LIFE ANDGABRIELLA

THE STORY OF A WOMAN'S COURAGE

BYELLEN GLASGOW

FRONTISPIECEBYC. ALLAN GILBERT

GARDEN CITY NEW YORK

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY1916

CONTENTS

BOOK FIRST--THE AGE OF FAITH

CHAPTER PAGE I. Presents a Shameless Heroine 3 II. Poor Jane 30 III. A Start in Life 61 IV. Mirage 90 V. The New World 122 VI. The Old Serpent 148 VII. Motherhood 176

BOOK SECOND--THE AGE OF KNOWLEDGE

 I. Disenchantment. 211 II. A Second Start in Life 241 III. Work 274 IV. The Dream and the Years 300 V. Success 331 VI. Discoveries 368 VII. Readjustments 406 VIII. The Test 444 IX. The Past 476 X. Dream and the Reality 501

BOOK FIRST

THE AGE OF FAITH

CHAPTER I

PRESENTS A SHAMELESS HEROINE

After a day of rain the sun came out suddenly at five o'clock and threwa golden bar into the deep Victorian gloom of the front parlour. On thewindow-sill, midway between the white curtains, a pot of blue hyacinthsstood in a cracked china plate, and as the sunlight shone into the room, the scent of the blossoms floated to the corner where Gabriella waspatiently pulling basting threads out of the hem of a skirt. For aminute her capable hands stopped at their work, and raising her smoothdark head she looked compassionately at her sister Jane, who wassitting, like a frozen image of martyrdom, in the middle of the longhorsehair sofa. Three times within the last twelve months Jane had fledfrom her husband's roof to the protection of her widowed mother, a weakperson of excellent ancestry, who could hardly have protected a sparrowhad one taken refuge beneath her skirt. Twice before Mrs. Carr had weptover her daughter's woes and returned her, a sullen saint, to the armsof the discreetly repentant Charley; but to-day, while the four olderchildren were bribed to good behaviour with bread and damson preservesin the pantry, and the baby was contentedly playing with his rubber ringin his mother's arms, Gabriella had passionately declared that "Janemust never, never go back!" Nothing so dreadful as this had everhappened before, for the repentant Charley had been discovered makinglove to his wife's dressmaker, a pretty French girl whom Jane hadengaged for her spring sewing because she had more "style" than hadfallen to the austerely virtuous lot of the Carr's regular seamstress, Miss Folly Hatch. "I might have known she was too pretty to be good, "moaned Jane, while Mrs. Carr, in her willow rocking-chair by the window, wiped her reddened eyelids on the strip of cambric ruffling she washemming. 

Unmoved among them the baby beat methodically on his mother's breastwith his rubber ring, as indifferent to her sobs as to the intermittenttearful "coos" of his grandmother. He had a smooth bald head, fringed, like the head of a very old man, with pale silken hair that was almostwhite in the sunshine, and his eyes, as expressionless as marbles, stared over the pot of hyacinths at a sparrow perched against the deepblue sky on the red brick wall of the opposite house. From beneath hisstarched little skirt his feet, in pink crocheted shoes, protruded witha forlorn and helpless air as if they hardly belonged to him. 

"Oh, my poor child, what are we going to do?" asked Mrs. Carr in aresigned voice as she returned to her hemming. 

"There's nothing to do, mother, " answered Jane, without lifting her eyesfrom the baby's head, without moving an inch out of the position she haddropped into when she entered the room. Then, after a sobbing pause, shedefined in a classic formula her whole philosophy of life: "It wasn't myfault, " she said. 

"But one can always do something if it's only to scream, " rejoinedGabriella with spirit. 

"I wouldn't scream, " replied Jane, while the pale cast of resolutionhardened her small flat features, "not--not if he killed me. My onecomfort, " she added pathetically, "is that only you and mother know howhe treats me. "

Her pretty vacant face with its faded bloom resembled a pastel portraitin which the artist had forgotten to paint an expression. "Poor JaneGracey, " as she was generally called, had wasted the last ten years in afutile effort to hide the fact of an unfortunate marriage beneath anexcessively cheerful manner. She talked continually because talkingseemed to her the most successful way of "keeping up an appearance. "Though everybody who knew her knew also that Charley Gracey neglectedher shamefully, she spent twelve hours of the twenty-four pretendingthat she was perfectly happy. At nineteen she had been a belle andbeauty of the willowy sort; but at thirty she had relapsed into one ofthe women whom men admire in theory and despise in reality. She hadstarted with a natural tendency to clinging sweetness; as the years wenton the sweetness, instead of growing fainter, had become almost cloying, while the clinging had hysterically tightened into a clutch. CharleyGracey, who had married her under the mistaken impression that her typewas restful for a reforming rake, (not realizing that there is nothingso mentally disturbing as a fool) had been changed by marriage from agay bird of the barnyard into a veritable hawk of the air. His behaviourwas the scandal of the town, yet the greater his sins, the intenser grewJane's sweetness, the more twining her hold. "Nobody will ever think ofblaming you, darling, " said Mrs. Carr consolingly. "You have behavedbeautifully from the beginning. We all know what a perfect wife you havebeen. "

"I've tried to do my duty even if Charley failed in his, " replied theperfect wife, unfastening the hooks of her small heliotrope wrap trimmedwith tarnished silver passementerie. Above her short flaxen "bang" shewore a crumpled purple hat ornamented with bunches of velvet pansies;and though it was two years old, and out of fashion at a period whenfashions changed less rapidly, it lent an air of indecent festivity toher tearful face. Her youth was already gone, for her beauty had been ofthe fragile kind that breaks early, and her wan, aristocratic featureshad settled into the downward droop which comes to the faces of peoplewho habitually "expect the worst. "

"I know, Jane, I know, " murmured Mrs. Carr, dropping her thimble as shenervously tried to hasten her sewing. "But don't you think it would be acomfort, dear, to have the advice of a man about Charley? Won't you letme send Marthy for your Cousin Jimmy Wrenn?"

"Oh, mother, I couldn't. It would kill me to have everybody know I'munhappy!" wailed Jane, breaking down. 

"But everybody knows anyway, Jane, " said Gabriella, sticking the pointof her scissors into a strip of buckram, for she was stiffening thebottom of the skirt after the fashion of the middle 'nineties. 

"Of course I'm foolishly sensitive, " returned Jane, while she lifted thebaby from her lap and placed him in a pile of cushions by the deep armof the sofa, where he sat imperturbably gazing at the blue sky and thered wall from which the sparrow had flown. "You can never understand myfeelings because you are so different. "

"Gabriella is not married, " observed Mrs. Carr, with sentimentalfinality. "But I'm sure, Jane--I'm just as sure as I can be of anythingthat it wouldn't do a bit of harm to speak to Cousin Jimmy Wrenn. Menknow so much more than women about such matters. "

In her effort to recover her thimble she dropped her spool of thread, which rolled under the sofa on which Jane was sitting, and while shewaited for Gabriella to find it, she gazed pensively into the almostdeserted street where the slender shadows of poplar trees slanted overthe wet cobblestones. Though Mrs. Carr worked every instant of her time, except the few hours when she lay in bed trying to sleep, and the fewminutes when she sat at the table trying to eat, nothing that she beganwas ever finished until Gabriella took it out of her hands. She did herbest, for she was as conscientious in her way as poor Jane, yet throughsome tragic perversity of fate her best seemed always to fall short ofthe simplest requirements of life. Her face, like Jane's, was long andthin, with a pathetic droop at the corners of the mouth, a small bonynose, always slightly reddened at the tip, and faded blue eyes beneathan even row of little flat round curls which looked as if they wereplastered on her forehead. 

Thirty-three years before, in the romantic and fiery 'sixties, she hadmarried dashing young Gabriel Carr for no better reason apparently thanthat she was falling vaguely in love with love; and the marriage, whichhad been one of reckless passion on his side, had been for her scarcelymore than the dreamer's hesitating compromise with reality. Passion, which she had been taught to regard as an unholy attribute implanted bythe Creator, with inscrutable wisdom, in the nature of man, and left outof the nature of woman, had never troubled her gentle and affectionatesoul; and not until the sudden death of her husband did she begin evenremotely to fall in love with the man. But when he was once safely deadshe worshipped his memory with an ardour which would have seemed to herindelicate had he been still alive. For sixteen years she had worn acrape veil on her bonnet, and she still went occasionally, after themorning service was over on Sunday, to place fresh flowers on his grave. Now that his "earthly nature, " against which she had struggled soearnestly while he was living, was no longer in need of the piousexorcisms with which she had treated its frequent manifestations, sheremembered only the dark beauty of his face, his robust and vigorousyouth, the tenderness and gallantry of his passion. For her daughtersshe had drawn an imaginary portrait of him which combined the paganbeauty of Antinous with the militant purity of Saint Paul; and thisromantic blending of the heathen and the Presbyterian virtues had passedthrough her young imagination into the awakening soul of Gabriella. 

By the town at large Mrs. Carr's sorrow was alluded to as "a beautifulgrief, " yet so deeply rooted in her being was the instinct to twine, that for the first few years of her bereavement she had simply sat inher widow's weeds, with her rent paid by Cousin Jimmy Wrenn and hermarket bills settled monthly by Uncle Beverly Blair, and waitedpatiently for some man to come and support her. 

When no man came, and Uncle Beverly died of a stroke of apoplexy withhis will unsigned, she had turned, with the wasted energy of the unfitand the incompetent, to solve the inexplicable problem of indigentladyhood. And it was at this crucial instant that Becky Bollingbroke hadput her awful question: "Have you made up your mind, Fanny, what you aregoing to do?" That was twelve years ago, but deep down in some secretcave of Fanny's being the ghastly echo of the words still reverberatedthrough the emptiness and the silence. 

"Don't you think, darling, " she pleaded now, as she had pleaded to Beckyon that other dreadful occasion, "that we had better send immediatelyfor Cousin Jimmy Wrenn?"

"I--I can't think, " gasped Jane, "but you may if you want to, mother. "

"Send, Gabriella, " said Mrs. Carr quickly, and she added tenderly, whileGabriella dropped her work and ran to the outside kitchen for Marthy, the coloured drudge, "you will feel so much better, Jane, after you havehad his advice. "

Then at the sight of Jane's stricken face, which had turned blue as iffrom a sudden chill, she hurriedly opened the drawer of her sewingmachine, and taking out a bottle of camphor she kept there, begantremulously rubbing her daughter's forehead. As she did so, sheremembered, with the startling irrelevance of the intellectuallyuntrained, the way Jane had looked in her veil and orange blossoms onthe day of her wedding. 

"I wonder what on earth we have done to deserve our troubles?" she foundherself thinking while she put the stopper back into the bottle andreturned to her sewing. 

"Marthy has gone, mother, " said Gabriella, with her cheerful air as shecame back into the room, "and I shut the children in the laundry withDolly who is doing the washing. "

"I hope they won't make themselves sick with preserves, " remarked Jane, with the first dart of energy she had shown. "Perhaps I'd better go andsee. If Fanny eats too much we'll be up all night with her. "

"I told Dolly not to let them stuff, " answered Gabriella, as she satdown by the window and threaded her needle. She was a tall, dark girl, slender and straight as a young poplar, with a face that was frank andpleasant rather than pretty, and sparkling brown eyes which turnedgolden and grew bright as swords when she was angry. Seen by the stronglight of the window, her face showed sallow in tone, with a certainnobility about the bony structure beneath the soft girlish flesh, and alook of almost stern decision in the square chin and in the full richcurve of the mouth. Her hair, which was too fine and soft to show itsthickness, drooped from its parting at the side in a dark wing over herforehead, where it shadowed her arched black eyebrows and the clearsweet gravity of her eyes. As she bent over her sewing the thin purelines of her body had a look of arrested energy, of relaxed butexuberant vitality. 

"You won't go to the dance to-night, will you, Gabriella?" inquired Mrs. Carr nervously. 

"No, I'm not going, " answered the girl regretfully, for she loveddancing, and her white organdie dress, trimmed with quillings of blueribbon, lay upstairs on the bed. "I'll never dance again if only Janewon't go back to Charley. I'll work my fingers to the bone to help hertake care of the children. "

"I'll never, never go back, " chanted Jane with feverish passion. 

"But I thought Arthur Peyton was coming for you, " said Mrs. Carr. "Hewill be so disappointed. "

"Oh, he'll understand--he'll have to, " replied Gabriella carelessly. 

The sunshine faded slowly from the hyacinths on the window-sill, anddrawing her crocheted cape of purple wool closer about her, Mrs. Carrmoved a little nearer the fireplace. Outside the March wind was blowingwith a melancholy sound up the long straight street, and rocking theglossy boughs of an old magnolia tree in the yard From the shiningleaves of the tree a few drops of water fell on the brick pavement, where several joyous sparrows were drinking, and farther off, as brightas silver in the clear wind, a solitary church spire rose above thehuddled roofs of the town. When the wind lulled, as it did now and then, a warm breath seemed to stir in the sunshine, which grew suddenlybrighter, while a promise of spring floated like a faint provocativescent on the air. And this scent, so vague, so roving, that it was likethe ghostly perfume of flowers, stole at last into the memory, and madethe old dream of youth and the young grow restless at the call of Life, which sang to the music of flutes in the brain. But the wind, risingafresh, drove the spirit of spring from the street, and swept the brokenleaves of the magnolia tree over the drenched grass to the green-paintediron urns on either side of the steps. 

The house, a small brick dwelling, set midway of an expressionless rowand wearing on its front a look of desiccated gentility, stood in oneof those forgotten streets where needy gentlewomen do "lighthousekeeping" in an obscure hinterland of respectability. Hill Street, which had once known fashion, and that only yesterday, as old ladiescount, had sunk at last into a humble state of decay. Here and there theedges of porches had crumbled; grass was beginning to sprout by thecurbstone; and the once comfortable homes had opened their doors toboarders or let their large, high-ceiled rooms to the impoverishedrelicts of Confederate soldiers. Only a few blocks away the stream ofmodern progress, sweeping along Broad Street, was rapidly changing theold Southern city into one of those bustling centres of activity whichthe press of the community agreed to describe as "a metropolis"; butthis river of industrialism was spanned by no social bridge connectingHill Street and its wistful relicts with the statelier dignities and themore ephemeral gaieties of the opposite side. To be really "in society"one must cross over, either for good and all, or in the dilapidated"hack" which carried Gabriella to the parties of her schoolmates in WestFranklin Street. 

For in the middle 'nineties, before social life in Richmond had becomeboth complicated and expensive, it was still possible for a girl inGabriella's position--provided, of course, she came of a "goodfamily"--to sew all day over the plain sewing of her relatives, and inthe evening to reign as the acknowledged belle of a ball. "Society, " itis true, did not reach any longer, except in the historic sense, to HillStreet; but the inhabitants of Hill Street, if they were young andenergetic, not infrequently made triumphant excursions into "society. "Though Gabriella was poor and sewed for her living, she had been, fromthe moment she left school, one of the most popular girls in town. To besure, she was neither so pretty as Florrie Spencer nor so clever asJulia Caperton, but in the words of Julia's brother Algernon, she was"the sort you could count on. " Even in her childhood it had become thehabit of those about her to count on Gabriella. Without Gabriella, hermother was fond of saying, it would have been impossible to keep a roofover their heads. 

Twelve years before, when they had moved into the house in Hill Street, Mrs. Carr had accepted from Jimmy Wrenn the rent of the first floor andthe outside kitchen, which was connected with the back porch by awinding brick walk, overgrown with wild violets, while the upper storywas let to two elderly spinsters, bearing the lordly, though fallen, name of Peterborough. These spinsters, like Mrs. Carr, spent their livesin a beautiful and futile pretence--the pretence of keeping up anappearance. They also took in the plain sewing of their richerrelatives, who lived in Franklin Street, and sent them little trays ofsweet things as soon as the midday dinner was over on Sunday. Sometimesthey would drop in to see Mrs. Carr just before supper was ready, andthen they would pretend that they lived on tea and toast because theywere naturally "light eaters, " and that they sewed all day, not for themoney, but because they liked to have "something to do with their hands"They were tall thin women in organdie caps and black alpaca dresses madewith long basques which showed a greenish cast in the daylight. Thewalls of their rooms were covered with family portraits of the colonialperiod, and Mrs. Carr, who had parted with most of her treasures, oftenwondered how they had preserved so many proofs of a distinguisheddescent. Even her silver had gone--first the quaint old service with theBolton crest, which had belonged to her mother; then, one by one, theforks and spoons; and, last of all, Gabriella's silver mug, which wascarried, wrapped in a shawl, to the shop of old Mr. Camberwell. She wasa woman who loved inanimate things with the passion which other womengive only to children, and a thousand delicate fibres of sentiment knither soul to the portraits on the wall, to the furniture with which shelived, to the silver and glass that had once belonged to her mother. When one after one these things went from her, she felt as if the veryroots of her being were torn up from the warm familiar earth in whichthey had grown. "There's nothing left in the parlour that I shouldn't beashamed to have your grandmother look at, " she had once confessed to herdaughters. 

