtowrite'TheFallofaSparrow,'or'HowthePlantsMisbehave!'"

IVMrs.Fetherel,drivinguptotheGrandCentralStationonemorningaboutfivemonths later, caught sight of the distinguished novelist, Archer Hynes,hurryingintothewaiting-roomaheadofher.Hynes,onhisside,recognizingherbrougham, turnedback togreet her as the footmanopened the carriage-door."Mydearcolleague!Isitpossiblethatwearetravelingtogether?"Mrs. Fetherel blushed with pleasure. Hynes had given her two columns ofpraise in the Sunday "Meteor," and she had not yet learned to disguise hergratitude."IamgoingtoOssining,"shesaid,smilingly."SoamI.Why,thisisalmostasgoodasanelopement.""Anditwillendwhereelopementsoughttoinchurch.""Inchurch?You'renotgoingtoOssiningtogotochurch?""Whynot?There'saspecialceremonyinthecathedralthechantrywindowistobeunveiled.""Thechantrywindow?Howpicturesque!Whatisachantry?Andwhydoyouwanttoseeitunveiled?AreyouaftercopydoingsomethingintheHuysmansmanner?'LaCathedrale,'eh?""Oh,no."Mrs.Fetherelhesitated."I'mgoingsimplytopleasemyuncle,"shesaid,atlast.

"Youruncle?""TheBishop,youknow."Shesmiled."TheBishoptheBishopofOssining?Why,wasn'thethechapwhomadethatridiculousattackonyourbook? Is thatprehistoricassyouruncle?Uponmysoul,Ithinkyou'remightyforgivingtotravelallthewaytoOssiningforoneofhisstained-glasssociables!"Mrs.Fetherel'ssmileflowedintoagentlelaugh."Oh,I'veneverallowedthattointerferewithourfriendship.Myunclefeltdreadfullyabouthavingtospeakpubliclyagainstmybookitwasagreatdealharderforhimthanformebuthethoughtithisdutytodoso.Hehastheveryhighestsenseofduty.""Well,"saidHynes,withashrug,"Idon'tknowthathedidn'tdoyouagoodturn.Lookatthat!"They were standing near the book-stall, and he pointed to a placardsurmountingthecounterandemblazonedwiththeconspicuousannouncement:"Fast and Loose. New Edition with Author's Portrait. Hundred and FiftiethThousand."Mrs.Fetherelfrownedimpatiently."Howabsurd!They'venorighttousemypictureasaposter!""There'sourtrain,"saidHynes;andtheybegantopushtheirwaythroughthecrowdsurgingtowardoneoftheinnerdoors.Astheystoodwedgedbetweencircumferentshoulders,Mrs.Fetherelbecameconscious of the fixed stare of a pretty girl who whispered eagerly to hercompanion:"LookMyrtle!That'sPaulaFetherelrightbehindusIknewherinaminute!""Graciouswhere?"criedtheothergirl,givingherheadatwistwhichsweptherGainsboroughplumesacrossMrs.Fetherel'sface.The first speaker's words had carried beyond her companion's ear, and alemon-coloredwoman in spectacles,whoclutchedacopyof the "JournalofPsychology"ononedrab-cotton-glovedhand, stretchedherdisengagedhandacrosstheinterveningbarrierofhumanity."Have I the privilege of addressing the distinguished author of 'Fast andLoose'? If so, letme thank you in the name of theWoman's PsychologicalLeagueofPeoriaforyourmagnificentcourageinraisingthestandardofrevoltagainst"

"Youcantellustherestinthecar,"saidafatman,pressinghisgood-humoredbulkagainstthespeaker'sarm.Mrs. Fetherel, blushing, embarrassed and happy, slipped into the spaceproducedbythisdisplacement,andafewmomentslaterhadtakenherseatinthetrain.Shewasalittlelate,andtheotherchairswerealreadyfilledbyacompanyofelderly ladies and clergymenwho seemed to belong to the same party, andwerestillbusyexchanginggreetingsandsettlingthemselvesintheirplaces.One of the ladies, at Mrs. Fetherel's approach, uttered an exclamation ofpleasureandadvancedwithoutstretchedhand."MydearMrs.Fetherel!Iamsodelightedtoseeyouhere.MayIhopeyouaregoingtotheunveilingofthechantry window? The dear Bishop so hoped that you would do so! Butperhaps I ought to introduce myself. I amMrs. Gollinger"she lowered hervoiceexpressively"oneofyouruncle'soldestfriends,onewhohasstoodclosetohimthroughallthissadbusiness,andwhoknowswhathesufferedwhenhefeltobligedtosacrificefamilyaffectiontothecallofduty."Mrs. Fetherel,who had smiled and colored slightly at the beginning of thisspeech,receiveditsclosewithadeprecatinggesture."Oh,praydon'tmentionit,"shemurmured."Iquiteunderstoodhowmyunclewas placedI bore him no ill will for feeling obliged to preach against mybook.""Heunderstood that, andwas so touchedby it!Hehasoften toldme that itwasthehardesttaskhewasevercalledupontoperformand,doyouknow,hequitefeels that thisunexpectedgiftof thechantrywindowis insomewayareturnforhiscourageinpreachingthatsermon."Mrs.Fetherelsmiledfaintly."Doeshefeelthat?""Yes; he really does.When the funds for thewindowwere somysteriouslyplaced at his disposal, just as he had begun to despair of raising them, heassuredmethathecouldnothelpconnectingthefactwithhisdenunciationofyourbook.""Dearuncle!"sighedMrs.Fetherel."Didhesaythat?""Andnow,"continuedMrs.Gollinger,withcumulativerapture"nowthatyouareabouttoshow,byappearingattheceremonyto-day,thattherehasbeennobreakinyourfriendlyrelations,thedearBishop'shappinesswillbecomplete.Hewassolongingtohaveyoucometotheunveiling!"

"Hemighthavecountedonme,"saidMrs.Fetherel,stillsmiling."Ah, that is so beautifully forgiving of you!" cried Mrs. Gollinger,enthusiastically. "But then, theBishophas always assuredme that your realnature was very different from that whichif you will pardon my sayingsoseems tobe revealedbyyourbrilliantbuterrathersubversivebook. 'Ifyouonlyknewmyniece,dearMrs.Gollinger,'healwayssaid,'youwouldseethathernovelwaswritteninallinnocenceofheart;'andtotellyouthetruth,whenI first read thebookIdidn't think it sovery,veryshocking. Itwasn't till thedearBishophadexplained tomebut,dearme, Imustn't takeupyour time inthiswaywhensomanyothersareanxioustohaveawordwithyou."Mrs.Fetherelglancedatherinsurprise,andMrs.Gollingercontinued,withaplayful smile: "You forget thatyour face is familiar to thousandswhomyouhaveneverseen.Weallrecognizedyouthemomentyouenteredthetrain,andmyfriendsherearesoeagertomakeyouracquaintanceeventhose"hersmiledeepened"who thought thedearBishopnotquiteunjustified inhisattackonyourremarkablenovel."