Seen by the light of history, this parlour, in which so much ofGabriella's childhood was spent, was not without interest as an archaicsurvival of the fundamental errors of the mid-Victorian mind. The wallswere covered with bottle-green paper on which endless processions ofdwarfed blue peacocks marched relentlessly toward an embossedborder--the result of an artistic frenzy of the early 'eighties. NeitherMrs. Carr nor Jimmy Wrenn, who paid the rent, had chosen this paper, buthaving been left on the dealer's hands, it had come under the eye of thelandlord, who, since he did not have to live with it had secured it at abargain. Too unused to remonstrance to make it effective, Mrs. Carr hadsuffered the offending decoration in meekness, while Jimmy, having ataste for embossment, honestly regarded the peacocks as "handsome. "From the centre of the ceiling a massive gilt chandelier, elaboratelyfestooned with damaged garlands, shed, when it was lighted, a dim andtroubled gloom down on the threadbare Axminster carpet. Above the whitemarble mantelpiece, the old French mirror, one of the few good thingsleft over from a public sale of Mrs. Carr's possessions, reflected apair of bronze candelabra with crystal pendants, and a mahogany clock, which had kept excellent time for half a century and then had stoppedsuddenly one day while Marthy was cleaning. In the corner, between thedoor and the window, there was a rosewood bookcase, with the bareshelves hidden behind plaited magenta silk, and directly above it hungan engraving of a group of amiable children feeding fish in a pond. Across the room, over the walnut whatnot, a companion picturerepresented the same group of children scattering crumbs before a politebrood of chickens in a barnyard. Between the windows a third engravingimmortalized the "Burial of Latané" in the presence of several sad andresigned ladies in crinolines, while the sofa on which Jane sat waspresided over by a Sully portrait of the beautiful Angelica Carr, wearing a white scarf on her head and holding a single rose in her hand. This portrait and a Saint Memin drawing of Mrs. Carr's grandfather, theReverend Bartholomew Berkeley as a young man in a high stock, were thesolitary existing relics of that consecrated past when Fanny Berkeleywas "not brought up to do anything. "

To Mrs. Carr, whose mind was so constituted that any change in hersurroundings produced a sensation of shock, the room was hallowed by thesimple fact that she had lived in it for a number of years. That anobject or a custom had existed in the past appeared to her to be anincontestible reason why it should continue to exist in the present. Itwas distressing to her to be obliged to move a picture or to alter theposition of a piece of furniture, and she had worn one shape of bonnetand one style of hairdressing, slightly modified to suit the changingfashions, for almost twenty years. Her long pale face, her pensive blueeyes, and her look of anxious sweetness, made a touching picture offeminine incompetence; and yet it was from this pallid warmth, thisgentle inefficiency of soul, that the buoyant spirit of Gabriella hadsprung. 

For Gabriella was the incarnation of energy. From the moment of herbirth when, in the words of her negro "mammy" she had looked "as peartas life, " she had begun her battle against the enveloping twin powers ofdecay and inertia. To the intense secret mortification of her mother, who had prayed for a second waxlike infant after the fashion of poorJane, she had been a notoriously ugly baby (almost as ugly as her AuntBecky Bollingbroke who had never married), and as she grew up, thisugliness was barely redeemed by what Jane, in her vague way, describedas "the something else in her face. " According to Cousin Jimmy, whonever recognized charm unless its manifestations were soft and purring, this "something else" was merely "a sunny temper"; and one of theconstant afflictions of Gabriella's childhood was overhearing her motherremark to visitors: "No, she isn't so pretty as poor Jane, but, asCousin Jimmy tells us, she is blessed with a sunny temper. "

"Give me that ruffle, mother, and I'll whip the lace on while we'rewaiting, " she said now, laying aside the skirt of her Easter dress, andstretching out her hand for the strip of cambric in her mother's lap. But Mrs. Carr did not hear, for she was gazing, with the concentratedstare of Jane's baby, at a beautiful old lady who was walking slowlythrough the faint sunshine on the opposite pavement. 

"I wonder where Mrs. Peyton can be coming from in her best dress?" sheremarked, forgetting Jane for an instant while her sense of tragedyyielded to the keener impulse of curiosity. 

"She never goes anywhere but to church or to the Old Ladies' home, "replied Gabriella. "Arthur says she hasn't paid a call since herhusband's death. "

"Well, I haven't made one, except of course to my relatives, for fifteenyears, " rejoined Mrs. Carr a trifle tartly. Then her manner lost itsunusual asperity, and she added excitedly, "They're coming now, Jane. There's Cousin Jimmy and he's bringing Cousin Pussy and UncleMeriweather!"

"Oh, mother, I can't possibly see them! I feel as if it would kill me!"cried Jane in desperation. 

"Give her the camphor, mother, " said Gabriella with grim humour as shewent to open the door. 

"Brace yourself, my darling. They are coming, " pleaded Mrs. Carr, as sheslipped her arm under Jane's head. At the first hint of any excitementshe invariably lost her presence of mind and became distracted; andJane's hysterical outbursts never failed to convince her, though theyusually left the more skeptical Gabriella unmoved. "Don't you think youwould feel better if you lay back on the pillows?" she urged. 

Then the bell rang, and before Jane could swallow her sobs, her sisterushered in Jimmy and Pussy Wrenn, who were closely followed by theponderous figure of Uncle Meriweather, a gouty but benign old gentleman, whose jet-black eyebrows and white imperial gave him a misleadingmilitary air. 

"Well, well, my dear, what's this I hear about Charley?" demanded CousinJimmy, whose sprightly manner was never sprightlier than in the hour oftragedy or the house of mourning. "What does he mean by letting you runaway from him?"

"I've done my duty by Charley. I've never, never failed in my duty!"wept Jane, breaking down on Pussy's tender bosom, and waking thesleeping baby. 

"We know, darling, we know, " said Pussy, patting Jane's shoulder, whileJimmy drew a white silk handkerchief from his pocket, and hid his faceunder the pretence of blowing his nose. 

To see a woman cry never failed to wring a sympathetic tear from Jimmy. Though he was a man of hard common sense, possessed of an inflexibledetermination to make money, there was a soft spot inside of him whichwas reached only by the distress of one of the opposite sex. Thesuffering--particularly the financial suffering--of men left himunmoved. He could foreclose a mortgage or press a debt (as long as thedebtor's wife or daughter did not appeal to him) as well as another; butthe instant a skirt fluttered on the horizon that soft something insideof him appeared, as he expressed it, "to give way. " Apart from theirafflictions, he had an eye, he used to boast, for but one woman in theworld, and she, thank God, was his wife. Handsome, portly, full-blooded, and slightly overfed, he had let Pussy twine him about her little fingerever since the afternoon when he had first seen her, small, trim, andwith "a way with her, " at the age of six. 

"Poor, poor child, " said Pussy, cuddling Jane and the baby togetheragainst her sympathetic bosom. "Something must be done, Cousin Fanny. Something must be done, as Mr. Wrenn said on the way down, if it's onlyfor the satisfaction of letting Charley know what we think of him. "

"We've got to put down our pride and take some step, " declared Jimmy, wondering vaguely how he could have forgotten the spirited utterance hiswife attributed to him. "I'm all for the authority of the husband, ofcourse, and the sanctity of the home, and everything according to theBible and all that--but, bless my soul, there's got to be a limit towhat a woman is expected to stand. There're some things, and I knowUncle Meriweather will agree with me, that it isn't in human nature toput up with. "

"If I were forty years younger I'd call him out and give him a whippinghe wouldn't forget in a jiffy, " blustered Uncle Meriweather, feeblyviolent. "There's no way of defending a lady in these Godforsaken days. Why, I remember when I was a boy, my poor father--God bless him!--yourecollect him, don't you Fanny?--never used a walking stick in his lifeand could read print without glasses at ninety--"

"Making love to the dressmaker, " pursued Jimmy, whose righteous angerrefused to be turned aside from its end. 

"Don't you think, Cousin Fanny, " whispered Pussy, "that Gabriella hadbetter leave the room?"

"Gabriella? Why, how on earth can we spare her?" Mrs. Carr whisperedback rather nervously. Then, beneath Pussy's compelling glance, sheadded timidly: "Hadn't you better go, darling, and see what the childrenare doing?"

"They are playing in the laundry, " replied Gabriella reassuringly. "Itold Dolly not to let them go out of her sight. "

"She knows so much already for her age, " murmured Mrs. Carrapologetically to Pussy. 

"I don't know what Mr. Wrenn will think of your staying, dear, " saidPussy, smiling archly at the girl. "Mr. Wrenn, I was just saying that Ididn't know what you would think of Gabriella's staying in the room. "

Jimmy's large handsome face, with its look of perpetual innocence--theincorruptible innocence of a man who has never imagined anything--turnedhelplessly in the direction of his wife. All things relating topropriety came, he felt instinctively, within the natural sphere ofwoman, and to be forced, on the spur of the moment, to decide a delicatequestion of manners, awoke in him the dismay of one who sees hisaccustomed prop of authority beginning to crumble. Surely Pussy knewbest about things like that! He would as soon have thought ofinterfering with her housekeeping as of instructing her in the detailsof ladylike conduct. And, indeed, he had not observed that Gabriella wasin the room until his wife, for her own purpose, had adroitly presentedthe fact to his notice. 

"Gabriella in the room?" he repeated in perplexity. "Why, you'd bettergo, hadn't you, Gabriella? Oughtn't she to go, Pussy?"

"Just as you think best, dear, but it seems to me--"

"Certainly she ought to go, " said Uncle Meriweather decisively. "Theless women and girls know about such matters, the better. I don'tunderstand, Fanny, how you could possibly have consented to Gabriella'sbeing present. "

"I didn't consent, Uncle Meriweather, " protested poor Mrs. Carr, whocould not bear the mildest rebuke without tears; "I only said to Pussythat Gabriella knew a great deal more already than she ought to, and I'msure I'm not to blame for it. If I'd had my way she would have been justas sheltered as other girls. "

"Don't cry, mother, it isn't your fault, " said Gabriella. "UncleMeriweather, if you make mother cry I'll never forgive you. How can shehelp all these dreadful things going on?"

She was sensible, she was composed, she was perfectly sweet about it;but, and this fact made Pussy gasp with dismay, she did not budge aninch from her position. With her clear grave eyes, which lost theirsparkle when she grew serious, and her manner of eager sympathy, sheappeared, indeed, to be the only one in the room who was capable offacing the situation with frankness. That she meant to face it to theend, Pussy could not doubt while she looked at her. 

"Oh, it doesn't matter about Gabriella. She knows everything, " saidJane, with the prickly sweetness of suffering virtue. 

"But she's a young girl--young girls oughtn't to hear such things, "argued Uncle Meriweather, feeling helplessly that something was wrongwith the universe, and that, since it was different from anything he hadever known in the past, he was unable to cope with it. Into his eyes, gentle and bloodshot above his fierce white moustache--the eyes of onewho has never suffered the painful process of thinking things out, buthas accepted his opinions as unquestioningly as he has accepted hisreligion or the cut of his clothes--there came the troubled look of onewho is struggling against forces that he does not understand. ForGabriella was serious. There was not the slightest hope in the disturbedmind of Uncle Meriweather that she was anything but perfectly serious. Caprice, being a womanly quality, was not without a certain charm forhim. He was quite used to it; he knew how to take it; he had been taughtto recognize it from his childhood up. It was pretty, it was playful;and his mind, if so ponderous a vehicle could indulge in such activity, was fond of play. But after the first perplexed minute or two he hadrelinquished forever the hope that Gabriella was merely capricious. Clearly the girl knew what she was talking about; and this knowledge, sosurprising in one of her age and sex, gave him a strange dreamy sense ofhaving just awakened from sleep. 

"I must say I like girls to be girls, Fanny, " he pursued testily; "Ireckon I'm only an old fogy, but I like girls to be girls. When a womanloses her innocence, she loses her greatest charm in the eyes of aman--of the right sort of a man. Pluck the peach with the bloom on it, my poor father used to say. He didn't believe in all this new-fanglednonsense about the higher education of women--none of his daughterscould do more I than read and write and spell after a fashion, and yetlook what wives and mothers they made! Pokey married three times, andwas the mother of fourteen children, nine of them sons. And are we anybetter off now than then, I ask? Whoever heard of a woman running awayfrom her husband before the war, and now here is poor Jane--"

"But it isn't my fault, Uncle Meriweather!" cried Jane, in desperationat his obtuseness. "I've tried to be the best wife I could--ask Charleyif I haven't. He neglected me long before I let any one know--evenmother. I forgave him again and again, and I'd go on forgiving himforever if he would let me. I've told him over and over that I was goingto be a faithful wife to him if he killed me. "

"Of course, my dear, I'm not meaning to reproach you, " said UncleMeriweather, overcome by the effect of his words. "We all know thatyou've stood as much as any woman could and keep her self-respect. Itisn't possible, I suppose, for you to go on living with Charley?"

"Oh, I couldn't bear a separation, not a legal one at any rate, " groanedMrs. Carr. "Of course she must come away for a time, but nobody musthear of it or it would kill me. They are one in the sight of God, and mydear old father had such a horror of separations. "

"Well, I'd kick him out--I'd kick him out so quickly he wouldn't knowit, " declared Jimmy. "If a daughter of mine were married to that scamp, she'd never lay eyes on him except over my dead body. I reckon God wouldenjoy the sight of his getting his deserts. "

Deep down in Cousin Jimmy, deeper than sentiment, deeper than tradition, deeper even than the solid bedrock of common sense, there was theromantic essence of his soul, which hated baseness with a fiery hatred. His ruddy face, still boyish in spite of his fifty years, blanchedslowly, and there came into his soft dark eyes the look he had worn atMalvern Hill under the fire of the enemy. 

At the sight Gabriella thrilled as she did when drums were beating andarmies were marching. "Oh, Cousin Jimmy, don't let her go back!" shecried. 

"I can't go back to him now! I can never, never go back to him again!"intoned Jane with passionate energy. 

"No, God bless her, she shan't go back, " declared Jimmy, as profoundlystirred as Gabriella. 

"But the children? What will become of the children?" demanded Mrs. Carr, not of Jimmy, but of the universe. Her helpless gaze, rovingwildly from face to face, and resting nowhere, was like the gaze of asmall animal caught in a trap. "If Jane separates the children fromtheir father what will people think of her?" she asked, still vainlyaddressing Heaven. 

"As long as she is right it doesn't matter what people think, " retortedGabriella; but her protest, unlike her mother's, was directed to thevisible rather than to the invisible powers. The thought of Jane'schildren--of the innocent souls so unaware of the awful predicament inwhich they were placed that their bodies could be devouring bread anddamson preserves in the laundry. The poignant thought of these childrenmoved her more deeply than she had ever been moved before in her twentyyears. A passion for self-sacrifice rushed through her with the piercingsweetness of religious ecstasy. Nothing like this had ever happened toher before--not when she was confirmed, not when she had stood at thehead of her class, not when she had engaged herself to Arthur Peyton twoyears before. It was the pure flame of experience at its highest pointthat burned in her. 

"I will take care of the children, " she said breathlessly. "I will giveup my whole life to them. I will get a place in a store and work myfingers to the bone, if only Jane will never go back. "

For a moment there was silence; but while Gabriella waited for somebodyto answer, she felt that it was a silence which had become vocal withinexpressible things. The traditions of Uncle Meriweather, theconventions of Mrs. Carr, the prejudices of Jimmy, and the weak impulsesof Jane, all these filled the dusk through which the blank faces of herfamily stared back at her. Then, while she stood white and tremblingwith her resolve--with the passionate desire to give herself, body andsoul, to Jane and to Jane's children--the voice of Experience spokepleasantly, but firmly, through Cousin Pussy's lips, and it dealt withGabriella's outburst as Experience usually deals with Youth. 

"You are a dear child, Gabriella, " it said; "but how in the world couldyou help Jane by going into a store?"

In the midst of the emotional scene, Cousin Pussy alone remained sweetlymatter-of-fact. Though she was not without orderly sentiments, hercharacter had long ago been swept of heroics, and from her arched grayhair, worn à la Pompadour, to her pretty foot in its small neat boot, she was a practical soul who had as little use for religious ecstasy asshe had for downright infidelity. There seemed to her somethingpositively unnatural in Gabriella's manner--a hint of that "suddenconversion" she associated with the lower classes or with the negroes. 

"You are a dear child, " she repeated, biting her fresh lips; "but howwill you help Jane by going into a store?"

"I can trim hats, " returned Gabriella stubbornly. "Mr. Brandywine willtake me into his new millinery department, I know, for I said somethingto him about it the other day. "

"Oh, Gabriella, not in a store! It would kill mother!" cried Jane, withthe prophetic wail of Cassandra. 

"Not in a store!" echoed Mrs. Carr; "you couldn't work in a store. Ifyou want to work, " she concluded feebly, "why can't you work just aswell in your home?"

"But it isn't the same thing, mother, " explained Gabriella, with angelicpatience. "Nobody will get me to make hats at home, and, besides, I'vegot to learn how to do it. I've got to learn business methods. "

"But not in a shop, my dear, " protested Uncle Meriweather in the preciseEnglish of his youth. 

"Bless my heart!" chuckled Cousin Jimmy. "Business methods! You're asgood as a show, Gabriella, and, by George! you've plenty of pluck. Ilike pluck in man or woman. "

"I shouldn't encourage her if I were you, Mr. Wrenn, " said Cousin Pussy, almost forgetting to be indirect. 

"Well, of course, I don't approve of that store business, " repliedJimmy, deprecatingly, "but I can't help liking pluck when I see it. Lookhere, Gabriella, if you're bent on working, why don't you turn in andteach?"

"Yes, let her teach by all means, " agreed Uncle Meriweather, withgenuine enthusiasm for the idea. "I've always regarded teaching as anoccupation that ought to be restricted by law to needy ladies. "

"But I can't teach, I don't know enough, and, besides, I'd hate it, "protested Gabriella. 

"I'm sure you might start a school for very little children, " said Mrs. Carr. "You don't have to know much, to teach them, and you write a verygood hand. "

"What about plain sewing?" asked Pussy in her ready way. "Couldn't youlearn to make those new waists all the girls are wearing?"

"I haven't the patience to sew well. Look how hard mother works, makingbuttonholes with stitches so fine you can hardly see them, and yet shedoesn't get enough to put bread into her mouth, and but for herrelatives she'd have been in the poorhouse long ago. I'm tired of beingon charity just because we are women. Now that Jane has come home forgood I am simply obliged to find something to do. "

"I don't mind your wanting to work, dear, I think it's splendid of you, "returned Pussy, "but I do feel that you ought to work in a ladylikeway--a way that wouldn't interfere with your social position and yourgoing to germans and having attention from young men and all that. "

"Why don't you make lampshades, Gabriella?" demanded Jane in an emphaticburst of inspiration. "Sophy Madison earns enough from lampshades tosend her sister and herself to the White Sulphur Springs every summer. "

"Sophy makes all the lampshades that anybody wants, and, besides, shegets orders from the North--she told me so yesterday. "

"Gabriella crochets beautifully, " remarked Mrs. Carr a little nervouslybecause of the failure of her first suggestion. "The last time I went tosee Miss Matoaca Chambers in the Old Ladies' Home, she told me she madequite a nice little sum for her church by crocheting mats. "

"And Gabriella can cook, too, " rejoined Pussy, with exaggeratedsprightliness, for she felt that Mrs. Carr's solution of the problem hadnot been entirely felicitous. "Why doesn't she try sending some of herangel food to the Woman's Exchange?"

Jimmy, who had listened to this advice with the expression of tolerantamusement he always wore when women began to talk about the more seriousaffairs of life in his presence, made an honest, if vulgar, attempt tolighten the solemnity of the situation with a joke. 

"Gabriella isn't trying to earn church money. You're out gunning for aliving, aren't you, Ella?" he inquired. 

"I'm sick of being dependent, " repeated Gabriella, while her face grewstern. "Do you think if Jane had had enough money to live on that shewould ever have stood Charley so long?"

"Oh, yes, I should, Gabriella. Marriage is sacred to me!" exclaimedJane, whose perfect wifeliness atoned, even in the opinion of Jimmy, forany discrepancies in logic. "Nothing on earth could have induced me toleave him until--until this happened. "

The conviction that she had never at any moment since her marriage"failed in her duty to Charley" lent a touching sanctity to herexpression, while the bitter lines around her mouth faded in the wanglow that flooded her face. Whatever her affliction, however intense herhumiliation, Jane was supported always by the most comforting ofbeliefs--the belief that she had been absolutely right and Charleyabsolutely wrong through the ten disillusioning years of their marriedlife. Never for an instant--never even in a nightmare--had she beenvisited by the disquieting suspicion that she was not entirelyblameless. 

"Well, you've left him now anyway, " said Gabriella, with the disarmingcandour which delighted Jimmy and perplexed Uncle Meriweather, "sosomebody has got to help you take care of the children. "

"She shall never come to want as long as Pussy and I have a cent left, "declared Cousin Jimmy, and his voice expressed what Mrs. Carr describedafterward as "proper feeling. "

"And we'd really rather that you'd earn less and keep in your ownstation of life, " said Pussy decisively. 

"If you mean that you'd rather I'd work buttonholes or crochet mats thango into a store and earn a salary, then I can't do it, " answeredGabriella, as resolute, though not so right-minded, as poor Jane. "I'drather die than be dependent all my life, and I'm going to earn myliving if I have to break rocks to do it. "

CHAPTER II

POOR JANE

Supper was over, and Gabriella, still in the dress she had worn all day, was picking up the children's clothes from the floor of her room. According to Mrs. Carr's hereditary habit in sorrow or sickness, Janehad been served in bed with tea and toast, while several small hard cotshad been brought down from the attic and arranged in the available spacein the two bedrooms. As Gabriella looked at the sleeping children, whohad kicked the covering away, and lay with round rosy limbs gleaming inthe lamplight, she remembered that Arthur Peyton was coming at nineo'clock to take her to Florrie's party, and she told herself with grimdetermination that she would never go to a party again. The Berkeleyconscience, that vein of iron which lay beneath the outward softness andincompetence of her mother and sister, held her, in spite of hertempting youth, to the resolution she had made. She had told Jimmy thatshe meant to earn her living if she had to break rocks to do it, andGabriella, like Pussy, came of a race that "did not easily change itsmind. "

Turning to the bureau, she smoothed out the children's hair ribbons andpinned them, in two tight little blue and pink rolls, to the pincushion. Then taking up a broken comb, she ran it through the soft lock of hairthat fell like a brown wing over her forehead. Her bright dark eyes, fringed in short thick lashes and set wide apart under arched eyebrows, gazed questioningly back at her from a row of german favours with whichshe had decorated the glass; and it was as if the face of youth, flickering with a flamelike glow and intensity, swam there for aninstant in the dim greenish pool of the mirror. Beneath the charm of theface there was the character which one associates, not with youth, butwith age and experience. Beneath the fine, clear lines of her head andlimbs, the tall slenderness of her figure, the look of swiftness and ofenergy, which was almost birdlike in its grace and poise, there was astrength and vigour which suggested a gallant boy rather than theslighter and softer frame of a girl. 

While she stood there, Gabriella thought regretfully of all that itwould mean to give up her half-dependent and wholly ladylike existenceand go to work in a shop. Necessity not choice was driving her; and inspirit she looked back almost wistfully to the securely circumscribedlot of her grandmother. For there was little of the rebel in hertemperament; and had she been free to choose, she would haveinstinctively selected, guided by generations of gregarious ancestors, the festive girlhood which Cousin Pussy had so ardently described. Shewanted passionately all the things that other girls had, and her onlyquarrel, indeed, with the sheltered life was that she couldn't affordit. In the expressive phrase of Cousin Jimmy, the sheltered life "costmoney, " and to cost money was to be beyond the eager grasp of Gabriella. 

The door opened as if yielding under protest, and Marthy entered, stillhurriedly tying the strings of the clean apron she had slipped on overher soiled one before answering the door-bell. 

"Yo' beau done come, Miss Ella. Ain't you gwine?"

"No, I'm not going to the party, Marthy, but ask him to wait just aminute. "

"He's settin' over yonder in de parlour wid his overcoat on. "

"Well, ask him to take it off; I'll be there in a moment. " She spoke asgravely as Marthy had done, yet in her face there was a light play ofhumour. 

Two years ago she would have thrilled with joy at the thought thatArthur was waiting for her; but in those two years since her engagementshe had grown to look upon her first love as the gossamer, fairylikeromance of a child. For months she had known that the engagement must bebroken sooner or later; and she knew now, while she listened to Marthy'sshuffling feet hastening to deliver her message, that she must break itto-night. In the dim pool of her mirror a face looked back at her thatwas not the face of Arthur Peyton; she saw it take form there as onesees a face grow gradually into life from the dimness of dreams. It was, she told herself to-night, the very face of her dream that she saw. 

"Well, I must get it over, " she said with a sternness which gave her apassing resemblance to the Saint Memin portrait of the ReverendBartholomew Berkeley; "I've got to get it over to-night, and whateverhappens I've got to be honest. " Then, with a last glance at the sleepingchildren, she lowered the gas, and went across the darkened hail, whichsmelt of pickles and bacon because one end of it was used as astoreroom. 

The parlour had been swept since the family council had deliberatedthere over Jane's destiny. The scraps of cambric had been gathered upfrom the threadbare arabesques in the carpet; the chairs had been placedat respectable distances apart; the gas-jets in the chandelier wereflaming extravagantly under the damaged garlands; and the sewing machinehad been wheeled into the obscurity of the hail, for it would havehumiliated Gabriella's mother to think that her daughter received youngmen in a room which looked as if somebody had worked there. 

When Gabriella entered, Arthur Peyton was standing in front of thefireplace, gazing abstractedly at his reflection in the French mirror. Though his chestnut hair was carefully brushed, he had instinctivelylifted his hand to smooth down an imaginary lock, and while he did this, he frowned slightly as if at a recollection that had ruffled his temper. His features were straight and very narrow, with the look ofsensitiveness one associates with the thoroughbred, and the delicatetexture of his skin emphasized this quality of high-breeding, which wasthe only thing that one remembered about him. In his light-gray eyesthere was a sympathetic expression which invariably won the hearts ofold ladies, and these old ladies were certain to say of him afterward, "such a gentleman, my dear--almost of the old school, you know, and wehaven't many of them left in this hurrying age. "

He had done well, though not brilliantly, at college, for his mind, ifunoriginal, had never given anybody, not even his mother, the least bitof trouble. For three years he had worked with admirable regularity inthe office of his uncle, Carter Peyton, one of the most distinguishedlawyers in the Virginia of his period, and it was generally felt thatyoung Arthur Peyton would have "a brilliant future. " For the present, however, he lived an uneventful life with his widowed mother in acharming old house, surrounded by a walled garden, in Franklin Street. Like the house, he was always in perfect order; and everything abouthim, from his loosely fitting clothes and his immaculate linen to hisinherited conceptions of life, was arranged with such exquisiteprecision that it was impossible to improve it in any way. He knewexactly what he thought, and he knew also his reason, which was usuallya precedent in law or custom, for thinking as he did. His opinions, which were both active and abundant, were all perfectly legitimatedescendants of tradition, and the phrase "nobody ever heard of such athing, " was quite as convincing to him as to Mrs. Carr or to CousinJimmy Wrenn. 

"Gabriella, aren't you going?" he asked reproachfully as the girlentered. 

"Oh, Arthur, we've had such a dreadful day! Poor Jane has left Charleyfor good and has come home, with all the children. We've been busydividing them among us, and we're going to turn the dining-room into anursery. 

"Left Charley? That's bad, isn't it?" asked Arthur doubtfully. 

"I feel so sorry for her, Arthur. It must be terrible to have love endlike that. "

"But she isn't to blame. Everybody knows that she has forgiven him againand again. "

"Yes, everybody knows it, " repeated Gabriella, as if she drew bittercomfort from the knowledge, "and she says now that she will never, nevergo back to him. "

For the first time a shadow appeared in Arthur's clear eyes. 

"Do you think she ought to make up her mind, darling, until she seeswhether or not he will reform? After all, she is his wife. "

"That's what mother says, and yet I believe Charley is the only personon earth mother really hates. Now Cousin Jimmy and I will do everythingwe can to keep her away from him. "

"I think I shouldn't meddle if I were you, dearest. She'll probably goback to him in the end because of the children. 

"But I am going to help her take care of the children, " repliedGabriella stanchly. "Of course, my life will be entirely different now, Arthur, " she added gently. "Everything is altered for me, too, sinceyesterday. I have thought it all over for hours, and I am going to tryto get a place in Brandywine's store. "

"In a store?" repeated Arthur slowly, and she saw the muscles of hismouth tighten and grow rigid. 

"Mother doesn't like the idea any more than you do, but what are we tocome to if we go on in the old aimless way? One can't make a living outof plain sewing, and though, of course, Charley will be supposed toprovide for his children, he isn't exactly the sort one can count on. Brandywine's, you see, is only a beginning. What I mean is that I amobliged to learn how to support myself. "

"But couldn't you work just as well in your home, darling?

"People don't pay anything for home work. You must see what I mean, Arthur. "

"Yes, I see, " he replied tenderly; but after a moment's thought, hewent on again with the gentle obstinacy of a man whose thinking had allbeen done for him before he was born. "I wish, though, that you wouldtry to hold out a little longer, working at home with your mother. In ayear or two we shall be able to marry. "

"I couldn't, " said Gabriella, shaking her head. "Don't urge me, Arthur. "

"If you would only consent to live with mother, we might marry now, " hepursued, after a minute, as if he had not heard her. 

"But it wouldn't be fair to her, and how could I ask her to take motherand Jane and the children? No, I've thought it all out, dear, and I mustgo to work. "

"But I'll work for them, Gabriella. I'll do anything on earth ratherthan see you ordered about by old Brandywine. "

"He won't order me about, " answered Gabriella cheerfully; "but motherfeels just as you do. She says I am going out of my class because Iwon't stay at home and work buttonholes. "

"You couldn't go out of your class, " replied Arthur, with an instinctivegallantry which even his distress could not overcome; "but I can't getused to the thought of it, darling--I simply can't. You're so sacred tome. There's something about the woman a man loves that's different fromevery other woman, and the bare idea of your working in a shop sickensme. I always think of you as apart from the workaday world. I alwaysthink of you as a star shining serenely above the sordid struggle--"Overwhelmed by the glowing train of his rhetoric, he broke down suddenlyand caught passionately at the cool hand of Gabriella. 

As he looked at her slender finger, on which he had placed herengagement ring two years before, it seemed to him that the situationwas becoming intolerable--that it was an affront not only to his idealof Gabriella, as something essentially starlike and remote, but to thatpeculiar veneration for women which he always spoke and thought of as"Southern. " His ideal woman was gentle, clinging, so perfectly a "lady"that she would have perished had she been put into a shop; and, thoughhe was aware that Gabriella was a girl of much character anddetermination, his mind was so constructed that he was able, withoutdifficulty, to think of her as corresponding to this exalted type of hersex. By the simple act of falling in love with her he had endowed herwith every virtue except the ones that she actually possessed. 

"I know, I know, " said Gabriella tenderly, for she saw that he suffered. Her training had been a hard one, though she had got it at home, and ina violent reaction from the sentimentality of her mother and Jane shehad become suspicious of any language that sounded "flowery" to hersensitive ears. With her clear-sighted judgment, she knew perfectly wellthat by no stretch of mind or metaphor could she be supposed to resemblea star--that she was not shining, not remote, not even "ideal" inArthur's delicate sense of the word. She had known the horrors ofpoverty, of that bitter genteel poverty which must keep up an appearanceat any cost; and she could never forget the grim days, after the deathof Uncle Beverly Blair, when they had shivered in fireless rooms andgone for weeks without butter on their bread. For the one strong qualityin Mrs. Carr's character was the feeling she spoke of complacently, though modestly, as "proper pride"; and this proper pride, which wasnow resisting Gabriella's struggle for independence, had in the pastresisted quite as stubbornly the thought of an appeal to the readycharity of her masculine relatives. To seek a man's advice had been fromher girlhood the primal impulse of Mrs. Carr's nature; but, until Fatehad starved her into sincerity, she had kept alive the ladylike fictionthat she was in need of moral, not material, assistance. 

"Of course, if there were any other way, Arthur, " said Gabriella, remembering the earlier battles with her mother, and eager to compromisewhen she could do so with dignity; "but how can I go on being dependenton Cousin Jimmy and Uncle Meriweather. Neither of them is rich, andCousin Jimmy has a large family. "

Of course she was reasonable. The most disagreeable thing aboutGabriella, Jane had once said, was her inveterate habit of beingreasonable. But then Jane, who was of an exquisite sensibility, feltthat Gabriella's reasonableness belonged to a distinctly lower order ofintelligence. When all was said, Gabriella saw clearly because she had apractical mind, and a practical mind is usually engrossed with materialmatters. 

"I understand exactly how you feel, dear, but if only you could go onjust as you are for a few years longer, " said Arthur, sticking to hisoriginal idea with a tenacity which made it possible for him to arguefor hours and yet remain exactly where he had started. Though theytalked all night, though she convinced him according to all the laws andprinciples of logic, she knew that he would still think precisely whathe had thought in the beginning, for his conviction was rooted, deeperthan reason, in the unconquerable prejudices which had passed from thebrain into the very blood of his race. He would probably say at the end:"I admit all that you tell me, Gabriella, but my sentiment is againstit;" and this sentiment, overruling sense, would insist, with sublimeobstinacy, that Gabriella must not work in a shop. It would ignore, after the exalted habit of sentiment, such merely sordid facts aspoverty and starvation (who ever heard of a woman of good familystarving in Virginia?), and, at last, if Gabriella were really in lovewith Arthur, it would triumph over her finer judgment and reduce her tosubmission. But while she watched him, in the very minute when, failingfor words, he caught her in his arms, she said to herself, suddenlychilled and determined: "I must get it over to-night, and I've got to behonest. " The scent of the hyacinths floated to her again, but it seemedto bring a cold wind, as if a draught had blown in through the closedslats of the shutters. 

"Everything has changed, Arthur, " she said, "and I don't think I oughtto go on being engaged. " Then because her words sounded insincere, sheadded sternly: "Even if we could be married--and of course we can'tbe--I--I don't feel that I should want to marry. I am not sure that Ilove you enough to marry you. "

It was all so unromantic, so unemotional, so utterly different from thescene she had pictured when she imagined what "breaking her engagement"would be like. Then she had always thought of herself as dissolving intears on the horsehair sofa, which had become sacred to the tragedy ofpoor Jane; but, to her surprise, she did not feel now the faintestinclination to cry. It ought to have been theatrical, but it wasn't--noteven when she took off her engagement ring, as she had read in novelsthat girls did at the decisive instant, and laid it down on the table. When she remembered this afterwards, it appeared rather foolish, butArthur seemed not to notice it, and when Marthy came in to light thefire in the morning, she found the ring lying on a copy of Gray's Elegyand brought it back to Gabriella. 

"I'll never give you up, " said Arthur stubbornly, and knowing hischaracter, she felt that he had spoken the truth. He could not give herup even had he wished it, for, like a belief, she had passed from hisbrain into the fibre of his being. She had become a habit to him, andnot love, but the inability to change, to cease thinking what he hadalways thought, to break a fixed manner of life, would keep him faithfulto her in his heart. 

"I'm sorry--oh, I'm sorry, " she murmured, longing to have it over and toreturn to Jane and the children. It occurred to her almost resentfullythat love was not always an unmixed delight. 