VAreligiouslightfilledthechantryofOssiningCathedral,filteringthroughthelinencurtainwhichveiledthecentralwindow,andminglingwiththeblazeoftapersontherichlyadornedaltar.In this devout atmosphere, agreeably laden with the incense-like aroma ofEaster lilies and forced lilacs,Mrs. Fetherel kneltwith a sense of luxurioussatisfaction.BesidehersatArcherHynes,whohadrememberedthattherewasto be a church scene in his next novel, and that his impressions of thedevotionalenvironmentneededrefreshing.Mrs.Fetherelwasveryhappy.Shewasconsciousthatherentrancehadsentathrillthroughthefemaledevoteeswhopackedthechantry,andshehadhumorenoughtoenjoythethoughtthat,but for the good Bishop's denunciation of her book, the heads of his flockwouldnothavebeenturnedsoeagerlyinherdirection.Moreover,asshehadentered she had caught sight of a society reporter, and she knew that herpresence, and the fact that she was accompanied by Hynes, would beconspicuously proclaimed in themorning papers.All these evidences of thesuccess of her handiwork might have turned a calmer head than Mrs.Fetherel's; and though shehadnow learned todissemblehergratification, itstillfilledherinwardlywithadelightfulglow.TheBishopwassomewhatlateinappearing,andsheemployedtheintervalinmeditatingon theplot ofhernextnovel,whichwas alreadypartly sketchedout,butforwhichshehadbeenunabletofindasatisfactorydenouement.Bya

notuncommonprocessofratiocination,Mrs.Fetherel'ssuccesshadconvincedher of her vocation. Shewas sure now that it was her duty to lay bare thesecret plague-spots of society, and shewas resolved that there shouldbenodoubtastothepurposeofhernewbook.Experiencehadshownherthatwhereshehadfanciedshewascallingaspadeaspadeshehadinfactbeenalludingin guarded terms to the drawing-room shovel. She was determined not torepeatthesamemistake,andsheflatteredherselfthathercomingnovelwouldnotneedanepiscopaldenunciationtoinsureitssale,howeverlikelyitwastoreceivethiscrowningevidenceofsuccess.Shehadreachedthispoint inhermeditationswhenthechoirburst intosongand the ceremony of the unveiling began. The Bishop, almost alwaysfelicitousinhisaddressestothefairsex,wasnevermoresothanwhenhewascelebratingthetriumphofoneofhischerishedpurposes.Therewasapeculiarmixture of Christian humility and episcopal exultation in the manner withwhich he called attention to the Creator's promptness in responding to hisdemand for funds, and he had never been more happily inspired than ineulogizingthemysteriousgiftofthechantrywindow.Thoughnohintofthedonor'sidentityhadbeenallowedtoescapehim,itwasgenerallyunderstoodthattheBishopknewwhohadgiventhewindow,andthecongregationawaitedinaflutterofsuspensethepossibleannouncementofaname. None came, however, though the Bishop deliciously titillated thecuriosityofhis flockby circling ever closer about the interesting secret.Hewouldnotdisguise from them,he said, that theheartwhichhaddivinedhisinmostwishhadbeenawoman'sisitnottowoman'sintuitionsthatmorethanhalf the happiness of earth is owing?What man is obliged to learn by thelaborious process of experience, woman's wondrous instinct tells her at aglance; and so it had been with this cherished scheme, this unhoped-forcompletion of their beautiful chantry. Somuch, at least, hewas allowed toreveal;andindeed,hadhenotdoneso,thewindowitselfwouldhavespokenfor him, since the first glance at its touching subject and exquisite designwouldshow it tohaveoriginated inawoman'sheart.This tribute to thesexwas received with an audible sigh of contentment, and the Bishop, alwaysstimulatedbysuchevidenceofhisswayoverhishearers, tookuphis themewithgatheringeloquence.Yesawoman'shearthadplannedthegift,awoman'shandhadexecutedit,and,might he add, without too far withdrawing the veil in which Christianbeneficenceeverlovedtodrapeitsactsmightheaddthat,underProvidence,abook,asimplebook,ameretale,infact,hadhaditsshareinthegoodworkforwhichtheywereassembledtogivethanks?At this unexpected announcement, a ripple of excitement ran through the

assemblage, andmore thanoneheadwasabruptly turned in thedirectionofMrs.Fetherel,whosat listeninginanagonyofwonderandconfusion.Itdidnot escape theobservantnovelist at her side that shedrewdownherveil toconcealanuncontrollableblush,andthisevidenceofdismaycausedhimtofixanattentivegazeonher,whilefromherseatacrosstheaisle,Mrs.Gollingersentasmileofunctuousapproval."A booka simple book" the Bishop's voice went on above this flutter ofmingledemotions."Whatisabook?OnlyafewpagesandalittleinkandyetoneofthemightiestinstrumentswhichProvidencehasdevisedforshapingthedestinies of man . .. one of the most powerful influences for good or evilwhichtheCreatorhasplacedinthehandsofhiscreatures..."TheairseemedintolerablyclosetoMrs.Fetherel,andshedrewoutherscent-bottle,andthenthrustithurriedlyaway,consciousthatshewasstillthecenterofanunenviableattention.AndallthewhiletheBishop'svoicedronedon..."Andofallformsofliterature,fictionisdoubtlessthatwhichhasexercisedthegreatestsway,forgoodorill,overthepassionsandimaginationofthemasses.Yes,myfriends,Iamthefirsttoacknowledgeitnosermon,howevereloquent,notheologicaltreatise,howeverlearnedandconvincing,haseverinflamedtheheart and imagination like a novela simple novel. Incalculable is the powerexercised over humanity by the great magicians of the pena power everenlarging its boundaries and increasing its responsibilities as populareducation multiplies the number of readers....Yes, it is the novelist's handwhich can pour balm on countless human sufferings, or inoculate mankindwiththefesteringpoisonofacorruptimagination...."Mrs.Fetherelhadturnedwhite,andhereyeswerefixedwithablindstareofangeronthelarge-sleevedfigureinthecenterofthechancel."Andtoooften,alas,itisthepoisonandnotthebalmwhichtheunscrupuloushand of genius proffers to its unsuspecting readers. But, my friends, whyshouldIcontinue?NoneknowbetterthananassemblageofChristianwomen,suchasIamnowaddressing, thebeneficentorbaleful influencesofmodernfiction;andso,whenIsaythatthisbeautifulchantrywindowofoursowesitsexistence in part to the romancer's pen"the Bishop paused, and bendingforward, seemed to seek a certain face among the countenances eagerlyaddressedtohis"whenIsaythat thispen,whichforpersonalreasonsitdoesnotbecomemetocelebrateunduly"Mrs. Fetherel at this point half rose, pushing back her chair,which scrapedloudlyoverthemarblefloor;butHynesinvoluntarilylaidawarninghandonherarm,andshesankdownwithaconfusedmurmurabouttheheat.

"When I confess that this pen, which for once at least has proved itself somuchmightierthanthesword,isthatwhichwasinspiredtotracethesimplenarrativeof'ThroughaGlassBrightly'"Mrs.Fetherellookedupwithagaspofmingled relief and anger"when I tell you,my dear friends, that itwas yourBishop's own work which first roused the mind of one of his flock to thecryingneedofachantrywindow,IthinkyouwilladmitthatIamjustifiedincelebratingthetriumphsofthepen,eventhoughitbethemodest instrumentwhichyourownBishopwields."The Bishop paused impressively, and a faint gasp of surprise anddisappointmentwasaudiblethroughoutthechantry.Somethingverydifferentfromthisconclusionhadbeenexpected,andevenMrs.Gollinger'slipscurledwithaslightlyironicsmile.ButArcherHynes'sattentionwaschieflyreservedfor Mrs. Fetherel, whose face had changed with astonishing rapidity fromsurprise to annoyance, from annoyance to relief, and then back again tosomethingverylikeindignation.Theaddressconcluded,theactualceremonyoftheunveilingwasabouttotakeplace, and the attention of the congregation soon reverted to the chancel,wherethechoirhadgroupedthemselvesbeneaththeveiledwindow,preparedto burst into a chant of praise as the Bishop drew back the hanging. Themomentwasanimpressiveone,andeveryeyewasfixedonthecurtain.EvenHynes'sgaze strayed to it foramoment,but soon returned tohisneighbor'sface;andthenheperceivedthatMrs.Fetherel,aloneofallthepersonspresent,wasnotlookingatthewindow.HereyeswerefixedinanindignantstareontheBishop;aflushofangerburnedbecominglyunderherveil,andherhandsnervouslycrumpledthebeautifullyprintedprogramoftheceremony.Hynes broke into a smile of comprehension.He glanced at theBishop, andbackattheBishop'sniece;then,astheepiscopalhandwassolemnlyraisedtodrawbackthecurtain,hebentandwhisperedinMrs.Fetherel'sear:"Why, you gave it yourself! You wonderful woman, of course you gave ityourself!"Mrs.Fetherelraisedhereyestohiswithastart.Herblushdeepenedandherlips shaped a hasty "No"; but the denial was deflected into the indignantmurmur"Itwasn'thissillybookthatdiditanyhow!"

THELADY'SMAID'SBELLI

ITwastheautumnafterIhadthetyphoid.I'dbeenthreemonthsinhospital,andwhenIcameoutIlookedsoweakandtotterythatthetwoorthreeladiesI

appliedtowereafraidtoengageme.Mostofmymoneywasgone,andafterI'd boarded for two months, hanging about the employment-agencies, andansweringanyadvertisementthatlookedanywayrespectable,Iprettynearlylost heart, for fretting hadn'tmademe fatter, and I didn't seewhymy luckshouldever turn. Itdid thoughor I thought soat the time.AMrs.Railton,afriendoftheladythatfirstbroughtmeouttotheStates,metmeonedayandstoppedtospeaktome:shewasonethathadalwaysafriendlywaywithher.She askedmewhat ailedme to look sowhite, andwhen I told her, "Why,Hartley," says she, "I believe I've got the very place for you. Come in to-morrowandwe'lltalkaboutit."Thenextday,whenIcalled,shetoldmetheladyshe'dinmindwasanieceofhers, aMrs. Brympton, a youngish lady, but something of an invalid, wholived all the year round at her country-place on the Hudson, owing to notbeingabletostandthefatigueoftownlife."Now,Hartley,"Mrs.Railton said, in that cheeryway that alwaysmademefeelthingsmustbegoingtotakeaturnforthebetter"nowunderstandme;it'snot a cheerful place i'm sending you to. The house is big and gloomy;mynieceisnervous,vaporish;herhusbandwell,he'sgenerallyaway;andthetwochildrenaredead.Ayearago,Iwouldassoonhavethoughtofshuttingarosyactivegirllikeyouintoavault;butyou'renotparticularlybriskyourselfjustnow, are you? and a quiet place,with country air andwholesome food andearlyhours,oughttobetheverythingforyou.Don'tmistakeme,"sheadded,forIsupposeIlookedatrifledowncast;"youmayfinditdull,butyouwon'tbeunhappy.Mynieceisanangel.Herformermaid,whodiedlastspring,hadbeenwithhertwentyyearsandworshippedthegroundshewalkedon.She'sakindmistresstoall,andwherethemistressiskind,asyouknow,theservantsaregenerallygood-humored, soyou'llprobablygetonwellenoughwith therestofthehousehold.Andyou'retheverywomanIwantformyniece:quiet,well-mannered,andeducatedaboveyourstation.Youreadaloudwell,Ithink?That'sagoodthing;myniecelikestobereadto.Shewantsamaidthatcanbesomethingofacompanion:her lastwas,andIcan'tsayhowshemissesher.It'salonelylife...Well,haveyoudecided?""Why,ma'am,"Isaid,"I'mnotafraidofsolitude.""Well,then,go;myniecewilltakeyouonmyrecommendation.I'lltelegraphheratonceandyoucantaketheafternoontrain.Shehasnoonetowaitonheratpresent,andIdon'twantyoutoloseanytime."Iwasreadyenoughtostart,yetsomethinginmehungback;andtogaintimeIasked,"Andthegentleman,ma'am?"

"Thegentleman's almost always away, I tell you," saidMrs.Ralston,quick-like"andwhenhe'sthere,"saysshesuddenly,"you'veonlytokeepoutofhisway."I took the afternoon train and got out at D station at about four o'clock.Agroominadog-cartwaswaiting,andwedroveoffatasmartpace.ItwasadullOctoberday,withrainhangingcloseoverhead,andbythetimeweturnedinto the Brympton Place woods the daylight was almost gone. The drivewoundthroughthewoodsforamileor two,andcameoutonagravelcourtshutinwiththicketsoftallblack-lookingshrubs.Therewerenolightsinthewindows,andthehousedidlookabitgloomy.Ihadaskednoquestionsofthegroom,forIneverwasonetogetmynotionofnewmastersfromtheirotherservants:Iprefertowaitandseeformyself.ButIcouldtellbythelookofeverythingthatIhadgotintotherightkindofhouse,and that thingsweredonehandsomely.Apleasant-facedcookmetmeat thebackdoorandcalledthehouse-maidtoshowmeuptomyroom."You'llseemadamlater,"shesaid."Mrs.Brymptonhasavisitor."I hadn't fancied Mrs. Brympton was a lady to have many visitors, andsomehowthewordscheeredme.Ifollowedthehouse-maidupstairs,andsaw,throughadoorontheupper landing, that themainpartof thehouseseemedwell-furnished, with dark panelling and a number of old portraits. Anotherflightofstairsledusuptotheservants'wing.Itwasalmostdarknow,andthehouse-maid excused herself for not having brought a light. "But there'smatches in your room," she said, "and if you go careful you'll be all right.Mindthestepattheendofthepassage.Yourroomisjustbeyond."Ilookedaheadasshespoke,andhalf-waydownthepassage,Isawawomanstanding. She drew back into a doorway aswe passed, and the house-maiddidn't appear to notice her. Shewas a thinwomanwith awhite face, and adarkish stuffgownandapron. I tookher for thehousekeeper and thought itodd that shedidn't speak, but just gavemea long look as shewentby.Myroomopenedintoasquarehallattheendofthepassage.Facingmydoorwasanotherwhichstoodopen:thehouse-maidexclaimedwhenshesawit."ThereMrs.Blinder'sleftthatdooropenagain!"saidshe,closingit."IsMrs.Blinderthehousekeeper?""There'snohousekeeper:Mrs.Blinder'sthecook.""Andisthatherroom?""Laws,no,"saidthehouse-maid,cross-like."That'snobody'sroom.It'sempty,

Imean, and thedoorhadn't ought tobeopen.Mrs.Brymptonwants it keptlocked."She openedmy door and ledme into a neat room, nicely furnished,with apictureortwoonthewalls;andhavinglitacandleshetookleave,tellingmethat the servants'-hall teawas at six, and thatMrs.Brymptonwould seemeafterward.Ifoundthemapleasant-spokensetintheservants'hall,andbywhattheyletfallIgatheredthat,asMrs.Railtonhadsaid,Mrs.Brymptonwasthekindestofladies;butIdidn'ttakemuchnoticeoftheirtalk,forIwaswatchingtoseethepalewomaninthedarkgowncomein.Shedidn'tshowherself,however,andIwonderedifsheateapart;butifshewasn'tthehousekeeper,whyshouldshe?Suddenlyitstruckmethatshemightbeatrainednurse,andinthatcasehermealswouldofcoursebeserved inher room. IfMrs.Brymptonwasaninvaliditwaslikelyenoughshehadanurse.Theideaannoyedme,Iown,forthey'renotalwaystheeasiesttogetonwith,andifI'dknown,Ishouldn'thavetakentheplace.ButthereIwas,andtherewasnousepullingalongfaceoverit;andnotbeingonetoaskquestions,Iwaitedtoseewhatwouldturnup.When teawas over, the house-maid said to the footman: "HasMr.Ranfordgone?" and when he said yes, she told me to come up with her to Mrs.Brympton.Mrs.Brymptonwaslyingdowninherbedroom.Herloungestoodnearthefireandbeside itwasa shaded lamp.Shewasadelicate-looking lady,butwhenshe smiled I felt there was nothing I wouldn't do for her. She spoke verypleasantly,inalowvoice,askingmemynameandageandsoon,andifIhadeverythingIwanted,andifIwasn'tafraidoffeelinglonelyinthecountry."Not with you I wouldn't be, madam," I said, and the words surprised mewhenI'dspokenthem,forI'mnotanimpulsiveperson;butitwasjustasifI'dthoughtaloud.Sheseemedpleasedatthat,andsaidshehopedI'dcontinueinthesamemind;thenshegavemeafewdirectionsabouthertoilet,andsaidAgnesthehouse-maidwouldshowmenextmorningwherethingswerekept."Iamtired to-night,andshalldineupstairs,"shesaid."Agneswillbringmemytray,thatyoumayhavetimetounpackandsettleyourself;andlateryoumaycomeandundressme.""Verywell,ma'am,"Isaid."You'llring,Isuppose?"Ithoughtshelookedodd.