"Is there any one else, Gabriella?" he asked with a sudden choking soundin his voice. "I have sometimes thought--in the last four or fivemonths--that there might be--that you had changed--that--" He stoppedabruptly, and she answered him with a beautiful frankness which wouldhave horrified the imperishable, if desiccated, coquetry of her mother. 

"There is some one else and there isn't, " she replied simply. "I mean Ithink of some one else very often--of some one who isn't in my life atall--from whom I never hear--"

"Is it George Fowler?"

She bowed her head, and, though she did not blush, her eyes grewradiant. 

"And you have known him less than a year?"

Again she bowed her head without speaking. What was there, after all, that she could say in justification of her behaviour?

A groan escaped him, smothered into a gentle murmur of protest. "And Ithought women were more constant than men!" he exclaimed with somethingof the baffled and helpless feeling which had overtaken UncleMeriweather while he regarded Gabriella. 

The generalization was not without interest for Gabriella. 

"I thought so, too, " she observed dispassionately. "I thought so, too, and that is why it was such a dreadful surprise to me when it happened. You yourself aren't more shocked and surprised than I was in thebeginning, " she added. 

"But you've got used to the thought, I suppose?"

"Well, one has to, you see. What else is there to do? I alwaysunderstood from mother"--she went on with the same eager interest, as ifshe were stumbling upon new and important intellectual discoveries--"Ialways understood that women never fell in love with men first--I meanuntil they had had positive proof that their love would be returned. Butin this case that didn't seem to matter at all. Nothing mattered, andthe more I fought against it and tried to be true to my engagement, themore I found myself being false. It's all very strange, " she concluded, "but that is just how it happened. "

"And he knows nothing about it?"

"Oh, no. I told him I was engaged to you, and then he went away. "

For an instant he was silent, and watching his face, so carefullyguarded and controlled by habit that it had the curious blank look of astatue's, Gabriella could form no idea of the suppressed inarticulatesuffering in his heart. 

"And if he came back would you marry him?" he asked. 

Before replying she sat for a minute gazing down on her folded hands andweighing each separate word of her answer. 

"I should try not to, Arthur, " she said at last, "but--but I am not surethat I should be able to help it. "

When at last he had said "good-bye" rather grimly, and gone out of thedoor without looking back, she was conscious of an immense relief, of afeeling that she could breathe freely again after an age of oppression. There was a curious sense of unreality about the hour she had justpassed through, as if it belonged not to actual life, but to a play shehad been rehearsing. She had felt nothing. The breaking of herengagement had failed utterly to move her. 

After bolting the front door, she turned out the gas in the parlour, pushed back the lump of coal in the grate in the hope of saving it forthe morrow, and went cautiously down the hall to her room. As she passedher mother's door, a glimmer of light along the threshold made her pausefor a minute, and while she hesitated, an anxious voice floated out toher:

"Gabriella, is that you?"

"Yes, Mother, do you want anything?"

"Jane has one of her heart attacks. I put her to bed in my room becauseit is more comfortable than the dining-room. Don't you think you hadbetter go back and wake Marthy?"

"Is she ill? Let me come in, " answered Gabriella, pushing open the doorand brushing by Mrs. Carr, who stood, shrunken and shivering, in a grayflannel wrapper and felt slippers. 

Though Jane's attacks were familiar occurrences, they never failed toproduce an immediate panic in the household. As a child of nine, Gabriella remembered being aroused in the middle of a bitter night, hastily wrapped in her mother's shawl and a blanket, and hurried up thestaircase to Jane, who had broken her engagement to Charley the eveningbefore. Jane, pale, angelic, palpitating, appeared to draw her lastbreath as they entered, while the old doctor supported her in his arms, and Marthy, in a frenzy of service, rattled the dead embers in thegrate. It had all been horribly vivid, and when Jane had murmuredCharley's name in a dying voice, they had stood, trembling and blue withcold, around her bed, waiting for the end. But the end had not come, andthree months later Jane was married to Charley Gracey. 

After that scene, Gabriella had associated Jane's attacks with afreezing January night and a fireless grate (though the last but one hadoccurred in mid-August), and she was relieved now to find a fire burningin her mother's room and a kettle singing merrily on the fender. Theelder children, with their flannel petticoats pinned over their thinlittle shoulders, were sitting straight and stiff on a box couch whichhad been turned into a bed, and their strange little faces looked wanand peaked in the firelight. 

Jane was really ill, Gabriella decided, after a glance at her sister. Nothing except acute suffering could have given her that ghastly palloror made her eyes sink so far back in her head. She lay quite motionlesson the far side of the big tester bed, staring straight up at theceiling with an expression which terrified Gabriella, though she hadseen it on her sister's face at least a dozen times before to-night. 

"Has Arthur gone?" asked Mrs. Carr in a voice that sounded as if shewere running. 

"Yes. Did you want him, mother?"

"I thought we might send him for the doctor and for Charley. Don't youthink Charley ought to be told of her condition? She has asked for thechildren. "

"Have you given her the digitalis?"

"I can't make her swallow it. There are the drops on the table by thebed. My hands tremble so I had to measure them three times. "

Taking the glass from the table, Gabriella bent over her sister andimplored her to swallow the drops, but, without appearing to hear hervoice, Jane still stared blankly upward, with the rigid, convulsed lookof a woman who has been stricken with dumbness. Her flaxen hair, dampwith camphor, which Mrs. Carr had wildly splashed on her forehead, clungflat and close to her head, while the only pulse in her body seemed tobeat in irregular, spasmodic throbs in her throat. 

"Don't go, mother. I'll wake Marthy, " cried Gabriella, for Mrs. Carr, inspired by the spirit of panic, was darting out of the door in her feltslippers. Then, while the children, crying distractedly, rushed toJane's bedside, the girl ran out of the house and along the brick walkto the kitchen and the room above it where Marthy lived the little lifeshe had apart from her work. In answer to Gabriella's call she emergedentirely dressed from the darkness; and at the news of Jane's illnessshe was seized with the spurious energy which visits her race in themoment of tragedy. She offered at once to run for the doctor, andsuggested, without a hint from Gabriella, that she had better leaveword, on her way home, for Marse Charley. 

"I knowed 'twuz comin' jez ez soon ez I lay eyes on 'er, " she muttered, for she was an old family servant. "Dar ain' no use 'n tryin' ter comebetweenst dem de good Lawd is done jine tergedder fur worse. A baidhusban'! Hi! Dar ain't un 'oman erlive, I reckon, dat 'ouldn't rutherown a baid husban' den no husban' at all. You all is got to teck 'em deway dey's made, en dar's moughty few un um dat is made right. "

Still muttering, she stumbled down the walk and out of the gate, whileGabriella returned to her mother's room and hurried the weeping childreninto their shoes and stockings. Mrs. Carr, still in her flannel wrapper, with her little flat gray curls screwed up on pins for the night, andher thin ankles showing pathetically above her felt slippers, rannervously to and fro with mustard plasters and bottles of hot waterwhich she continually refilled from the kettle on the fender. Occasionally she paused long enough to hold the camphor to Jane's noseor to lift the quilt from the bottom of the bed and then put itcarefully back in the very spot where it had lain before she had touchedit. And because she was born to take two steps to every one that wasnecessary, because she could not accomplish the simplest act without aprodigious waste of energy and emotion, because she died twenty deathsover the slightest anxiety, and, most of all, because she was the lastperson on earth who ought to have been burdened with poverty and hardwork and an unhappily married daughter--because of all these things Mrs. Carr wore herself to a shadow in the quarter of an hour they spentwaiting for the doctor and Charley Gracey. 

Though she had brought Jane through at least a dozen "attacks, " shestill lost her presence of mind as completely as on that January nightwhen, utterly distraught, she had hurried Gabriella to the firstdeath-bed scene of her sister; she still grew as forgetful of herselfand her own feelings, and, in obedience to some profound law of hernature, she still as confidently "expected the worst. " For Mrs. Carr'sphilosophy, like Jane's, was of that active but dreary sort that thrivesbest upon misery. Just as Jane, who had lost every illusion aboutCharley, went on loving him in spite of it, so Mrs. Carr, having losther illusions about life, retained a kind of wistful fondness for thething that had wounded her. 

The door-bell rang sharply, and Gabriella went to let in the doctor, abrisk, authoritative young man of the new school, who had learnedeverything there was to be known about medicine except the way to behavein a sickroom, and who abhorred a bedside manner as heartily as if itwere calomel or castor oil. His name was Darrow, and he was theassistant of old Dr. Walker, Mrs. Carr's family physician, who neverwent out at night since he had passed his seventieth birthday. Gabriella, who liked him because he was not anecdotal and gave smalldoses of medicine, hastily led the way to her mother's room before sheran back to meet Charley Gracey at the door of the dark parlour. 

"You can't see her now. The doctor is with her, " she whispered. "I'llmake a light in here and you can wait. "

"Let me, " said Charley, quite as pleasantly as if he were not a badhusband, while he found a match and struck it on the sole of his foot. Then, as the gas flared up, he exclaimed, with a low whistle, "By Jove, you're a sight, Gabriella!"

"Well, it's your fault, " replied Gabriella sharply, letting him see, asshe told herself, exactly what she thought of him. "You've made Jane soill we thought she was dying. "

"I'm sorry for that, " he said, suddenly smitten with gravity. "Is shereally so bad?"

His charming freckled face, with its irrepressible humour, grew almostgrotesquely solemn, while the habitual merriment faded slowly from hislight-gray eyes, leaving them empty of expression. He was a short, rather thick-set man, not particularly good-looking, not particularlyclever, but possessing a singular, if unaccountable, charm. Everybodyliked Charley, though nobody respected him. He was a scamp, but alovable scamp, while Jane, with the best intentions in the world, hadmanaged to make every virtue unattractive. When people condemned him, they said that he was "utterly unprincipled"; when they softened intheir judgment, they admitted that he had "the best heart in the world. "

"I suppose it isn't any worse than other attacks, " answered Gabriella, "but you know what they are like. "

"Yes, I know, " replied Charley. "Oh, Lord, don't I?"

"She asked mother to send for you, " continued Gabriella. "She wants youto know that she has forgiven you. "

"Has she?" said Charley, without elation. Turning away, he stared for aminute or two at the engraving of the children feeding fish in a pond;then, with his eyes still glued to the picture, he burst outpassionately: "Gabriella, I'd hoped she wouldn't this time!"

"If I were she, " retorted Gabriella crushingly, "I would never speak toyou again until the day of my death. "

"If she were you, " rejoined Charley, with barefaced audacity, "I'd havebeen a good husband. Why, I was simply starving to be a good husbandwhen I married Jane. It's my ideal in life. I'm all for the domesticthing by nature. I was tired--positively dog-tired of the other kind. Iwanted a wife. I adored--I've always adored babies--"

"If that is true, " returned Gabriella sternly, for she was not disposedto soften to Charley, and in her heart she deeply resented what shecalled Jane's "weakness, " "if that is true why do you behave sooutrageously to Jane and the children? Why can't you be decent?"

"I could, " answered Charley, with engaging lucidity, "if she were lessso. It's her infernal virtue I can't stand, Gabriella. No man couldstand it without taking to drink. "

"But you knew she was that way. She was always trying to make peoplebetter. It is her mission. Why, I remember one winter night before youwere married mother got me out of bed in the cold to come and hear Janeforgive you beautifully about something. "

"That was the first time, and it was very touching. I suppose the firsttime always is touching. Of course, I didn't know she meant to keep itup. No man could possibly have kept it up, " said Charley, withbitterness, "but she married me to reform me, and it is the only thingshe has really enjoyed about her marriage. She's a born reformer. Ihaven't eaten a thing I cared about, nor drank a drop I wanted, nor useda bad word I was fond of, since I married, without being nagged at aboutit. She loved me for my vices, and yet she hasn't let me keep a singleone--not even the smallest--not even cigarettes. Nag! Good God! She'snagged me to perfection ever since the day of our wedding when she mademe sign the pledge before she let me kiss her!"

"Well, that doesn't make it any easier for us or for the children, "replied Gabriella, without sympathy; "and if you don't think of Jane, you might at least think of your children. "

"Of course it's hard on the kids, " admitted Charley ruefully. "But asfor Jane--now, will you tell me what would become of Jane after she hadreformed me? Why, she'd be bored to death. She'd be a martyr without anymartyrdom. When she made me give up tobacco, she lost interest ineverything for a week. She was like your Uncle Meriweather after thesurrender. There wasn't anything left to fight about, and fighting wasall he could do--"

"I believe--I really believe you have been drinking, " interruptedGabriella with cold disgust. "Suppose Jane were to die?"

"She won't die. She'll be all right as soon as she has forgiven me. "

He was not only bad, she told herself, he was perfectly shameless. Heappeared to have been born without the faintest sense of responsibility. And yet, while Gabriella listened to him, she realized that, in someways, he might be a less trying companion than poor Jane. His candourwas as simple, as unaffected, as the serene artlessness of a child. Itwas impossible not to believe in his sincerity. Though she "despisedhim, " as she told herself, still she was obliged to admit that there wassomething to be said on his side. The harsh judgment of youth--of youththat never tries to understand, that never makes allowances--softenedunder the influence of Charley's reprehensible charm. Even badness, Gabriella conceded grudgingly, might be easier to live with in somecircumstances than a too exalted self-righteousness. 

"If you'll bring Jane to that way of thinking, " retorted Charley, withvulgar frankness, "I'll give you five hundred dollars down. If you'llthoroughly corrupt her mind and persuade her to neglect her duty to me, I'll make it a thousand. "

He was jesting! It was monstrous, with Jane lying ill in her mother'sroom; it was indecent; it was grossly immoral; but he was actuallyjesting! Not even scandal, not even the doctor's presence in the house, could suppress his incorrigible spirit of levity. "If I were Jane, I'dnever speak to him, " thought Gabriella, and the question flashed throughher mind, "how in the world could she ever have loved him?" It wasimpossible for her to conceive of any situation when Charley could havemade a girl fall in love with him. Though she had heard stories of hisearly conquests, she had never believed them. There were times when shealmost liked him, but it was the kind of liking one gave to an inferior, not to an equal. She admitted his charm, but it was the charm of anirresponsible creature--the capricious attraction of a child or ananimal. Her common sense, she told herself, would keep her from makinga mistake such as Jane had made with her life; and, besides, she wasutterly devoid of the missionary instinct which had lured Jane todestruction. "If I ever marry, it will be different from that, " shethought passionately. "It will be utterly different!"

The door of Mrs. Carr's room opened suddenly, Marthy's name was calledin a high voice, and the doctor was heard saying reassuringly: "She isover the worst. There is no need to worry. "

"Don't send me in there alone, Gabriella, " begged Charley piteously. "I'd rather face bullets than Jane in an attack. " His bravado haddeserted him, and he appeared positively craven. The stiffness seemed tohave gone not only out of his character, but out of his clothes also. Even his collar had become limp with emotion. 

"Well, I don't care, " answered Gabriella, "you've got to stand it. There's no use squirming when you've only yourself to blame. " With amalicious pleasure, she watched the consternation in Charley's face, while the doctor's footsteps came rapidly down the hall and stopped atthe threshold of the parlour. 

"You may go in, Mr. Gracey--your wife is asking for you; but be verycareful not to say anything that might disturb her. Just keep her asquiet as you can for a few hours. "

Then the door in the distance opened again, and Mrs. Carr, in the hollowtones of destiny, called: "Gabriella, Jane is waiting to speak to herhusband. "

"Come, Charley, " ordered Gabriella, grimly, and a moment later shepushed him across her mother's threshold and turned back into the hall. "I hope she'll make him squirm, " she said to herself, with relish. Nothing, she felt, except the certainty of Charley's squirming, couldmake up to her for the half-hour she had just spent with him. 

She was still standing there when Jane's medicine came from the druggistat the corner, and for a while she waited outside the door, fearing tolighten Charley's punishment by her entrance. The medicine had to bemeasured in drops, and she went into the dining-room, where the childrenwere huddled together in an improvised bed, and diluted the mixture withwater before she could persuade herself to go into her mother's room. Even then she hesitated until she remembered that the doctor had saidJane must take the first dose immediately. Not by her, if she could helpit, should the divine wrath of the furies be appeased. 

But with the first touch of her hand on the knob, Charley's flippantvoice greeted her with, "Won't you come in, Gabriella?" and swallowingher angry retort, she entered stiffly, with the glass held out straightbefore her. Charley, on his knees beside the bed, with his arm under hiswife's pillow, stared up at his sister-in-law with the guilty look of awhipped terrier, while Jane, pallid, suffering, saintly, rested one thinblue-veined hand on his shoulder. Her face was the colour of the sheet, her eyes were unnaturally large and surrounded by violet circles; andher hair, drenched with camphor, spread over the pillow like the hair ofa drowned woman. Never had she appeared so broken, so resigned, soineffably spiritual; and Gabriella's solitary comfort was the thoughtthat Jane's attack had conquered Charley as completely as it hadconquered the rest of them. 