"NoAgneswillfetchyou,"saysshequickly,andtookupherbookagain.Wellthat was certainly strange: a lady's maid having to be fetched by thehouse-maidwheneverherladywantedher!Iwonderediftherewerenobellsin thehouse;but thenextday I satisfiedmyself that therewasone ineveryroom,anda specialone ringing frommymistress's room tomine;andafterthatitdidstrikemeasqueerthat,wheneverMrs.Brymptonwantedanything,sherangforAgnes,whohadtowalkthewholelengthoftheservants'wingtocallme.Butthatwasn't theonlyqueer thinginthehouse.TheverynextdayIfoundout that Mrs. Brympton had no nurse; and then I asked Agnes about thewoman I had seen in the passage the afternoon before.Agnes said she hadseennoone, and I saw that she thought Iwasdreaming.Tobe sure, itwasduskwhenwewent down the passage, and she had excused herself for notbringingalight;butIhadseenthewomanplainenoughtoknowheragainifweshouldmeet.Idecidedthatshemusthavebeenafriendofthecook's,orofoneoftheotherwomen-servants:perhapsshehadcomedownfromtownforanight'svisit,andtheservantswanteditkeptsecret.Someladiesareverystiffabouthavingtheirservants'friendsinthehouseovernight.Atanyrate,Imadeupmymindtoasknomorequestions.Inadayortwo,anotheroddthinghappened.IwaschattingoneafternoonwithMrs.Blinder,whowasafriendlydisposedwoman,andhadbeenlongerinthehousethantheotherservants,andsheaskedmeifIwasquitecomfortableandhadeverythingIneeded.IsaidIhadnofaulttofindwithmyplaceorwithmymistress, but I thought it odd that in so large a house therewas no sewing-roomforthelady'smaid."Why,"saysshe,"thereisone;theroomyou'reinistheoldsewing-room.""Oh,"saidI;"andwheredidtheotherlady'smaidsleep?"Atthatshegrewconfused,andsaidhurriedlythattheservants'roomshadallbeenchangedaboutlastyear,andshedidn'trightlyremember.Thatstruckmeaspeculiar,butIwentonasifIhadn'tnoticed:"Well,there'savacantroomoppositemine,andImeantoaskMrs.BrymptonifImayn'tusethatasasewing-room."Tomyastonishment,Mrs.Blinderwentwhite, andgavemyhand akindofsqueeze. "Don't do that,my dear," said she, trembling-like. "To tell you thetruth, thatwasEmmaSaxon'sroom,andmymistresshaskept itclosedeversinceherdeath."

"AndwhowasEmmaSaxon?""Mrs.Brympton'sformermaid.""Theone thatwaswithher somanyyears?"said I, rememberingwhatMrs.Railtonhadtoldme.Mrs.Blindernodded."Whatsortofwomanwasshe?""Nobetterwalkedtheearth,"saidMrs.Blinder."Mymistresslovedherlikeasister.""ButImeanwhatdidshelooklike?"Mrs.Blindergotupandgavemeakindofangrystare."I'mnogreathandatdescribing,"shesaid;"andIbelievemypastry's rising."Andshewalkedoffintothekitchenandshutthedoorafterher.

IIIHADbeennearaweekatBrymptonbeforeIsawmymaster.Wordcamethathewasarrivingoneafternoon,andachangepassedoverthewholehousehold.Itwasplainthatnobodylovedhimbelowstairs.Mrs.Blindertookuncommoncarewiththedinnerthatnight,butshesnappedatthekitchen-maidinawayquiteunusualwithher;andMr.Wace,thebutler,aserious,slow-spokenman,wentabouthisdutiesasifhe'dbeengettingreadyforafuneral.HewasagreatBible-reader, Mr.Wace was, and had a beautiful assortment of texts at hiscommand; but that day he used such dreadful language that Iwas about toleavethetable,whenheassuredmeitwasalloutofIsaiah;andInoticedthatwheneverthemastercameMr.Wacetooktotheprophets.Aboutseven,Agnescalledme tomymistress's room;and there I foundMr.Brympton.Hewasstandingonthehearth;abigfairbull-neckedman,witharedfaceandlittlebad-temperedblueeyes:thekindofmanayoungsimpletonmight have thought handsome, and would have been like to pay dear forthinkingit.HeswungaboutwhenIcamein,andlookedmeoverinatrice.Iknewwhatthelookmeant,fromhavingexperienceditonceortwiceinmyformerplaces.Thenheturnedhisbackonme,andwentontalkingtohiswife;andIknewwhatthatmeant, too.Iwasnotthekindofmorselhewasafter.Thetyphoidhadservedmewellenoughinoneway:itkeptthatkindofgentlemanatarm's-

length."Thisismynewmaid,Hartley,"saysMrs.Brymptoninherkindvoice;andhenoddedandwentonwithwhathewassaying.Inaminuteortwohewentoff,andleftmymistresstodressfordinner,andInoticedasIwaitedonherthatshewaswhite,andchilltothetouch.Mr.Brymptontookhimselfoffthenextmorning,andthewholehousedrewalongbreathwhenhedroveaway.Asformymistress,sheputonherhatandfurs(foritwasafinewintermorning)andwentoutforawalkinthegardens,comingbackquitefreshandrosy,sothatforaminute,beforehercolorfaded,Icouldguesswhataprettyyoungladyshemusthavebeen,andnotso longago,either.ShehadmetMr.Ranford in thegrounds,and the twocameback together, Iremember, smiling and talking as they walked along the terrace under mywindow.ThatwasthefirsttimeIsawMr.Ranford,thoughIhadoftenheardhisnamementionedinthehall.Hewasaneighbor,itappeared,livingamileortwobeyondBrympton,attheendofthevillage;andashewasinthehabitof spendinghiswinters in the countryhewas almost theonly companymymistresshadatthatseason.Hewasaslighttallgentlemanofaboutthirty,andIthoughthimrathermelancholy-lookingtillIsawhissmile,whichhadakindof surprise in it, like the firstwarmday in spring.Hewas a great reader, Iheard, likemymistress, and the two were forever borrowing books of oneanother, and sometimes (Mr. Wace told me) he would read aloud to Mrs.Brympton by the hour, in the big dark library where she sat in the winterafternoons. The servants all liked him, and perhaps that's more of acomplimentthanthemasterssuspect.Hehadafriendlywordforeveryoneofus, and we were all glad to think that Mrs. Brympton had a pleasantcompanionablegentlemanlikethattokeephercompanywhenthemasterwasaway.Mr.RanfordseemedonexcellenttermswithMr.Brymptontoo;thoughI couldn't butwonder that twogentlemen sounlike eachother shouldbe sofriendly. But then I knew how the real quality can keep their feelings tothemselves.As forMr.Brympton, he came andwent, never stayingmore than a dayortwo,cursing thedulnessand thesolitude,grumblingateverything,and(as Isoon found out) drinking a deal more than was good for him. After Mrs.BrymptonleftthetablehewouldsithalfthenightovertheoldBrymptonportandmadeira,andonce,asIwasleavingmymistress'sroomratherlaterthanusual,ImethimcomingupthestairsinsuchastatethatIturnedsicktothinkofwhatsomeladieshavetoendureandholdtheirtonguesabout.