"Gabriella, I've forgiven him, " said Jane, with fainting sweetness, "and he wants you and mother to do so. He has promised to be good in thefuture. "

"Well, I shan't forgive him for keeping me up all night, " answeredGabriella resentfully, and she felt that even if it killed Jane, shecould not keep back her reply. "I can't answer for mother, but I haven'tforgiven him and I never shall. " She felt her anger hardened to a rockinside of her, and it hurt her so that she put the glass hurriedly downon the table and ran out of the room. As she closed the door behind hershe heard Jane saying gently: "Yes, I forgive you, Charley, but I can'thelp feeling that you don't love me as you ought to. "

An old cape of her mother's was lying on a chair in the hall, and, throwing it over her shoulders, Gabriella went out on the porch andstood breathing quickly in the cold air, with her hand pressed on herbosom, which rose and fell as if she had been running. She was not onlyfurious, she was grossly affronted, though she had known from thebeginning, she said to herself, exactly how it would end. She had nevertrusted Jane--no, not a minute; she had never really trusted her mother. Something had told her that Jane had never meant in her heart to leaveCharley, that she was only making a scene, after the immemorial habit ofwomen, before going back to him. And yet, though she had suspected thisall along, she was as indignant as if she had been deceived by aconspiracy of the three of them. Her sense of decency was outraged. Shedespised Jane because she had no strength of character; but even whilethis thought was still in her mind, she admitted that Jane had hadsufficient strength of character to upset the household, bring Charleyto repentance, and emerge, faint but victorious, from the wreck oftheir peace. Yes, she despised Jane, though it was impossible to denythat Jane's methods were successful, since she had got what she wanted. 

The street was very quiet, for it was in the small gray hours betweenmidnight and dawn, and a solitary policeman, strolling by on his beat, appeared as wan and spectral as the bare boughs of the poplar treesbeneath which he moved. The wind was still blowing over the brow of thehill, and now and then it tossed a wisp of straw or a handful of dust onthe porch where Gabriella was standing. As it swept onward it drove aflock of shadows, like black birds, up the open street into the clearspace under the old-fashioned gas lamp at the corner. All the lightswere out in the neighbouring houses, but from a boarding-house down theblock there floated suddenly the gay snatch of a waltz played on a banjowith a broken string. Then the music stopped, the policeman passed, andGabriella and the wind were alone in the street. Overhead the starsshone dimly through a web of mist; and it seemed to her that the sadnessof the sky and the sadness of the earth had mingled there in the longstraight street where the wind blew with a melancholy sound between rowsof silent and darkened houses. 

A noise in the hall made her turn, and, looking up, she saw the gauntfigure of Miss Amelia Peterborough standing in the bend of thestaircase. In her hand the old maid held a twisted candlestick ofgreenish brass, and the yellow flame of the candle cast a trembling, fantastic shadow on the wall at her back. Her head, shorn of the false"front" she wore in the day, appeared to have become all forehead andbeaked nose; her eyes had dwindled to mere points of blackness; hermouth, sunken and drawn over toothless gums, was like the mouth of awitch. The wind, blowing in gusts through the open door, inflated hergray shawl and the skirt of her dressing-gown, while, with each flutterof her garments, the grotesque shadow on the white wall danced andgibbered behind her. And, as she gazed down on the girl, it was as ifthe end of life, with its pathos, its cruelties, its bitterness and itsdisillusionment, had stopped for a fleeting instant to look back at lifein the pride and ignorance of its beginning. 

"There was so much moving about, I thought something might havehappened, " said Miss Amelia apologetically, while Gabriella, closing thedoor, shut the draught from the staircase. 

"Jane had one of her heart attacks, " answered the girl. "I'm so sorry wewaked you. "

But she was thinking while she spoke, "So that is old age--so that iswhat it means to be old?" There is a vague compassion in the thought, but it held no terror, for the decay of Miss Amelia seemed as utterlyremote and detached from her own life as one of the past ages inhistory. The youth in her brain created a radiant illusion ofimmortality. By no stretch of imagination could she picture herself likethe infirm and loveless creature before her. Yet she knew, withoutrealizing it, that Miss Amelia had once been young, that she had onceeven been beautiful. There was a legend, fading now into tradition, thather lover had been killed in a duel, fought for her while she was stilla girl, and that she had worn only white or black since that day--shewho was now well over eighty. She had known love; a man had died forher; it was said that she had been a famous coquette in the 'thirties;and now she stood there, grotesque and sexless, with her eyes empty ofdreams and of memories, and her face as gray and sinister as the face ofher shadow. 

"I hope she is better, poor child, " she said, for, like the rest ofRichmond, she believed Jane to be all saint and Charley all sinner. "IfI can be of any help, be sure to let me know. "

"Yes, I'll let you know, thank you. I hope we didn't disturb MissJemima. "

The younger Miss Peterborough--called "the happy one" by Gabriella andMrs. Carr because she was always cheerful, though, as far as any onecould tell, she had nothing and had never had anything to be cheerfulabout--was named Jemima. A chronic invalid, from some obscure troublewhich had not left her for twenty years, she was seldom free from pain, and yet Gabriella had never seen her (except at funerals, for which sheentertained a perfectly healthy fondness as diversions free to the poor)without a smile on her face. 

"Sister Jemima doesn't wake easily. She is a sound sleeper and she'sgetting a little hard of hearing"; and lifting the candlestick to lighther way, Miss Amelia turned back up the stairs, while the flame flittedlike a golden moth into the dimness. 

"Poor old thing, " thought Gabriella, imagining in her ignorance that shecould understand the tragedy of Miss Amelia's life; "poor old thing, shemust have had a terrible time. "

As she approached her mother's door, Charley came out, glanced at hersheepishly, and hurried to where his hat hung on the walnut hatrack inthe front hall. Then, as if overcoming his first impulse to avoid her, he beckoned to her furtively, and said in a sepulchral whisper:"Gabriella, be very careful what you say to her. "

The audacity of it! This from Charley, the abandoned, the depraved, theunutterably abhorrent in her sight. Without replying, she turnedindignantly away and opened her mother's door. 

Lying in the middle of the bed now, and slightly propped with pillows, Jane was sipping a second dose of medicine from a glass Mrs. Carr heldto her lips. 

"I know you don't understand my forgiving him, Gabriella, " she said verygently, "but some day, after you are married, you will realize that I doit from a sacred duty--from a sacred duty, " she repeated firmly, whilethe shining light of martyrdom illumined her features. 

"Well, it's none of my business, " answered Gabriella crossly, "but thesooner you do it, I suppose the sooner you will have to do it again. " Ifonly for once Jane would be direct, if only she would be natural, ifonly she would speak the truth and not fiction. 

"Oh, no, dear, you don't understand him any better than you do me, " saidJane as sweetly as ever in spite of Gabriella's deplorable loss oftemper. "He is really dreadfully penitent, and he sees that he hasn'talways treated me as he ought to have done. But you'll know what I meanwhen you marry, Gabriella. She'll understand me then, won't she, mother?"

"I'm sometimes tempted to hope that Gabriella will never marry, " repliedMrs. Carr with the uncompromising bitterness of abject despair; "theCarrs all seem to marry so badly. "

In her normal mood she would never have uttered this heresy, for shebelonged to a generation that regarded even a bad marriage as better fora woman than no marriage at all; but the night had worn her out, and oneof her spells of neuralgia, which followed fatigue, was alreadybeginning in her face. The purple crocheted "fascinator" she had caughtup at the doctor's entrance was still on her head, and her long paleface, beneath the airy scallops, appeared frozen in an expression ofincurable melancholy. For the rest she had been too frightened, tooforgetful of herself and her own comfort even to put on her stockings, though Gabriella had begged her to do so. "Don't think about me. Attendto poor Jane, " she had repeated over and over. 

"Mother, go into my room and get into bed, " commanded Gabriella, whosepatience, never abundant, was ebbing low. "If you don't get some sleepyour neuralgia won't be any better. "

"It isn't any better. I don't expect it to be any better. "

"Well, you must go to bed or it will get worse. I'll heat you a cup ofmilk and wrap you up in warm blankets. "

"Don't worry about me, dear. Think of poor Jane. "

"We've been thinking of Jane all night, and you need it now more thanshe does. I can tell by your eyes how you are suffering. "

In the first streak of dawn, which was beginning to glimmer faintly onthe window-panes, Mrs. Carr looked as if she had withered overnight. 

"It's only my left temple, " she said dully, "otherwise I am quite well. No, dear, I must rub Jane's forehead until she falls asleep. The doctorsaid it was important that we should keep her soothed. "

But it was a law of Gabriella's nature that she never knew when she wasbeaten. Failure aroused the sleeping forces within her, and when theseforces were once liberated, the spasmodic efforts of Mrs. Carr and theindirect methods of Jane were alike powerless to oppose them. At suchtimes a faint flush rose to her pale cheeks, her eyes shone with aburning darkness, while her mouth lost its fresh young red and grew hardin outline. 

"You must go to bed, mother, " she repeated in a voice which Mrs. Carrwould have obeyed had it issued from the wall or a piece of furniture. 

Fifteen minutes later Gabriella stood authoritatively beside the bed, while her mother, with a mustard plaster at the back of her neck, obediently sipped hot milk from a teacup. Mrs. Carr had surrendered tothe conquering spirit of her daughter, but her surrender, which wasunwilling and weakly defiant, gave out presently a last feeble flickerof resistance. 

"Don't you think, Gabriella, we might arrange to live with Jane?" sheasked. "It would be a saving of expense for us both, and we might be sohelpful about the children. "

"And about Charley, too, I suppose, " suggested Gabriella maliciously. 

Mrs. Carr, having been born without a sense of humour, never understoodthe broadest joke unless it was illustrated; but even to her it becameevident, after a moment's anxious thought, that Gabriella was teasingher. 

"You seem to forget that he is her husband, " she replied, with apathetic clutch at her dignity, which, owing perhaps to the purple"fascinator" and the mustard plaster, she failed completely torecapture. Then, as she finished the milk and handed back the empty cupto her daughter, she added wearily, for life, as she often said toherself of late, was becoming almost too much for her, and she wasfeeling worn out and old:

"My one comfort, Gabriella, is the thought that Arthur Peyton loves you. There couldn't be anybody more unlike Charley. "

"There couldn't be, " agreed Gabriella mildly, for she felt that anotherblow would prostrate her mother. 

CHAPTER III

A START IN LIFE

In the late 'seventies and early 'eighties the most important shop inthe town of Gabriella's birth was known to its patrons (chiefly ladiesin long basques, tightly tied back skirts, and small eccentric bonnets)as Brandywine & Plummer's drygoods store. At that period, when old Mrs. Carr, just completing her ninetieth year with a mind fixed upon heaven, would have dropped dead at the idea that her granddaughter should everstep out of her class, Gabriella's mother bought her dresses (grosgrainof the very best quality) from Major Brandywine. To be sure, even inthose days, there were other shops in the city--for was not Broad Streetalready alluded to in the newspapers as "the shopping thoroughfare ofthe South?"--but, though they were as numerous as dandelions in June, these places were by no means patronized so widely by "the best people. "Small shops, of course, carrying a single line of goods and supplyingtheir particular products to an exacting and discriminating class, heldtheir own even against the established reputation of Brandywine &Plummer's. O'Connell's linen store, Twitlow's china store, Mrs. Tonk'sdoll store, and Green & Brady's store for notions--all these weresituated in Broad Street hardly a stone's throw from the Second Market. But none of these, excellent as they were, could bear comparison withthe refined atmosphere, so different from the vulgar bustle of a moderndepartment store, which enveloped one in the quiet gloom of Brandywine &Plummer's. In the first place, one could be perfectly sure that onewould be waited on by a lady--for Brandywine & Plummer's, with adistinguished Confederate soldier at its head and front, provided analmost conventual shelter for distressed feminine gentility. There was, for instance, Miss Marye of the black silk counter, whose father hadbelonged to Stuart's cavalry and had fallen at Yellow Tavern; there wasMiss Meason of the glove counter, and there was Mrs. Burwell Smith ofthe ribbon counter--for, though she had married beneath her, it wasimpossible to forget that she was a direct descendant of Colonel MicajahBurwell, of Crow's Nest Plantation. 

Then, if one happened to be in search of cotton goods, one would bealmost certain to remark on the way home: "Miss Peters, who waited on mein Brandywine's this morning, has unmistakably the manner of a lady, " or"that Mrs. Jones in Brandywine's must be related to the real Joneses, she has such a refined appearance. " And, at last, in the middle'nineties, after the opening of the new millinery department, which wasreached by a short flight of steps, decorated at discreet intervals withbaskets of pink paper roses, customers were beginning to ask: "May Ispeak to Miss Gabriella for a minute? I wish to speak to Miss Gabriellaabout the hat she is having trimmed for me. "

For here, also, because of what poor Jane called her "practical mind, "the patrons of Brandywine & Plummer's were learning that Gabriella was"the sort you could count on. " As far as the actual work went, shecould not, of course, hold a candle (this was Mr. Plummer's way ofputting it) to Miss Kemp or Miss Treadway, who had a decided talent fortrimming; but no customer in balloon sleeves and bell-shaped skirt wasever heard to remark of these young women as they remarked of Gabriella, "No, I don't want anybody else, please. She takes such an interest. " Totake an interest in other people might become quite as marketable anasset, Mr. Plummer was discovering, after fifty years of adherence tostrictly business methods, as a gift for the needle; and, added to herengaging interest, Gabriella appeared to know by instinct exactly what acustomer wanted. 

"I declare Miss Kemp had almost persuaded me to take that brown strawwith the green velvet bandeau before I thought of asking Gabriella'sadvice, " Mrs. Spencer was overheard saying to her daughter, as shepaused, panting and breathless, at the head of the short flight ofsteps. 

"Oh, Gabriella always had taste; I'll ask her about mine, " Florrietossed back gaily in the high fluting notes which expressed so perfectlythe brilliant, if slightly metallic, quality of her personality. 

Beside her mother, a plump, bouncing person, with a noisy thoughimperfectly articulate habit of speech, and the prominent hips and bustwhich composed the "fine figure" of the period, Florrie seemed to floatwith all the elusive, magic loveliness of a sunbeam. From the shiningnimbus of her hair to her small tripping feet she was the incarnation ofgirlhood--of that white and gold girlhood which has intoxicated theimagination of man. She shed the allurement of sex as unconsciously as aflower sheds its perfume. Though her eyes were softly veiled by herlashes, every male clerk in Brandywine & Plummer's was dazzled by thedeep blue light of her glances. In her red mouth, with its parted lips, in the pure rose and white of her flesh, in the rich curve of her bosom, which promised already the "fine figure" of her mother, youth and summerwere calling as they called in the velvet softness of the June breeze. Innocent though she was, the powers of Life had selected her as avehicle for their inscrutable ends. 

"Where is Miss Carr? I must speak to Miss Carr, please, " she said to oneof the shop girls who came up, eager to serve her. "Will you tell herthat Miss Spencer is waiting to speak to her?"

Responding to the girl's artless stare of admiration, she threw afriendly glance at her before she turned away to try on a monstrouswhite Leghorn hat decorated around the crown with a trellis of pinkroses. Unless she happened to be in a particularly bad humour--and thiswas not often the case--Florrie was imperturbably amiable. She enjoyedflattery as a cat enjoys the firelight on its back, and while she purredhappily in the pleasant warmth, she had something of the sleek andglossy look of a pretty kitten. 

"How does this look on me, mother?" she asked over her shoulder of Mrs. Spencer, who was babbling cheerfully in her loud tones to MissLancaster, the forewoman. 

Though some of the best blood in Virginia, profusely diluted with someof the worst, flowed comfortably in Mrs. Spencer's veins, it wasimpossible even for her relatives to deny that she could be at timesdecidedly vulgar. Having been a conspicuous belle and beauty of a boldand dashing type in her youth, she now devoted her middle-age to theenjoyment of those pleasures which she had formerly sacrificed to thepreservation of her figure and her complexion. Though she still dyed hersomewhat damaged hair, and strenuously pinched in her widening waist, she had ceased, since her fiftieth birthday, to forego the lessercomforts of the body. As she was a person of small imagination, and ofno sentiment, it is probable that she was happier now than she had beenin the days when she suffered the deprivations and enjoyed the triumphsof beauty. 

"What's that, Florrie?" she inquired shrilly. "No, I shouldn't get thatif I were you. It doesn't flare enough. I'm crazy about a flare. "

"But I want a pink bandeau, mother, " replied Florrie a little pettishly, as she patted her golden-red fringe. "I wonder where Gabriella is? Isn'tshe ever coming, Miss Lancaster?"

"I thought I saw her when I came in, " observed Mrs. Spencer, craning herhandsome neck, which was running to fat, in the direction of thetrimming room. "Florrie, just turn your head after a minute and look atthe hat Patty Carrington is buying--pea green, and it makes her facelook like a walnut. She hasn't the faintest idea how to dress. Do youthink I ought to speak to her about it?"

"No, let her alone, " replied Florrie impatiently. "Is this any betterthan the Leghorn?"

"Well, I must say I don't think there is much style about it, though, ofcourse, with your hair, you can carry off anything. Isn't it odd howexactly she inherited my hair, Miss Lancaster? I remember her fatherused to say that he would have fallen in love with a gatepost if it hadhad golden-red hair. "

Miss Lancaster, a thin, erect woman of fifty, with impassive features, and iron-gray hair that looked as if it were rolled over wood, glancedresignedly from Mrs. Spencer's orange-coloured crimps to the imprisonedsunlight in Florrie's hair. 

"I'd know you were mother and daughter anywhere, " she remarked in thenoncommittal manner she had acquired in thirty years of independence;"and she is going to have your beautiful figure, too, Mrs. Spencer. "

"Well, I reckon I'll lose my figure now that I've stopped dieting, "remarked the lively lady, casting an appreciative glance in the mirror. "Florrie tells me I wear my sleeves too large, but I think they make melook smaller. "

"They are wearing them very large in Paris, " replied Miss Lancaster, asif she were reciting a verse out of a catalogue. She had, as shesometimes found occasion to remark, been "born tired, " and thistemperamental weariness showed now in her handsome face, so wrinkled anddark around her bravely smiling eyes. Where she came from, or how shespent her time between the hour she left the shop and the hour shereturned to it, the two women knew as little as they knew the intimatepersonal history of the Leghorn hat on the peg by the mirror. Beyond thefact that she played the part of a sympathetic chorus, they were withoutcuriosity about her life. Their own personalities absorbed them, and forthe time at least appeared to absorb Miss Lancaster. 

"I like the Leghorn hat, " said Florrie decisively, as she tried it onfor the third time, "but I'll wait till I ask Gabriella's opinion. "

"I hope she's getting on well here, " said Mrs. Spencer, who found itimpossible to concentrate on Florrie's hat. "Don't you think it was verybrave of her to go to work, Miss Lancaster?"

"I understood that she was obliged to, " rejoined Miss Lancaster, withthe weary amiability of her professional manner. 

"She might have married, I happen to know that, " returned Mrs. Spencer. "Arthur Peyton has been in love with her ever since she was a child, andthere was a young man from New York last winter who seemed crazy abouther. Florrie, don't you think George Fowler was just crazy aboutGabriella?"

"I'm sure I don't know, mother. He paid her a great deal of attention, but you never can tell about men. "

"Julia Caperton told me, and, of course, she's very intimate withGeorge's sister, that he went back to New York because he heard thatGabriella was engaged to Arthur. Florrie, do you suppose she is reallyengaged to Arthur?"

Thus appealed to, Florrie removed the Leghorn hat from her head, andanswered abstractedly: "Jane thought so, but if she is engaged, I don'tsee why she should have started to work. I know Arthur would hate it. "

"But isn't he too poor to marry?" inquired Mrs. Spencer, whose curiositywas as robust as her constitution. "Haven't you always understood thatthe Peytons were poor, Miss Lancaster, in spite of the lovely house theylive in?"

Her large, good-humoured face, which had once been as delicate as aflower, but was now growing puffed and mottled under a plentiful layerof rice powder, became almost violently animated, while she adjusted herbelt with a single effective jerk of her waist. Though Bessie Spencerwas admitted to have one of the kindest hearts in the world, she waschiefly remarkable for her unhappy faculty of saying the wrong thing atthe wrong time. An inveterate, though benevolent, gossip, she wouldbabble on for hours, reciting the private affairs of her relatives, herfriends, and her neighbours. Everybody feared her, and yet everybody wasassured that "she never meant any harm. " The secrets of the town flowedthrough her mind as grist flows through a mill, and though she wasentirely without malice, she contrived, in the most innocent manner, todo an incalculable amount of injury. Possessing a singularly activeintelligence, and having reached middle-age without acquiring sufficientconcentration to enjoy books, she directed a vigorous, if casual, understanding toward the human beings among whom she lived. She kneweverything that it was possible to know about the people who lived inFranklin Street, and yet her mind was so constituted that she never byany chance knew it correctly. Though she was not old, she had alreadypassed into a proverb. To receive any statement with the remark, "Youhave heard that from Bessie Spencer, " was to cast doubt upon it. 

"You don't think I'm getting any stouter, do you, Miss Lancaster?" sheinquired dubiously, with her hands on her hips and her eyes measuringthe dimensions of her waist. "I'm making up my mind to try one of thoseB. And T. Corsets that Mrs. Murray is wearing. She told me it reducedher waist at least three inches. "

"Oh, you aren't like Mrs. Murray--she didn't measure a fraction underthirty inches, " replied Miss Lancaster, with her patient politeness. Then, after a pause, which Mrs. Spencer's nimble wit filled with a storyabout the amazing number of mint juleps Mrs. Murray was seen to drink atthe White Sulphur Springs last summer, Florrie exclaimed eagerly:

"Why, there is Gabriella! Won't you get her for us, Miss Lancaster?"

Near one of the long windows, beyond which large greenish flies werebuzzing around the branch of a mulberry tree in the alley, Gabriella wastrying a purple hat on a prim-looking lady who regarded herself in themirror with a furtive and deprecating air as if she were afraid of beingunjustly blamed for her appearance. "I'm not sure--but I don't think itsuits me exactly, " she appeared to murmur in a strangled whisper, whileshe twisted her mouth, which held a jet-headed hatpin, into a quiveringgrimace. 

"She's waiting on Matty French, " said Mrs. Spencer, and she addedimpulsively, "I wonder what it is that men see in Gabriella. Youwouldn't call her really pretty, would you, Miss Lancaster?"

"Well, not exactly pretty, but she has an interesting face. It is sofull of life. "

"Can't you get her, mother?" asked Florrie; and Mrs. Spencer, alwayseager to oblige, rustled across the room and pounced vivaciously uponthe prim lady and Gabriella. 

"We've been looking for you everywhere, Gabriella, " she began, noddingagreeably to Miss French. "Florrie has tried on all the hats in theroom, and she wants you to tell her if that white Leghorn is becoming. Good morning, Matty! That blue wing is so stylish. I think you are verysensible to wear colours and not to stick to black as Susie Chamberlaindoes. It makes her look as old as the hills, and I believe she does itjust to depress people. Life is too short, as I said when I left offmourning, to be an ink blot wherever you go. And it doesn't mean thatshe grieves a bit more for her husband than anybody else does. Everybodyknows they led a cat and dog's life together, and I've even heard, though I can't remember who told me, that she was on the point ofgetting a divorce when he died. Are you going? Well, I'm glad youdecided on that blue hat. I don't believe you'll ever regret it. Good-bye. Be sure and come to see me soon. Gabriella, will you helpFlorrie about her hat now? I declare, I thought Matty would never getthrough with you. And, of course, we didn't want anybody but you to waiton us. We were just saying that you had the most beautiful taste, and itis so wise of you to go out to work and not sit down and sew at home inorder to support your position. A position that can't support itselfisn't much of a prop, my husband used to say. But I don't believe you'llstay here long, you sly piece. You'll be married before the year is up, mark my word. The men are all crazy about you, everybody knows that. Why, Florrie met George Fowler in the street this morning, and when heasked after you, his face turned as hot as fire, she said--"

Gabriella's face, above her starched collar with its neat red tie, wasslowly flooded with colour. Her brown eyes shone golden under her darklashes, and Mrs. Spencer told herself that the girl looked almost prettyfor a minute. "If she wasn't so sallow, she'd be really good looking. "

Happily unaware that her face had betrayed her, Gabriella slid back aglass door, took a hat out of the case, and answered indifferently, while she adjusted the ribbon bow on one side of the crown:

"I didn't know Mr. Fowler had come back. I haven't seen him for ages. "

From her small, smooth head to her slender feet she had acquired inthree months the composed efficiency of Miss Lancaster; and one mighthave imagined, as Mrs. Spencer remarked to Florrie afterwards, that "shehad been born in a hat shop. "

But instead of the weary patience of Miss Lancaster, she brought to herwork the brimming energy and the joyous self-confidence of youth. It wasimpossible to watch her and not realize that she had given both abilityand the finer gift of personality to the selling of hats. Had shestarted life as a funeral director instead of a milliner, it is probablethat she would have infused into the dreary business something of theliving quality of genius. 

"Oh, Florrie hadn't seen him for ages either, " chirped Mrs. Spencer, with her restless eyes on the hat in Gabriella's hand. "I don't knowwhether I ought to tell you or not, but you and Florrie are so intimateI suppose I might as well--Julia Caperton told Florrie that George cameback because he heard in some way that you had broken your engagement toArthur. Of course, as I told Julia afterwards, you hadn't mentioned aword of it to me, but I've got eyes and I can't help using them. I wasobliged to see that George was simply out of his mind about you. Itwould be a splendid match, too, for they say his father has made quite alarge fortune since he went to New York--"

"Mother!" interrupted Florrie sternly, over her shoulder, "you knowJulia told you not to breathe a single word as coming from her. She isthe bosom friend of George's sister. "

"But, Florrie, I haven't told a soul except Gabriella, and I know shewouldn't repeat a thing that I said to her. "

"Now, isn't that exactly like mother?" observed Florrie, with the casualdisapprobation of youth. "She was on the point of telling Miss Lancasterall about it when I stopped her. "

"Why, Florrie, I didn't say a word except that men were crazy aboutGabriella--you know I didn't. Of course, I talk a great deal, " shepursued in an aggrieved, explanatory tone to Gabriella, "but I neverrepeat a word--not a single word that is told me in confidence. If Juliahad asked me not to tell Gabriella what she said, I shouldn't havedreamed of doing so. "

"Oh, it doesn't matter in the least, Mrs. Spencer, " said Gabriellahastily, "only there isn't a word of truth in it. "

The becoming flush was still in her cheeks, and she poised a hat overFlorrie's head with a swift, flying grace which Mrs. Spencer had nevernoticed in her before. "I wonder if Gabriella can really care aboutGeorge?" she thought quickly. "But if it is George she is in love with, why on earth did she start to work in a shop?" Then suddenly, followinga flash of light, she reasoned it out to her complete satisfaction. "Itmust have been that she didn't know that George cared--that is why sheis blushing so at this minute. "

An hour or so later, when Florrie and her mother had fluttered volublydownstairs, and the exhausted assistants were putting the hats awaybefore closing the cases, Gabriella went into the dressing-room, whereMiss Nash, a stout, pleasant-looking girl, was sitting in a brokenchair, with her shoes off, her blue serge skirt rolled back from herknees, and her head bowed, over her crossed arms, on the window-sill. 

At Gabriella's entrance she glanced up, and remarked cheerfully: "Myfeet were killing me. I just had to take off my shoes. "

"They do get dreadfully tired, " assented Gabriella in the tone ofsympathetic intimacy she had caught from the other girls. 

Her naturally friendly spirit had refused to "hold aloof" from hercompanions, as her mother had begged her to do, and at the end of threemonths she had learned things about most of them which interested herprofoundly. One supported an invalid father, another had a family of sixlittle brothers and sisters to care for, and still another had lost herlover through a railroad accident only two days before her marriage. Several of them were extravagantly loud, one or two were inclined to bevulgar; but the others were quite as refined and gentle as the girlswith whom she had grown up, and what impressed her about them all wastheir courageous and yet essentially light-hearted Southern spirit. Toher surprise, she found an utter absence of jealousy among them. Theelder women were invariably kind and helpful, and though she liked thegirls, she soon discovered in herself a growing feeling of respect forthese older women. They represented a different type, for the hardnessshe noticed in some of the younger girls was entirely lacking in thewomen of Miss Lancaster's generation. Many of them even her motherwould have called well born, and one and all, they were almost painfullyladylike. With their thin, erect figures, their wan, colourless faces, their graying hair, and their sweet Southern voices, they imparted adelicate social air to the shop. 

Usually Gabriella stopped to talk to the girls who crowded in from theworkroom, brushing shreds of silk or ribbon from their skirts, butto-day her mind wandered while she answered Miss Nash, and when, aminute later, Miss Lancaster spoke to her on her way out, and asked herto match the flowers for Florrie's hat, she was obliged to make aneffort before she could recall her roving attention. She was thinkingnot of Florrie's hat, but of Mrs. Spencer's words, "He has come backbecause he heard that your engagement was broken. " And at the firstinsurgent rise of emotion, she ceased to be the business woman andbecame merely an imaginative girl, dreaming of love. 

"They aren't quite the right shade, are they?" she asked with anuncertainty which was tactful rather than sincere, "or, perhaps, theribbon might be darker?"

Her eyes questioned Miss Lancaster, who moved a step nearer the windowas she held the bolt of ribbon toward the daylight. 

"Well, we'd better look at it again in the morning. You are in a hurry, Miss Carr?"

"Oh, no, I've all the time in the world, " answered Gabriella, though shelonged to be out with the June scents and her dreams, "but I am sure theribbon ought to be a deeper blue to tone with the ragged robins. "

"You've a wonderful eye for colour, that's why I ask your advice, " saidthe other, and a sudden friendliness shone in her tired eyes, for shehad liked Gabriella from the beginning. That the girl possessed agenuine gift of taste, the elder woman had already discovered. Forherself, Miss Lancaster had always hated the sight of hats, and hadtaken up the work merely because a place in Brandywine & Plummer's hadbeen offered her shortly after her father, a gallant fighter but a poorworker, had gone to end his kindly anecdotal days in the Home forConfederate Soldiers. She was a repressed, conscientious woman, who hadnever been younger than she was now at fifty, and who regarded youth, not with envy, but with admiring awe. For she, also, patient anduncomplaining creature, belonged to that world of decay and inertia fromwhich Gabriella had revolted. It was a world where things happenedto-day just as they happened yesterday, where no miracles had occurredsince the miracles of Scripture, where people hated change, not becausethey were satisfied, but because they were incapable of imagination. Miss Lancaster, who had never wanted anything with passion, except to bea perfect lady, was proud of the fact that she had been twenty years inbusiness without losing her "shrinking manner. "

"Yes, you have an eye for colour, " she repeated gently; "if you couldonly learn to sew, you might command a most desirable position. "

"I despise sewing, " replied Gabriella, with serene good-humour, "and Icould never learn, even at school, anything that I despised. But Isuppose I can always tell somebody else how it ought to be done. "

Then, because her work always interested her, she forgot the disturbingwords Mrs. Spencer had spoken--she forgot even her impatience to feelthe June air in her face. Her best gift, the power of mental control, enabled her to bring the needed discipline to her emotion; and when themoment of her release came, she found that the brief restlessness hadpassed from her mind. "There's no use letting myself get impatient, " shethought; "I've got to stick to it, so it won't do a bit of good to beginwriggling. "

All the other girls had gone home before her, and on the sidewalk MissMeason, of the glove counter, stood talking about the spring sales toMr. Brandywine. As Gabriella passed them, in her white shirtwaist anddark belted skirt, they looked thoughtfully after her until her sailorhat, with the scarlet band, crossed Broad Street and disappeared on theopposite side. 

"She's a remarkable girl, " observed Mr. Brandywine, with his paternalmanner. "I hope she is beginning to feel at home with us. "

"I believe she'd feel at home anywhere, " replied Miss Meason, "and she'sobliged to get on. There's no doubt of it. "

"A pleasant face, too. Not exactly pretty, I suppose, but you would callit a pleasant face. "

"Oh, well, I'd call her pretty in her way, " answered Miss Meason. "Hereyes are lovely, and she has a singularly bright expression. I alwayssay that a bright expression makes up for anything. "

"Her mother was a beauty in her day, " said Mr. Brandywine reminiscently;"she was the snow and roses sort, and her eldest daughter took afterher, though she is a wreck now, poor lady. "

"That's Charley Gracey, " remarked Miss Meason tartly, for she had theself-supporting woman's contempt for the rake. "Yes, she was lovely as agirl. I remember as well as if it were yesterday how happy she lookedwhen I sold her her wedding gloves. She is a beautiful character, too, they say, but somehow Gabriella, even as a child, appealed to me more. She has three times the sense of her sister. "

Then they shook hands and parted, while Gabriella, tripping through theSecond Market, was saying to herself: "There's not the least bit ofsense in your thinking about him, Gabriella. "

In Hill Street, maple and poplar trees were in full leaf, and littleflakes of sunshine, as soft as flowers, were scattered over the brickpavement. Beyond the housetops the sky was golden, and at the corner therusty ironwork of an old balcony had turned to the colour of bronze. Theburning light of the sunset blinded her eyes, while an intense sweetnesscame to her from the honeysuckle clambering over a low white porch; andthis light and this sweetness possessed an ineffable quality. Life, which had been merely placid a few hours before, had become suddenlypoignant--every instant was pregnant with happiness, every detail waspiercingly vivid. Her whole being was flooded with a sensation ofrichness and wonder, as if she had awakened with surprise to a differentworld from the one she had closed her eyes on a minute before. 

As she crossed the street she saw her mother's head above a box of clovepinks in the window; and a little later the front door opened and MissPolly Hatch, a small, indomitable spinster who sewed out by the day, walked rapidly between the iron urns and stopped under the creamyblossoms of the old magnolia tree in the yard. 

"It's too late for your ma to be workin', Gabriella. You'd better stopher. "

Pausing in the middle of the walk, she comfortably tucked under her arman unwieldy bundle she carried, and added, with the shrewdness which wasthe result of a long and painful experience with human nature: "It'sfunny--ain't it?--how downright mulish your ma can be when she wantsto?"

"I can't do a thing on earth with her, " answered Gabriella in distress. "You have more influence over her than I have, Miss Polly. "

Miss Polly, who had the composed and efficient bearing of a machine, shook her head discouragingly as she opened the gate and passed out. 

"I reckon she's set for good and all, " she remarked emphatically, andwent on her way. 

"Mother, it's time to stop sewing and think about supper, " calledGabriella gaily, as she ran into the room and bent to kiss her mother, who turned a flat, soft cheek in her direction, and remarked gloomily:"Gabriella, you've had a visitor. "

Not for worlds would Mrs. Carr have surrendered to the disarmingcheerfulness of her daughter's manner; for since Gabriella had gone towork in a shop, her mother's countenance implied that she was piouslyresigned to disgrace as well as to poverty. It was inconceivable to herthat any girl with Berkeley blood in her veins could be so utterlydevoid of proper pride as Gabriella had proved herself to be; and theshock of this discovery had left a hurt look in her face. There weredays when she hardly spoke to the girl, when refusing food, she openedher lips only to moisten her thread, when the slow tears seemed foreverwelling between her reddened eyelids. As they had just passed throughone of these painful periods, Gabriella was surprised to find that, forthe moment at least, her mother appeared to have forgotten her righteousresentment. Though it could hardly be said that Mrs. Carr spokecheerfully--since cheerfulness was foreign to her nature--at least shehad spoken. Of her own accord, unquestioned and unurged, she hadvolunteered a remark to her daughter; and Gabriella felt that, for abrief respite, the universe had ceased to be menacing. 