Theservantssaidverylittleabouttheirmaster;butfromwhattheyletdropIcould see it hadbeen anunhappymatch from thebeginning.Mr.Brymptonwascoarse,loudandpleasure-loving;mymistressquiet,retiring,andperhapsatriflecold.Notthatshewasnotalwayspleasant-spokentohim:Ithoughtherwonderfullyforbearing;buttoagentlemanasfreeasMr.BrymptonIdaresaysheseemedalittleoffish.Well, things went on quietly for several weeks.Mymistress was kind, mydutieswere light, and I got onwellwith the other servants. In short, I hadnothingtocomplainof;yettherewasalwaysaweightonme.Ican'tsaywhyitwasso,but Iknowitwasnot the loneliness that I felt. I soongotused tothat;andbeingstilllanguidfromthefever,Iwasthankfulforthequietandthegood country air. Nevertheless, I was never quite easy in my mind. Mymistress,knowingIhadbeenill, insistedthatIshouldtakemywalkregular,and often invented errands for me:a yard of ribbon to be fetched from thevillage,a letterposted,orabookreturned toMr.Ranford.AssoonasIwasout of doorsmy spirits rose, and I looked forward tomywalks through thebaremoist-smellingwoods;butthemomentIcaughtsightofthehouseagainmy heart dropped down like a stone in a well. It was not a gloomy houseexactly,yetIneverentereditbutafeelingofgloomcameoverme.Mrs. Brympton seldomwent out in winter; only on the finest days did shewalkanhouratnoononthesouthterrace.ExceptingMr.Ranford,wehadnovisitorsbutthedoctor,whodroveoverfromDaboutonceaweek.Hesentformeonceor twice togiveme some triflingdirection aboutmymistress, andthoughhenevertoldmewhatherillnesswas,Ithought,fromawaxylookshehadnowandthenofamorning,thatitmightbetheheartthatailedher.Theseasonwassoftandunwholesome,andinJanuarywehadalongspellofrain.Thatwasasoretrial tome,Iown,forIcouldn'tgoout,andsittingovermysewingallday,listeningtothedrip,dripoftheeaves,Igrewsonervousthatthe least soundmademe jump. Somehow, the thought of that locked roomacross the passage began toweigh onme.Once or twice, in the long rainynights,IfanciedIheardnoisesthere;butthatwasnonsense,ofcourse,andthedaylight drove such notions out of my head. Well, one morning Mrs.Brymptongavemequiteastartofpleasurebytellingmeshewishedmetogoto townforsomeshopping. Ihadn'tknown till thenhowlowmyspiritshadfallen.Isetoffinhighglee,andmyfirstsightofthecrowdedstreetsandthecheerful-looking shops quite took me out of myself. Toward afternoon,however,thenoiseandconfusionbegantotireme,andIwasactuallylookingforwardtothequietofBrympton,andthinkinghowIshouldenjoythedrivehomethroughthedarkwoods,whenIranacrossanoldacquaintance,amaidIhadoncebeeninservicewith.Wehadlostsightofeachotherforanumberofyears,andIhadtostopandtellherwhathadhappenedtomeintheinterval.

WhenImentionedwhereIwaslivingsherolleduphereyesandpulledalongface."What!TheMrs.BrymptonthatlivesalltheyearatherplaceontheHudson?Mydear,youwon'tstaytherethreemonths.""Oh, but I don't mind the country," says I, offended somehow at her tone."SincethefeverI'mgladtobequiet."Sheshookherhead."It'snotthecountryI'mthinkingof.AllIknowisshe'shadfourmaids in the last sixmonths,and the lastone,whowasa friendofmine,toldmenobodycouldstayinthehouse.""Didshesaywhy?"Iasked."Noshe wouldn't giveme her reason. But she says tome,Mrs. Ansey, shesays,ifeverayoungwomanasyouknowofthinksofgoingthere,youtellherit'snotworthwhiletounpackherboxes.""Issheyoungandhandsome?"saidI,thinkingofMr.Brympton."Not her! She's the kind that mothers engage when they've gay younggentlemenatcollege."Well, though I knew thewomanwas an idle gossip, thewords stuck inmyhead, andmy heart sank lower than ever as I drove up toBrympton in thedusk.TherewassomethingaboutthehouseIwassureofitnow...WhenIwentintoteaIheardthatMr.Brymptonhadarrived,andIsawataglance that there had been a disturbance of some kind.Mrs. Blinder's handshook so that she could hardly pour the tea, andMr.Wacequoted themostdreadful textsfullofbrimstone.Nobodysaidawordtomethen,butwhenIwentuptomyroomMrs.Blinderfollowedme."Oh,my dear," says she, takingmy hand, "I'm so glad and thankful you'vecomebacktous!"That struck me, as you may imagine. "Why," said I, "did you think I wasleavingforgood?""No, no, to be sure," said she, a little confused, "but I can't a-bear to havemadamleftaloneforadayeven."Shepressedmyhandhard,and,"Oh,MissHartley,"saysshe,"begood toyourmistress,asyou'reaChristianwoman."Andwiththatshehurriedaway,andleftmestaring.AmomentlaterAgnescalledmetoMrs.Brympton.HearingMr.Brympton's

voiceinherroom,Iwentroundbythedressing-room,thinkingIwouldlayouther dinner-gownbefore going in.The dressing-room is a large roomwith awindow over the portico that looks toward the gardens. Mr. Brympton'sapartmentsarebeyond.WhenIwent in, thedoor into thebedroomwasajar,andIheardMr.Brymptonsayingangrily:"Onewouldsupposehewastheonlypersonfitforyoutotalkto.""Idon'thavemanyvisitorsinwinter,"Mrs.Brymptonansweredquietly."Youhaveme!"heflungather,sneering."Youareheresoseldom,"saidshe."Wellwhosefaultisthat?Youmaketheplaceaboutaslivelyasafamilyvault"WiththatIrattledthetoilet-things,togivemymistresswarningandsheroseandcalledmein.The twodined alone, asusual, and I knewbyMr.Wace'smanner at supperthat thingsmust be going badly.He quoted the prophets something terrible,andworkedon thekitchen-maid so that shedeclared shewouldn't godownalonetoputthecoldmeatintheice-box.Ifeltnervousmyself,andafterIhadputmymistresstobedIwashalf-temptedtogodownagainandpersuadeMrs.Blindertositupawhileoveragameofcards.ButIheardherdoorclosingforthenight,andsoIwentontomyownroom.Therainhadbegunagain,andthedrip,drip,dripseemedtobedroppingintomybrain.Ilayawakelisteningtoit,and turningoverwhatmyfriend in townhadsaid.Whatpuzzledmewasthatitwasalwaysthemaidswholeft...After a while I slept; but suddenly a loud noise wakenedme.My bell hadrung.Isatup,terrifiedbytheunusualsound,whichseemedtogoonjanglingthroughthedarkness.MyhandsshooksothatIcouldn'tfindthematches.Atlength I struck a light and jumpedout of bed. I began to think Imust havebeendreaming;butIlookedatthebellagainstthewall,andtherewasthelittlehammerstillquivering.IwasjustbeginningtohuddleonmyclotheswhenIheardanothersound.Thistime it was the door of the locked room opposite mine softly opening andclosing.Iheardthesounddistinctly,anditfrightenedmesothatIstoodstockstill. Then I heard a footstep hurrying down the passage toward the mainhouse.Thefloorbeingcarpeted,thesoundwasveryfaint,butIwasquitesureitwasawoman'sstep.Iturnedcoldwiththethoughtofit,andforaminuteortwoIdursn'tbreatheormove.ThenIcametomysenses."AliceHartley," says I tomyself, "someone left that room justnowand ran