"Gabriella, you have had a visitor, " repeated Mrs. Carr, and it wasclear that her sorrow (she never yielded to passion) had been overcomeby a natural human eagerness to tell her news. 

"Not Cousin Jimmy?" asked the girl lightly. 

"No, you could never guess, if you guessed all night. "

"Not Charley Gracey surely? I wouldn't speak to him for the world. "

Though Jane had returned to Charley, and even Mrs. Carr, feeling in herheart that her younger daughter had dealt her the hardest blow, had beenheard to say that she "pitied her son-in-law more than she censuredhim, " Gabriella had not softened in her implacable judgment. 

"Of course it wasn't Charley. I shouldn't have mentioned it if it hadbeen, because you are so bitter against him. But it was somebody youhaven't seen for months. Do you remember Evelyn Randolph's son who paidyou so much attention last winter?"

"George Fowler! Has he been here?" asked Gabriella, and her voicequivered like a harp. 

"I told Marthy to say you were out. Of course I wasn't fit to seecompany, but he caught sight of me on his way to the gate and came backon the porch to speak to me. He remembered all about my having gone toschool with his mother, and it seems she had told him about the time shewas Queen of May and I maid of honour. I asked him how Evelyn stoodliving in New York, but he said she likes it better than his fatherdoes. Archie Fowler insists that he is coming back to Virginia to endhis days. They seem to have plenty of money. I expect Archie has made afortune up there or he wouldn't be satisfied to live out of Virginia. "

"Did George ask when I'd be at home?" inquired Gabriella. 

Though she knew that it was unwise to divert her mother's attention fromthe main narrative, her whole body ached with the longing to hear whatGeorge had said of her, and she felt that it was impossible to resistthe temptation to question. 

"He said something about you as he was going away, but I can't rememberwhether he asked when you would be in or not. " In spite of the fact thatMrs. Carr had the most tenacious memory for useless detail, she wasnever able to recall the significant points of an interview. 

"He didn't ask where I was?"

The question was indiscreet, for it jerked Mrs. Carr's mind back withviolence from its innocent ramble into the past, while it reminded herof Gabriella's present unladylike occupation. She shut her lips withsoft but obstinate determination, and Gabriella, watching her closely, told herself that "wild horses couldn't drag another word out of hermother to-night. " The girl longed to talk it over; but she might havetried as successfully to gossip with the angel on a marble tombstone. She wanted to hear what George had said, to ask how he was looking, andto wonder aloud why he had come back. She wanted to throw herself intoher mother's arms and listen to all the little important things thatfilled the world for her. If only the aloof virtue in Mrs. Carr's facewould relax into a human expression!

Taking off her hat, Gabriella went into the bedroom, and then, comingback again after a short absence, remarked with forced gaiety: "Isuppose he didn't have anything interesting to tell you, did he?"

"No. " Though the light had almost waned, Mrs. Carr broke off a freshpiece of thread and leaned nearer the window, while she tried to findthe eye of the needle. 

"Let me thread your needle, mother. It is too late to work, anyway. Youwill ruin your eyesight. "

"I have never considered my eyesight, Gabriella. "

"I know you haven't, and that's why you ought to begin. "

As it was really growing too dark to see, Mrs. Carr rolled the threadback on the spool, stuck the needle into the last buttonhole, andfolding the infant's dress on which she was working, laid it away in herstraw work-basket. 

"Will you light the gas, Gabriella?"

"Don't work any more to-night, mother. It is almost supper time. "

Without replying, Mrs. Carr moved with her basket to a chair under thechandelier. Once seated there, she unfolded the dress, took the needlefrom the unfinished buttonhole, and tried again unsuccessfully to runthe thread through the eye. Then, while Gabriella rushed to her aid, sheremoved her glasses and patiently polished them on a bit of chamois skinshe kept in her basket. 

"Don't you feel as if you could eat a chop to-night, mother?"

"I haven't been able to swallow a morsel all day, Gabriella. "

"I've saved you a little cream. Shall I make you a toddy?"

"I don't want it. Drink it yourself, dear. "

After this there followed one of those pauses which fill not only theroom, but the universe with a fury of sound. There were times whenGabriella felt that she could stand anything if only her mother wouldfly into a rage--when she positively envied Florrie Spencer because herplebeian parent scolded her at the top of her voice instead ofmaintaining a calm and ladylike reticence. But Mrs. Carr was one ofthose women who never, even in the most trying circumstances, cease tobe patient, who never lose for an instant so much as the palest or thethinnest of the Christian virtues. 

Going into the bedroom, Gabriella changed from her shirtwaist into agown of flowered muslin, with sleeves that looked small beside theballoon ones of the season, and a skirt which was shrunken and pale frommany washings the summer before. She had worn the frock when she metGeorge, and though it was old, she knew it was becoming, and she toldherself joyfully that if she put it on to-night, "something must come ofit. " As she smoothed her hair by the dim gas-jet over the mirror, shesaw again the face of George as it had first smiled down on her beneaththe boughs of a mimosa tree in Mrs. Spencer's front garden. At thetime, a year ago, she was engaged to Arthur--she had even called theplacid preference she felt for him "being in love"--but while she talkedto George she had found herself thinking, "I wonder how it would feel tobe engaged to a man like this instead of to Arthur?" Then, since allSouthern engagements of the period were secret, she had seen a good dealof George during the summer; and in the autumn, while she was stilltrying to make believe that it was merely a friendship, he had gone backto New York without saying good-bye. She had tried her best to stopthinking of him, and until this evening, she had never really letherself confess that she cared. But if she didn't care why was she sohappy to-night? If she didn't care why was there such intoxicatingsweetness in the thought of his return? If she didn't care why had shedressed herself so carefully in the flowered muslin he had once saidthat he liked? Her face, smiling back at her from the mirror, wassuffused with a delicate glow--not pink, not white, but softly luminousas if a lamp, shining behind it, enkindled its expression. She had neverseen herself so nearly pretty, and with this thought in her mind, shewent back to her mother, who was still working buttonholes under thechandelier. 

"Marthy has brought the lamp, mother. Why don't you move over to thetable?"

"I can see perfectly, thank you, Gabriella. "

"I hate to see you working. Let me finish those buttonholes. "

"I'd rather get through them myself, dear. "

"Have you seen Jane to-day?"

"No. "

"Has Cousin Pussy been here?"

"No. "

"Did you get out for a walk?"

"No. "

The appalling silence again filled the room like a fog, and Gabriella, moving cautiously about in it, began straightening chairs and picking upshreds of cambric from the carpet. She felt suddenly that she could notendure the strain for another minute, and glancing at Mrs. Carr's benthead, where the thin hair was wound into a tight knot and held in placeby a tortoise-shell comb with a carved top, she wondered how her mothercould possibly keep it up day after day as she did? But, if she had onlyknown it, this silence, which tried her nerves to the breaking point, was positively soothing to her mother. Mrs. Carr could keep it up notonly for days and weeks, but, had it been necessary, she could have keptit up with equal success for half a lifetime. While she sat there, working buttonholes in a bad light, she thought quite as passionately asGabriella, though her mental processes were different. She thoughtsadly, but firmly, with a pensive melancholy not untinged with pleasure, that "life was becoming almost too much for her. " It seemed incredibleto her that after all her struggles to keep up an appearance thingsshould have turned out as they had; it seemed incredible that after allher sacrifices her children should not consider her more. "They have noconsideration for me, " she reflected, while she took the finest stitchpossible to the needle she held. "If Jane had considered me she wouldnever have married Charley. If Gabriella had considered me, or anybodybut herself, she would not have gone to work in a store. " No, they hadnever considered her, they had never asked her advice before acting, though she had brought them into the world and had worked like a slavein order to keep them in that respected station of life in which theyhad been born. Then, her sorrow getting the better of her resolution, she turned her head and spoke:

"I know you never tell me anything on purpose, Gabriella, but I think Ihave a right to know whether or not you have discarded Arthur for good. "

"I told you all about it, mother. I told you I found I was mistaken. "

"I suppose you never thought for a moment how much it would distress me?Though Lydia Peyton is so much older than I am, she was always my bestfriend--we often stayed in the room together when we were girls. I hadset my heart on your marrying her son. "

"I know that, mother, and I am very sorry, but when it came to the pointI couldn't marry him. You can't make yourself care--"

"I should have thought that my wishes might influence you. I shouldnever wish you to do anything that wasn't for your good, Gabriella. "

"Of course, mother, you've given up your life to us. I know that, andJane knows it as well as I do. That's why I want to earn money enough tolet you rest. I want you to stop work for good and be happy. "

"There are worse things than work, " replied Mrs. Carr in a tone whichimplied that Gabriella had brought them upon her. 

After a pause, in which her needle flew mournfully, she added: "I hopefor your own sake that you will marry some good man before you loseyour attractions. Poor Becky Bollingbroke proved to me how unfortunateit is for a woman to remain unmarried. "

For an instant Gabriella looked at her mother without replying. She felttempted--strongly tempted, she told herself--to say something cross. Then the sight of the bent gray head, of the bowed shoulders, of theknotted needle-pricked fingers, pierced her heart. Though she could notalways agree with her mother, she loved her devotedly, and the thoughtthat she must lose her some day had been the most terrible nightmare ofher childhood. 

"Don't worry about me, mother, dear, " she answered tenderly. "I canalways take care of myself. I can manage my life, you know that, don'tyou?" Then she stopped quickly while her heart gave a single bound andlay quiet. She had heard the click of the gate, and a minute later, asMrs. Carr gathered up her sewing, there was a ring at the bell. 

"It can't be a visitor before supper, can it, Gabriella?"

"I think not, mother, but I shouldn't run away if I were you. "

"I'd better go. I don't feel dressed. Wait a minute, Marthy, and let meget out of the room before you open the door. " She fled, clutching herwork-basket, while Gabriella, turning to lower the flaming wick of thelamp, heard George's voice at the door and his footsteps crossing thehall. 

"I knew something would happen, " she thought wildly, as she went forwardto meet him. 

"I saw you pull down the shade as I was going by, " he began ratherlamely; and she hardly heard his words because of the divine tumult inher brain. Her heart sang; her pulses throbbed; every drop of her bloodseemed to become suddenly alive with ecstasy. Under the tarnishedgarlands of the chandelier his face looked younger, gayer, moreintensely vivid than it had looked in her dreams. It was the face of herdreams made real; but with what a difference! She saw his crisp brownhair brushed smoothly back from its parting, his blue eyes, with theirgay and conquering look, the firm red brown of his cheek, and even thebluish shadow encircling his shaven mouth. In his eyes, which saidenchanting things, she could not read the trivial and commonplacequality of his soul--for he was not only a man, he was romance, he wasadventure, he was the radiant miracle of youth!

"Florrie told me this morning that you had come back, " she answeredcoldly, as she held out her hand. 

Her words seemed to come to her from a distance--from the next room, from the street outside, from the farthest star--but while she utteredthem, she knew that her words meant nothing. She shed her joy as if itwere fragrance; and her softness was like the magnolia-scented softnessof the June night. Even her mother would not have known her, so greatlyhad she changed in a minute. Of the businesslike figure in the sailorhat and trim shirtwaist--of the Gabriella who had said, "I can manage mylife"--there remained only an outline. The very feet of the capablewoman had changed into the shrinking and timid feet of a lovesick girl. She was afraid to go forward, afraid to move, afraid to breathe lest shebreak the wonderful spell of the magic. Not only her basic common sense, but the very soul that shaped her body had become as light, as sweet, as formless as liquid honey. 

But of course, she knew nothing of this. She was innocent of deception;she was innocent even of any definite purpose to allure. The thought inher mind, if there were any thought, which is doubtful, was that shemust be composed, she must be indifferent if it killed her. 

"I know I've come at an awkward hour, but I simply couldn't go by afterI saw you. "

"Won't you stay?" she asked, trying in vain to shut out the ominoussound of Marthy bringing their scant supper. She remembered, withhorror, that she had ordered only two chops, and a wave of rebellionswept over her because life always spoiled its divine instants. 

"No, I can't stay. I've an engagement for supper. I merely wanted to seeyou. You've no idea how I've wanted to see you. "

"Have you?" said Gabriella in so low a voice that he hardly heard her. Then, lifting her glowing eyes, she added softly, "I am glad that youwanted to. "

"There were times when I simply couldn't get you out of my mind, " heresponded, and went on almost joyously, with the romantic look which hadfirst enchanted her imagination. "You see I believed that you were goingto marry Arthur Peyton. Julia told me that your engagement was broken. That was why I came back. Didn't you guess it?"

"Yes, I guessed it, " she answered simply, and all the softness, thesweetness, the beauty of her feeling passed into her voice. 

Then, in the very midst of her happiness, there occurred one of thosesordid facts which appear to spring, like vultures, upon the ineffablemoments. She heard the bell--the awful supper bell which her motherinsisted upon having rung because her parents had had it rung forgenerations before her. As the horrible sound reverberated through thehouse, Gabriella felt that the noise passed through her ears, not intoher brain, but into the very depths of her suffering soul. 

"There, I must go, " said George, without embarrassment, for which sheblessed him. From his manner, the supper bell might have made adelightful harmony instead of a hideous discord. "I'll see youto-morrow, if I may. May I, Gabriella?"

He smiled charmingly as he went, and looking after him, a minute later, over the clove pinks in the window-box, she saw him turn and gaze backat her from the opposite pavement. 

CHAPTER IV

MIRAGE

On a bright Sunday in October Mrs. Carr stopped on her way from churchto tell Mrs. Peyton of Gabriella's engagement. A crape veil, slightlyscented with camphor, hung from her bonnet, and in her gloved hands shecarried a bunch of yellow chrysanthemums, for she intended to go on toHollywood, where her husband was buried. The sermon had been unusuallyinspiring, and there was a pensive exaltation in her look as she laidher hand on the gate of the walled garden. 

"If it couldn't be Arthur--and of course my heart was set on hermarrying Arthur--I suppose George is the one I should have chosen, " shesaid to Mrs. Peyton with tender melancholy as she turned her soft, clammy cheek, which was never warm even in summer, to be kissed. 

There was nothing against George that she could advance even toGabriella. He was well born, for his mother had been a Randolph; he wascomfortably rich (at least his father was); he was good-looking; he wasalmost arrogantly healthy--yet because she was obliged to regretsomething, she found herself clinging fondly to the memory of Arthur. "If it could only have been Arthur, " she repeated sadly, gazing throughthe French window of the drawing-room to the garden where beds ofscarlet sage flaunted brilliantly in the sunshine. 

"I hope and pray that dear Gabriella will be happy, " replied Mrs. Peyton, a beautiful old lady, with wonderful white hair under thewidow's ruching in her bonnet. The exquisite simplicity of her soul wasreflected in the rose-leaf delicacy of her skin, in her benignant andinnocent smile, in the serene and joyous glance of her eyes. Never inher life had she thought evil of any one, and she did not mean to beginon the verge of the grave, with the hope of a peaceful eternity beforeher. If dear Gabriella had "discarded" dear Arthur, then she could onlyhope and pray that dear Gabriella would not live to regret it. 

"She will be married at once, I suppose?" she said, and beamed ashappily as if Gabriella had not disappointed the dearest hope of herheart. "There is no need to wait, is there?"

"They have decided on the 17th of November. I wanted you to know itfirst of all, Lydia, so I haven't mentioned it to a soul except toCousin Jimmy Wrenn. "

"You will live with dear Jane, will you not? Poor child, what a blessingyou will be to her. "

"No, I shall be with Jane only for a month or two until Gabriella andGeorge have taken a house in New York. She wouldn't consent to bemarried so soon until I promised to live with them. But how on earthshall I ever manage to go so far away, Lydia? To think of being so farfrom Hollywood almost breaks my heart, and yet what can I do?"

Mrs. Peyton's loving gaze enfolded not only her visitor, but the houseand the dreamy garden where frost was already blighting the flowers. 

"I understand your feeling, of course, Fanny, " she said, "but you mustthink of Gabriella. How different it will be for her if her mother iswith her. I shall miss you every minute, but for the sake of thatsplendid child of yours, I must not allow myself to be sorry. "

If Mrs. Carr's features could have lost the fixed impression of alifetime, they would have appeared almost cheerful while her old friendheld her hand and gazed benignly upon her; but so relaxed had themuscles of her face become that, even when her spirits rose, hercountenance did not alter, and the flicker of light in her smile onlyserved to illumine its profound melancholy. 

"I try to think of Gabriella, " she answered, "but I oughtn't to forgetpoor Jane. Whenever I remember her, I begin to reproach myself. "

"Don't reproach yourself, Fanny. There is nothing on earth for which youcan justly be blamed. I am sure you have never considered your ownwishes for a minute in your life. If ever a mother gave up everythingfor her children, you have done so, Fanny, and you needn't deny it. Buttell me about Gabriella. How thankful you ought to be that she has givenup that work in a store!"

"If it had been God's will, I suppose I must have borne it, Lydia, but Ifelt as if it was killing me. "

"The dear child has a strong character, " observed Mrs. Peyton, and itseemed to her, while she thought of Gabriella, that a strong characterwas a beautiful and wonderful thing. 

"You would hardly know Gabriella, she is so changed, " replied Mrs. Carr. "I declare I sometimes think that I never saw a girl so wildly in loveas she is. She positively worships George, and when I look at her, Iremember Becky Bollingbroke's saying that a smart woman in love isworse than a silly one. She has that much more to get foolish with, poorBecky used to say. 

"How happy it must make you, " murmured the other. "There is nothing inlife I'd rather see than my Arthur happily married. "

"I always thought that he and Gabriella were made for each other, butone never can tell--"

"That must be Gabriella now, " said Mrs. Peyton as the bell rang. "Is shecoming for you?"