downthepassageaheadofyou.Theideaisn'tpleasant,butyoumayaswellfaceit.Yourmistresshasrungforyou,andtoanswerherbellyou'vegottogothewaythatotherwomanhasgone."WellIdidit.Ineverwalkedfasterinmylife,yetIthoughtIshouldnevergettotheendofthepassageorreachMrs.Brympton'sroom.OnthewayIheardnothingandsawnothing:allwasdarkandquietasthegrave.WhenIreachedmymistress's door the silencewas so deep that I began to think Imust bedreaming, andwashalf-minded to turnback.Thenapanic seizedme, and Iknocked.Therewasno answer, and I knocked again, loudly.Tomyastonishment thedoorwasopenedbyMr.Brympton.Hestartedbackwhenhesawme,andinthelightofmycandlehisfacelookedredandsavage."You!" he said, in a queer voice. "How many of you are there, in God'sname?"AtthatIfeltthegroundgiveunderme;butIsaidtomyselfthathehadbeendrinking, and answered as steadily as I could: "May I go in, sir? Mrs.Brymptonhasrungforme.""Youmay all go in, forwhat I care," says he, and, pushing byme,walkeddownthehalltohisownbedroom.Ilookedafterhimashewent,andtomysurpriseIsawthathewalkedasstraightasasoberman.Ifoundmymistresslyingveryweakandstill,butsheforcedasmilewhenshesawme,andsignedtometopouroutsomedropsforher.After thatshe laywithoutspeaking,herbreathcomingquick,andhereyesclosed.Suddenlyshegropedoutwithherhand,and"Emma,"saysshe,faintly."It'sHartley,madam,"Isaid."Doyouwantanything?"Sheopenedhereyeswideandgavemeastartledlook."Iwasdreaming,"shesaid."Youmaygo,now,Hartley,andthankyoukindly.I'mquitewellagain,yousee."Andsheturnedherfaceawayfromme.

IIITHERE was no more sleep for me that night, and I was thankful whendaylightcame.Soonafterward,AgnescalledmetoMrs.Brympton.Iwasafraidshewasillagain,forsheseldomsentformebeforenine,butIfoundhersittingupinbed,

paleanddrawn-looking,butquiteherself."Hartley,"saysshequickly,"willyouputonyourthingsatonceandgodownto thevillageforme?Iwant thisprescriptionmadeup"hereshehesitatedaminute and blushed"and I should like you to be back again before Mr.Brymptonisup.""Certainly,madam,"Isaid."Andstayamoment"shecalledmebackasifanideahadjuststruckher"whileyou'rewaitingforthemixture,you'llhavetimetogoontoMr.Ranford'swiththisnote."Itwasatwo-milewalktothevillage,andonmywayIhadtimetoturnthingsover inmymind. It struckme as peculiar thatmymistress shouldwish theprescription made up without Mr. Brympton's knowledge; and, putting thistogether with the scene of the night before, and with much else that I hadnoticedandsuspected, Ibegan towonder if thepoor ladywaswearyofherlife,andhadcometothemadresolveofendingit.Theideatooksuchholdonme that I reached the village on a run, and dropped breathless into a chairbefore the chemist's counter. The goodman,whowas just taking down hisshutters,staredatmesohardthatitbroughtmetomyself."Mr.Limmel,"Isays,tryingtospeakindifferent,"willyourunyoureyeoverthis,andtellmeifit'squiteright?"Heputonhisspectaclesandstudiedtheprescription."Why,it'soneofDr.Walton's,"sayshe."Whatshouldbewrongwithit?""Wellisitdangeroustotake?""Dangeroushowdoyoumean?"Icouldhaveshakenthemanforhisstupidity."Imeanifapersonwastotaketoomuchofitbymistakeofcourse"saysI,myheartinmythroat."Lordblessyou,no.It'sonly lime-water.Youmightfeedit toababybythebottleful."Igaveagreatsighofrelief,andhurriedontoMr.Ranford's.Butonthewayanother thoughtstruckme.If therewasnothing toconcealaboutmyvisit tothechemist's,wasitmyothererrandthatMrs.Brymptonwishedmetokeepprivate?Somehow, that thought frightenedmeworse than the other.Yet the

twogentlemenseemedfastfriends,andIwouldhavestakedmyheadonmymistress'sgoodness.Ifeltashamedofmysuspicions,andconcludedthatIwasstill disturbed by the strange events of the night. I left the note at Mr.Ranford'sand,hurryingback toBrympton, slipped inbya sidedoorwithoutbeingseen,asIthought.An hour later, however, as Iwas carrying inmymistress's breakfast, IwasstoppedinthehallbyMr.Brympton."Whatwereyoudoingoutsoearly?"hesays,lookinghardatme."Earlyme,sir?"Isaid,inatremble."Come,come,"hesays,anangryredspotcomingoutonhisforehead,"didn'tIseeyouscuttlinghomethroughtheshrubberyanhourormoreago?"I'matruthfulwomanbynature,butatthataliepoppedoutready-made."No,sir,youdidn't,"saidI,andlookedstraightbackathim.Heshruggedhisshouldersandgaveasullenlaugh."IsupposeyouthinkIwasdrunklastnight?"heaskedsuddenly."No,sir,Idon't,"Ianswered,thistimetruthfullyenough.Heturnedawaywithanothershrug."Aprettynotionmyservantshaveofme!"Iheardhimmutterashewalkedoff.Not till I had settled down to my afternoon's sewing did I realize how theeventsofthenighthadshakenme.Icouldn'tpassthatlockeddoorwithoutashiver.IknewIhadheardsomeonecomeoutofit,andwalkdownthepassageaheadofme.I thoughtofspeakingtoMrs.BlinderortoMr.Wace,theonlytwointhehousewhoappearedtohaveaninklingofwhatwasgoingon,butIhadafeelingthatifIquestionedthemtheywoulddenyeverything,andthatImightlearnmorebyholdingmytongueandkeepingmyeyesopen.Theideaofspendinganothernightoppositethelockedroomsickenedme,andonceIwas seizedwith thenotionofpackingmy trunkand taking the first train totown;butitwasn'tinmetothrowoverakindmistressinthatmanner,andItriedtogoonwithmysewingasifnothinghadhappened.I hadn'tworked tenminutes before the sewing-machine broke down. ItwasoneIhadfoundinthehouse,agoodmachine,butatrifleoutoforder:Mrs.Blinder said ithadneverbeenusedsinceEmmaSaxon'sdeath. I stopped toseewhatwaswrong,andasIwasworkingat themachineadrawerwhichIhadneverbeenabletoopenslidforwardandaphotographfellout.Ipickeditupandsatlookingatitinamaze.Itwasawoman'slikeness,andIknewIhad

seen the face somewherethe eyes had an asking look that I had felt onmebefore.AndsuddenlyIrememberedthepalewomaninthepassage.I stood up, cold all over, and ran out of the room.My heart seemed to bethumpinginthetopofmyhead,andIfeltasifIshouldnevergetawayfromthe look in those eyes. I went straight toMrs. Blinder. Shewas taking herafternoonnap,andsatupwithajumpwhenIcamein."Mrs.Blinder,"saidI,"whoisthat?"AndIheldoutthephotograph.Sherubbedhereyesandstared."Why,EmmaSaxon,"saysshe."Wheredidyoufindit?"I lookedhardather foraminute."Mrs.Blinder," Isaid,"I'veseen that facebefore."Mrs.Blindergotupandwalkedover to the looking-glass."Dearme!Imusthavebeenasleep," she says. "My front is all overoneear.Andnowdo runalong,Miss Hartley, dear, for I hear the clock striking four, and I must godown this very minute and put on the Virginia ham for Mr. Brympton'sdinner."

IVTO all appearances, things went on as usual for a week or two. The onlydifferencewasthatMr.Brymptonstayedon,insteadofgoingoffasheusuallydid,andthatMr.Ranfordnevershowedhimself.IheardMr.Brymptonremarkonthisoneafternoonwhenhewassittinginmymistress'sroombeforedinner."Where'sRanford?"sayshe."Hehasn'tbeennearthehouseforaweek.DoeshekeepawaybecauseI'mhere?"Mrs.BrymptonspokesolowthatIcouldn'tcatchheranswer."Well,"hewenton,"two'scompanyand three's trumpery; I'msorry tobe inRanford'sway,andIsupposeIshallhavetotakemyselfoffagaininadayortwoandgivehimashow."Andhelaughedathisownjoke.Theverynextday,as ithappened,Mr.Ranfordcalled.Thefootmansaidthethreewereverymerryovertheirteainthelibrary,andMr.BrymptonstrolleddowntothegatewithMr.Ranfordwhenheleft.Ihavesaidthat thingswentonasusual;andsotheydidwiththerestof thehousehold; but as formyself, I hadneverbeen the same since thenightmybell had rung. Night after night I used to lie awake, listening for it to ring

again, and for the door of the locked room to open stealthily. But the bellneverrang,andIheardnosoundacrossthepassage.Atlastthesilencebeganto be more dreadful to me than the most mysterious sounds. I felt thatsomeonewerecoweringthere,behindthelockeddoor,watchingandlisteningas Iwatchedand listened,and Icouldalmosthavecriedout, "Whoeveryouare,comeoutandletmeseeyoufacetoface,butdon'tlurkthereandspyonmeinthedarkness!"FeelingasIdid,youmaywonderIdidn'tgivewarning.OnceIverynearlydidso; but at the last moment something held me back. Whether it wascompassionformymistress,whohadgrownmoreandmoredependentonme,orunwillingnesstotryanewplace,orsomeotherfeelingthatIcouldn'tputaname to, I lingeredonas if spell-bound, thougheverynightwasdreadful tome,andthedaysbutlittlebetter.For one thing, I didn't likeMrs. Brympton's looks. She had never been thesame since that night, nomore than I had. I thought shewould brighten upafterMr.Brymptonleft,butthoughsheseemedeasierinhermind,herspiritsdidn't revive, nor her strength either. She had grown attached to me, andseemedtoliketohavemeabout;andAgnestoldmeonedaythat,sinceEmmaSaxon'sdeath,Iwastheonlymaidhermistresshadtakento.Thisgavemeawarmfeelingfor thepoorlady, thoughafterall therewaslittleIcoulddotohelpher.AfterMr.Brympton's departure,Mr.Ranford took to coming again, thoughless often than formerly. Imet him once or twice in the grounds, or in thevillage, and I couldn't but think therewas a change in him too; but I set itdowntomydisorderedfancy.Theweekspassed,andMr.Brymptonhadnowbeenamonthabsent.WeheardhewascruisingwithafriendintheWestIndies,andMr.Wacesaidthatwasalong way off, but though you had the wings of a dove and went to theuttermostpartsoftheearth,youcouldn'tgetawayfromtheAlmighty.AgnessaidthataslongashestayedawayfromBrympton,theAlmightymighthavehimandwelcome;and thisraiseda laugh, thoughMrs.Blinder tried to lookshocked,andMr.Wacesaidthebearswouldeatus.We were all glad to hear that theWest Indies were a long way off, and Iremember that, in spite of Mr.Wace's solemn looks, we had a very merrydinnerthatdayinthehall.Idon'tknowifitwasbecauseofmybeinginbetterspirits, but I fancied Mrs. Brympton looked better too, and seemed morecheerful in hermanner. She had been for a walk in themorning, and afterluncheon she lay down in her room, and I read aloud to her. When she

dismissedmeIwenttomyownroomfeelingquitebrightandhappy,andforthefirsttimeinweekswalkedpastthelockeddoorwithoutthinkingofit.AsIsat down tomywork I looked out and saw a few snow-flakes falling. Thesightwaspleasanterthantheeternalrain,andIpicturedtomyselfhowprettythebaregardenswould look in theirwhitemantle. Itseemedtomeas if thesnowwouldcoverupallthedreariness,indoorsaswellasout.The fancy had hardly crossed my mind when I heard a step at my side. Ilookedup,thinkingitwasAgnes."Well,Agnes"saidI,andthewordsfrozeonmytongue;forthere,inthedoor,stoodEmmaSaxon.Idon'tknowhowlongshestoodthere.IonlyknowIcouldn'tstirortakemyeyesfromher.AfterwardIwasterriblyfrightened,butatthetimeitwasn'tfearIfelt,butsomethingdeeperandquieter.Shelookedatmelongandlong,andher facewas justonedumbprayer tomebuthowin theworldwas I tohelpher?Suddenlysheturned,andIheardherwalkdownthepassage.ThistimeIwasn'tafraidtofollowIfeltthatImustknowwhatshewanted.Isprangupandranout.Shewasattheotherendofthepassage,andIexpectedhertotaketheturntowardmymistress'sroom;butinsteadofthatshepushedopenthedoorthat led to the backstairs. I followed her down the stairs, and across thepassagewaytothebackdoor.Thekitchenandhallwereemptyatthathour,theservantsbeingoffduty,exceptforthefootman,whowasinthepantry.Atthedoor she stood still amoment,with another look atme; then she turned thehandle,andsteppedout.ForaminuteIhesitated.Wherewassheleadingmeto?Thedoorhadclosedsoftlyafterher,andIopeneditandlookedout,half-expecting to find that she had disappeared. But I saw her a few yards off,hurrying across the court-yard to the path through the woods. Her figurelookedblackandlonelyinthesnow,andforasecondmyheartfailedmeandIthoughtofturningback.Butallthewhileshewasdrawingmeafterher;andcatchingupanoldshawlofMrs.Blinder'sIranoutintotheopen.Emma Saxon was in the wood-path now. She walked on steadily, and Ifollowedatthesamepace,tillwepassedoutofthegatesandreachedthehigh-road.Then she struck across theopen fields to thevillage.By this time thegroundwaswhite,andassheclimbedtheslopeofabarehillaheadofmeInoticed that she left no foot-prints behind her. At sight of that, my heartshrivelled upwithinme, andmykneeswerewater. Somehow, itwasworseherethanindoors.Shemadethewholecountrysideseemlonelyasthegrave,withnonebutustwoinit,andnohelpinthewideworld.OnceItriedtogoback;butsheturnedandlookedatme,anditwasasifshehaddraggedmewithropes.AfterthatIfollowedherlikeadog.Wecameto

the village, and she ledme through it, past the church and the blacksmith'sshop,anddownthelanetoMr.Ranford's.Mr.Ranford'shousestandsclosetothe road: a plain old-fashioned building, with a flagged path leading to thedoorbetweenbox-borders.Thelanewasdeserted,andasIturnedintoit,IsawEmmaSaxonpauseundertheoldelmbythegate.Andnowanotherfearcameoverme.Isawthatwehadreachedtheendofourjourney,andthatitwasmyturn to act.All theway fromBrympton I had been askingmyselfwhat shewantedofme,butIhadfollowedinatrance,asitwere,andnottillIsawherstopatMr.Ranford'sgatedidmybrainbegin toclear itself. It stooda littlewayoffinthesnow,myheartbeatingfittostrangleme,andmyfeetfrozentotheground;andshestoodundertheelmandwatchedme.Iknewwellenoughthatshehadn't ledmetherefornothing.Ifelt therewassomethingIoughttosayordobuthowwasItoguesswhatitwas?IhadneverthoughtharmofmymistressandMr.Ranford,butIwassurenowthat,fromonecauseoranother,somedreadfulthinghungoverthem.Sheknewwhatitwas;shewouldtellmeifshecould;perhapsshewouldanswerifIquestionedher.It turned me faint to think of speaking to her; but I plucked up heart anddragged myself across the few yards between us. As I did so, I heard thehouse-dooropen,andsawMr.Ranfordapproaching.Helookedhandsomeandcheerful, as my mistress had looked that morning, and at sight of him thebloodbegantoflowagaininmyveins."Why,Hartley,"saidhe,"what'sthematter?Isawyoucomingdownthelanejustnow,andcameouttoseeifyouhadtakenrootinthesnow."Hestoppedandstaredatme."Whatareyoulookingat?"hesays.Iturnedtowardtheelmashespoke,andhiseyesfollowedme;buttherewasnoonethere.Thelanewasemptyasfarastheeyecouldreach.Asenseofhelplessnesscameoverme.Shewasgone,andIhadnotbeenabletoguesswhatshewanted.Herlastlookhadpiercedmetothemarrow;andyetithadnottoldme!Allatonce,Ifeltmoredesolatethanwhenshehadstoodtherewatchingme.ItseemedasifshehadleftmeallalonetocarrytheweightofthesecretIcouldn'tguess.Thesnowwentroundmeingreatcircles,andthegroundfellawayfromme....Adropofbrandyand thewarmthofMr.Ranford's fire soonbroughtme to,andIinsistedonbeingdrivenbackatoncetoBrympton.Itwasnearlydark,andIwasafraidmymistressmightbewantingme.IexplainedtoMr.RanfordthatIhadbeenoutforawalkandhadbeentakenwithafitofgiddinessasIpassedhisgate.Thiswas true enough;yet I never feltmore like a liar than

whenIsaidit.WhenIdressedMrs.Brymptonfordinnersheremarkedonmypalelooksandaskedwhatailedme.ItoldherIhadaheadache,andshesaidshewouldnotrequiremeagainthatevening,andadvisedmetogotobed.ItwasafactthatIcouldscarcelykeeponmyfeet;yetIhadnofancytospendasolitaryeveninginmyroom.IsatdownstairsinthehallaslongasIcouldholdmyheadup;butbynineIcreptupstairs,toowearytocarewhathappenedifIcouldbutgetmyheadonapillow.Therestofthehouseholdwenttobedsoonafterward;theykeptearlyhourswhenthemasterwasaway,andbeforetenIheardMrs.Blinder'sdoorclose,andMr.Wace'ssoonafter.Itwasaverystillnight,earthandairallmuffledinsnow.OnceinbedIfelteasier,andlayquiet, listeningto thestrangenoises thatcomeout inahouseafterdark.OnceIthoughtIheardadooropenandcloseagainbelow:itmighthavebeentheglassdoorthatledtothegardens.Igotupandpeeredoutofthewindow;butitwasinthedarkofthemoon,andnothingvisibleoutsidebutthestreakingofsnowagainstthepanes.Iwentback tobedandmusthavedozed, for I jumpedawake to the furiousringingofmybell.BeforemyheadwasclearIhadsprungoutofbed,andwasdraggingonmyclothes.Itisgoingtohappennow,Iheardmyselfsaying;butwhat I meant I had no notion.My hands seemed to be covered with glueIthought I should never get into my clothes. At last I opened my door andpeered down the passage. As far as my candle-flame carried, I could seenothingunusualaheadofme.Ihurriedon,breathless;butasIpushedopenthebaizedoorleadingtothemainhallmyheartstoodstill,forthereattheheadofthestairswasEmmaSaxon,peeringdreadfullydownintothedarkness.For a second I couldn't stir; but my hand slipped from the door, and as itswungshutthefigurevanished.Atthesameinstanttherecameanothersoundfrombelowstairsastealthymysterioussound,asofalatch-keyturninginthehouse-door.IrantoMrs.Brympton'sroomandknocked.There was no answer, and I knocked again. This time I heard some onemovingintheroom;theboltslippedbackandmymistressstoodbeforeme.TomysurpriseIsawthatshehadnotundressedforthenight.Shegavemeastartledlook."What is this,Hartley?" she says in awhisper. "Are you ill?What are youdoinghereatthishour?""Iamnotill,madam;butmybellrang."

Atthatsheturnedpale,andseemedabouttofall."You are mistaken," she said harshly; "I didn't ring. You must have beendreaming."Ihadneverheardherspeakinsuchatone."Gobacktobed,"shesaid,closingthedooronme.ButasshespokeIheardsoundsagaininthehallbelow:aman'sstepthistime;andthetruthleapedoutonme."Madam,"Isaid,pushingpasther,"thereissomeoneinthehouse""Someone?""Mr.Brympton,IthinkIhearhisstepbelow"Adreadful look cameover her, andwithout aword, shedropped flat atmyfeet.Ifellonmykneesandtriedtolifther:bythewayshebreathedIsawitwasnocommonfaint.ButasIraisedherheadtherecamequickstepsonthestairs and across the hall: the door was flung open, and there stood Mr.Brympton, in his travelling-clothes, the snow dripping from him. He drewbackwithastartashesawmekneelingbymymistress."Whatthedevilisthis?"heshouted.Hewaslesshigh-coloredthanusual,andtheredspotcameoutonhisforehead."Mrs.Brymptonhasfainted,sir,"saidI.Helaughedunsteadilyandpushedbyme."It'sapityshedidn'tchooseamoreconvenientmoment.I'msorrytodisturbher,but"Iraisedmyselfup,aghastattheman'saction."Sir,"saidI,"areyoumad?Whatareyoudoing?""Goingtomeetafriend,"saidhe,andseemedtomakeforthedressing-room.At that my heart turned over. I don't knowwhat I thought or feared; but Isprangupandcaughthimbythesleeve."Sir,sir,"saidI,"forpity'ssakelookatyourwife!"Heshookmeofffuriously."Itseemsthat'sdoneforme,"sayshe,andcaughtholdof thedressing-roomdoor.AtthatmomentIheardaslightnoiseinside.Slightasitwas,heheardittoo,

and tore thedooropen;but ashedid sohedroppedback.On the thresholdstoodEmmaSaxon.Allwasdarkbehindher,butIsawherplainly,andsodidhe.Hethrewuphishandsasiftohidehisfacefromher;andwhenIlookedagainshewasgone.Hestoodmotionless,asifthestrengthhadrunoutofhim;andinthestillnessmymistresssuddenlyraisedherself,andopeninghereyesfixedalookonhim.Thenshefellback,andIsawthedeath-flutterpassoverher....We buried her on the third day, in a driving snow-storm. There were fewpeople in the church, for itwasbadweather to come from town, and I've anotionmymistresswasone thathadn'tmanynear friends.Mr.Ranfordwasamong the last to come, justbefore theycarriedherup theaisle.Hewas inblack, of course, being such a friend of the family, and I never saw agentlemansopale.Ashepassedme,Inoticedthatheleanedatrifleonastickhecarried;andIfancyMr.Brymptonnoticedittoo,fortheredspotcameoutsharponhis forehead, andall through the servicehekept staring across thechurchatMr.Ranford,insteadoffollowingtheprayersasamournershould.When it was over and we went out to the graveyard, Mr. Ranford haddisappeared, and as soon asmy poormistress's bodywas underground,Mr.Brympton jumped into the carriagenearest thegate anddroveoffwithout awordtoanyofus.Iheardhimcallout,"Tothestation,"andweservantswentbackalonetothehouse.

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