"Yes, Cousin Jimmy was to bring her, and then drive me out to Hollywood. Isn't that Arthur's voice talking to her?"

"Poor boy, " whispered Mrs. Peyton, and then she rustled forward andenveloped Gabriella in a warm embrace. "My darling girl, your mother hasjust told me, " she said. 

"And Gabriella has just told me, " added Arthur at her elbow. Thoughthere was a hurt look in his eyes, his manner was perfect. Yearsafterwards, whenever Gabriella thought of him, she remembered howperfect his manner was on that morning. 

"I wanted you to know first of all, " said Gabriella. 

As the old lady looked at her with loving eyes, it seemed to her thatthe girl was softly glowing with happiness. She accepted joy as sheaccepted sorrow, with quietness, but there was a look in her face whichmade her appear, for the moment, transfigured. A radiance like that of aveiled flame shone in her eyes; the cool tones of her voice had grownricher and gentler; and at last, as Mrs. Peyton said to herself, Gabriella, the sensible and practical Gabriella, was sweet with thehoneysuckle sweetness of Jane. 

"She must be over head and ears in love, " she thought; and the nextminute, "I wonder how it will end?"

The question brought a pang to her kind old heart, which longed to makeeverybody, and particularly her boy Arthur, happy. Then, because hereyes were filling, she stroked the girl's arm gently, and said:

"That's a pretty dress, my dear. I never saw you look better. "

"She's really getting pretty, " remarked Mrs. Carr. "Cousin Jimmy wassaying only yesterday that if Gabriella keeps it up, she'll be a betterlooking old lady than Jane. "

"Well, I think her a very pretty young one, " replied Mrs. Peyton. "Shehasn't such small features as Jane has, but there is more in her face. Now, I'm willing to wager that George thinks her a beauty. "

Gabriella laughed happily. "He hasn't the faintest idea what I looklike, but he declares he won't be a bit disappointed if he finds outsome day that I am ugly. "

The glow of youth, of hope, of love, gave to her expressive face analmost unearthly brightness. She seemed to draw to her all that wasvital and alive in the dim old house, so filled with memories, and inthe October pageantry of the garden. It was the day of her miracle, andagainst the splendour of the scarlet sage, she shone with anunforgettable radiance. 

When, a little later, Mrs. Carr, in Cousin Jimmy's buggy, with her bunchof chrysanthemums held rigidly in her lap, drove off at an amble toHollywood, and Gabriella, turning to wave her hand, had vanished behindthe corner of the gray wall, Mrs. Peyton said gently:

"She looked very happy, dear boy. You and I must pray for herhappiness. "

The beauty which all her life she had created through faith awoke inArthur's suffering heart while she spoke to him. She demanded nobilityof being, and it existed; she exacted generosity of nature, and it wasthere. By her mere presence, by the overflowing love in her heart, shenot only banished jealousy and envy, but made the very idea of themunthinkable. 

"She is obliged to be happy. It is her nature, " answered Arthur, for hisdisposition was hardly less perfect than his manner. 

Crossing Broad Street, which wore its look of Sabbath sleepiness, Gabriella hurried on to Hill Street, and saw George waiting for herbetween the two green-painted urns filled with the summer's fading bloomof portulaca. 

He was staring straight upward at one of the poplar trees, where a graysquirrel was playing among the branches, and for several minutes beforehe was aware of her presence, she watched him with her impassioned, yetnot wholly uncritical, gaze. The sunlight sparkled in his eyes, whichshone brightly blue against the red brown of his flesh; and between hissmiling lips, which were thick and somewhat loosely moulded, she saw thegleaming whiteness of his teeth. She could not explain--she had nevereven tried to understand--why this face, which was not in the least aremarkable one, should so profoundly appeal to her. When George wasabsent, his look haunted her with the intensity of an hallucination;when at last she saw it again, she felt that nothing else in the worldmattered to her, so supreme was the contentment that swept over her. Though she was more intelligent than Jane, not even Jane herself hadsurrendered so unconditionally to the primal force. At least Jane hadmade exactions, but so complete was the subjugation of Gabriella thatshe exacted nothing, not even a return of her love. To give was all sheasked, and in the giving she bloomed into a beauty and fullness ofnature which Jane's small, closed soul could never attain. 

"George!" she called, and went swiftly toward him. 

He turned, threw away the cigar in his hand, and held open the gatewhile she entered. 

"There's a jolly little beggar up in the poplar, " he said; "I've beenwatching him for ten minutes. "

Then, as she passed before him into the parlour, he shut the door, andcatching her in his arms, kissed the back of her neck. 

"Oh, George!" she murmured, and her voice was like music. Even to hisshort-sighted vision there was pathos at the heart of her happiness--thepathos of ignorance, Of innocence, of the reckless generosity of soulthat spends its best for the pure joy of spending. With the instinctivemiserliness of the man who realizes that passion to last must behoarded, not scattered, he had drawn back almost unconsciously from thesimple abandonment of her love. He wanted her because the deepdiscomfort of his nature could not be satisfied without her; but inpossessing her he did not mean to give up anything else. Never for aninstant had he deluded himself with the mystic ecstasies of Gabriella. The passion which had changed her whole being as if by a miracle, hadaltered neither his fundamental egoism nor his superficial philosophy. He loved her, he knew, as much as it was possible for him to love anywoman; but he was still able to take a profound and healthy interest inhis physical comfort. In one thing, however, they were passionatelyagreed, and that was that the aim and end of their marriage was to makeGeorge perfectly happy. 

"You are sweet enough to eat this morning, " he said as he kissed her. 

"I told Mrs. Peyton that you didn't know whether I was pretty or ugly, "she answered merrily. 

"It isn't beauty that takes a man, though women think so, " he rejoinedlightly, and yet as if he were imparting one of the basic facts ofexperience. "I don't know what it is--but it's something else, andyou've got it, Gabriella. "

She looked at him with luminous eyes. 

"I've got you, " she answered in a whisper; "that's all--nothing else onearth matters. I want nothing but love. "

"But you let me go away for six months. I could never understand that. "

"I had to, George. I couldn't be mean even for you, could I?"

"Well, I don't know. " His gaze dwelt on her moodily. "Sometimes I wonderif you haven't too much conscience in your body?"

Careless as were his words, they brought stinging tears to her eyes. Herthroat ached with the longing to pour out her love; but it seemed to hersuddenly that a wall of personality had risen between them, and that shecould only beat blindly against the impenetrable mass that divided them. She knew now that he could never understand, and yet the knowledge ofthis intensified rather than diminished her love. The mere physicalattraction, which she had glorified into passion, was invested with thebeauty and the mystery of an unattainable ideal. 

"I believe you are going to cry, darling. Don't be so serious, " he said, laughing. 

"But you know--tell me you know that I love you. "

"Of course I know it. Am I blind or a fool?"

Then before the glowing worship in her face, he caught her in his arms, while he said over and over, "I love you! I love you!"

He held her close, thrilling at her touch, seeking her warm lips with aneagerness which comforted her because she was too inexperienced tounderstand how ephemeral was its nature and its sweetness. 

"Promise to love me always, George, as you do now, " she said, passionately trying to make the fugitive joy immortal. 

"If you'll tell me how to help it, I shall be grateful, " he retorted asgaily as if her eyes had not filled with tears. 

"Swear it!"

"I swear it. Now, are you satisfied?"

"I don't believe it. I'll never believe that you love me as much as Ilove you. Nobody could. "

In his heart he agreed with her. That Gabriella loved him more than heloved her was a fact to which he was easily reconciled. He loved herquite as much as he could love anybody except himself and becomfortable, and if she demanded more, she merely proved herself to bean unreasonable person. Women did love more than men, he supposed, butwhat else were they here for? During the six months when he had thoughtthat she belonged to another, she had, he told himself, almost drivenhim out of his mind; but possession once assured, he had speedilyrecovered his health and his sanity. Her worship flattered him, and inthis flattery she had, perhaps, her strongest hold on his heart. Nothingin his engagement had pleased him more than the readiness with which shehad given up her work at his request. He abhorred independence in awife; and Gabriella's immediate and unresisting acquiescence in hisdesire appeared to him to establish the fact of her essential andinherent femininity. Had not all laws, as well as all religions, proclaimed that woman should be content to lay down not only her lifebut her very identity for love; and that Gabriella was womanly to thecore of her nature, in spite of her work in Brandywine's millinerydepartment, it was impossible to doubt while he kissed her. There weretimes, indeed, when the exaltation of Gabriella's womanliness seemed tohave left her without a will of her own; when, in a divine submission tolove, she appeared to exist only for the laudable purpose of making herlover happy. 

"I'd do anything on earth for you, Gabriella, " said George suddenly. "Iwonder if you would make a sacrifice for me if I asked it?" From hisface as he looked down on her it was evident that he was not speakingfrom impulse, but that he had seized an opportune moment. 

"You know I would, George. I'd give up the whole world for you. I'd begmy bread with you by the roadside. "

"Well, it isn't so bad as that, darling--it's only about your mothercoming to us so soon. I've had a letter from home, and it seems thatfather has had losses and can't help me out as he intended to do. He'salways either losing or making piles of money, so don't bother yourprecious head about that. In six months he'll probably be making pilesagain, but, in the meantime, mother suggests that we should postponetaking a house, and come and live with her for a few months. "

"I'd rather live on your income, George, no matter how small it is. I'man awfully good manager, and you'd be surprised to see how far I canmake a little money go. Why can't we take an apartment somewhere in aninexpensive neighbourhood--one just big enough for mother and you andme?"

"We couldn't live half so well in the first place, and, besides, I'dhate like the devil to see you working yourself to death and losing yourlooks. That's just exactly what Patty is doing. She was the family'sgreatest investment, you know. Everything we had for years was spent onher because she was such a ripping beauty, and mother set her heart onher marrying nothing less than a duke. So we sent her abroad to beeducated and squandered a fortune on her clothes, and then, just asmother was gloating over her triumphs, the very day after the Duke ofToxbridge proposed to her, Patty walked out one morning and marriedBilly King at the Little Church Around the Corner. Billy, of course, hasn't a cent to his name except what he makes painting blue pictures, and that's precious little. They're up on the West Side now, living infour rooms with neighbours who fry onions at nine o'clock in the morningnext door to them, and half the time Patty hasn't even a maid, Ibelieve, and has to do her work with the help of a charwoman. "

"And is she happy?" There was eagerness in Gabriella's voice, for shewas sure that she should love Patty. 

"Oh, yes, Patty is happy, but mother isn't. It's rough on mother. "

"I think she ought to have told your mother before she married. "

"Well, Patty thought she could stand the fuss better after she'd done itthan she could before. She said she needed the support of knowing theycouldn't stop it. Cheeky, wasn't it?"

"And is she really so beautiful?"

"Ripping, " said George; "simply ripping. "

"I know I shall love her. Is she dark or fair?"

"I never thought about it, but she's a towering beauty--somethingbetween dark and fair, I suppose. She has golden hair, you know. "

His arm was around her, and lifting her earnest face to his, Gabriellabegan in her softest voice: "I shouldn't mind a bit living like that, George--honestly I shouldn't. "

"Yes, you would. It would be rotten. "

"I wish you would tell me just how much we shall have to live on, dear. Even if it is very, very little, it would be so much better not toexpect anything from your father. If the worst comes to the worst, I canalways go back to work, you know, and I feel as if I ought to helpbecause you are so generous about wanting mother to live with us. "

He frowned slightly, while a dark flush rose to his forehead. AlreadyGabriella was learning how dangerously easy it was to irritate George. Serious discussions always appeared to disturb him, and at the firstallusion to the responsibilities he had assumed, she could see the lookof bored restlessness creep into his face. It was evidently abhorrent tohim to hear her talk about business; but with her practical nature andher fundamental common sense it was impossible that she should becontent to remain in a fool's paradise of financial mysteries. She hadonly the vaguest idea how he earned a living, and a still vaguer one ofwhat that living represented. There was an impression in her mind thathe worked in his father's office somewhere in Wall Street--he had oncegiven her the number--and that he went "downtown" every morning afterbreakfast and did not get home to luncheon. Cousin Jimmy had once toldher that George's father was a stockbroker, but this informationconveyed little to her mind. The men she knew in Richmond were lawyers, doctors, clergymen, or engaged, like Cousin Jimmy, in the "tobaccobusiness, " and she supposed that "a stockbroker" must necessarily belongto a profession which was restricted to New York. The whole matter washazy in her thoughts, but she hoped in time, by intelligent and tactfulapplication, to overcome her ignorance as well as George's deeply rootedobjection to her enlightenment. 

"Well, you see, my income is uncertain, Gabriella. It depends a gooddeal upon the stock market and the sort of stuff we've been buying. Lookhere, darling, don't, for heaven sake, get the business bee in yourbonnet. A mannish woman is worse than poison, and the less you knowabout stocks the more attractive you will be. Mother has lived forthirty years with father, and she doesn't know any more how he makes hismoney than you do at this minute. "

This was as lucid, she suspected, as George was ever likely to be onthe subject, and, since he was becoming visibly annoyed, she abandonedher fruitless search for information. After she was married there wouldbe time and opportunity to find out all that she wanted to know; andeven if he never told her anything more--well, she was quite accustomedto the masculine habit of never telling women anything more. Her motherand Jane were as ignorant of finance as they had been in their cradles;Cousin Pussy spoke of the "tobacco business" as if it were a sacredmystery superior to the delicate feminine faculties; and while Gabriellawas engaged to Arthur, he had fallen into the habit of gently remindingher that she "knew nothing of law. "

"Very well, dearest, I shan't bother you, " she said cheerfully, "only, of course, I couldn't possibly leave mother with Jane and Charley. Shedoesn't realize it, but she would be perfectly miserable. "

"She told me that leaving Richmond was like death to her. "

"That's only because she knows she's going, " answered Gabriella, but herendeavour to explain her mother's habit of mind appeared to her to be sohopeless that she added unconvincingly: "You can't imagine how dependentshe is on me. Jane doesn't know how to manage her at all, though theyare so much alike. "

"Well, of course, if we live at home--"

"But you promised me we'd be to ourselves, George; you can't haveforgotten it. We talked it over, every bit of it, and I told you in thebeginning I couldn't leave mother. "

"If you loved me enough to marry me, I should think you'd be willing togive up your family for me. " He spoke doggedly; it was his way to speakdoggedly when he was driving a point. 

"It isn't that, dear, you know it isn't that. "

Taking a letter from his pocket, he drew a sheet of blue note paper, closely interlined, from the envelope, and handed it to her. 

"You can see for yourself how it is, " he said in an aggrieved voice. Byhis tone he had managed to put her in the wrong as utterly as if she, not he, were trying to break her word. Yet she had told him in the verybeginning that she could not leave her mother; she had refused to engageherself to him until he had offered Mrs. Carr a home with them. It hadall been carefully arranged at the start, and now, within a month oftheir marriage, he had apparently forgotten that the matter was settled. 

Leaning forward until the light fell on the paper, she read withtrembling lips:

 My Dear Son:

 Your letter was a blow to me because you had said nothing of Gabriella's plan to bring her mother to New York to live with her, and, of course, this makes it out of the question that you should come straight to us. Now that Patty has gone--poor child, I am afraid she will live to repent her rashness--your father and I had quite looked forward to having you young people in the house; but we haven't room, even if I could bring myself to face the prospect of a rival mother-in-law under the same roof with me--and frankly I can't. And your father has simply put his foot down on the idea. As you know he hasn't been very well of late--the doctor says he is threatened with diabetes--so my one thought is to spare him every useless anxiety. He sleeps very badly and doesn't seem able, even at night, to detach his mind from his business worries. If he hadn't had such a bad summer, he might have been able to help you start housekeeping, but there have been a great many failures in the last few months, and he says he is obliged to cut down all his expenses in order to tide over the depression in the market. We are trying to retrench in every possible way, and, for this reason, I fear we shall hardly be able to go down to your wedding. This is a terrible disappointment to us both, and your father is particularly distressed because he will not be able to add to your income this year. Of course, if you should change your mind and decide to come to us, we can get Patty's old room ready for you at once, and turn yours into a sitting-room. Think this over and let me know as soon as you possibly can. 

 I see Patty occasionally. She is in high spirits, but looking a little thinner, I think. Billy has painted a portrait of Mrs. Pletheridge, but it isn't a bit flattering, and he wouldn't let her wear her pearls, so I'm afraid she won't buy it. I don't believe he will ever make anything of himself. What a waste when Patty might have been Duchess of Toxbridge. Though I am not a bit worldly, I can't help regretting all that she has lost. 

 Your loving mother, EVELYN FOWLER. 

When she had folded the letter and given it back to him, Gabrielladropped her hands in her lap and sat gazing thoughtfully at the squareof sunlight by the window. 

"If you cared as much as I do, you'd be willing to give up your family, "he said suddenly, encouraged not only by her manner, which appearedyielding, but by his secret ineradicable conviction that her love wasgreater than his. Across the romantic screen of his features thereflashed a swift change of expression, like the flicker of light on acoloured mask. If she could only have looked through the charmingvacancy of his face, she would have been surprised to discover thedirectness and simplicity of his mental processes. He wanted his way, and he meant, provided it was humanly possible, to have whatever hewanted. 

"It isn't that, George. Love has nothing to do with it. It is a questionof right. "

For a minute he surveyed her moodily; then, rising from her side on thesofa, he took two steps to the window and looked up at the boughs of thepoplar tree. The gray squirrel was still there, and he watched itattentively while he pondered his answer. Yes, the whole trouble withGabriella was too much conscience. This conscience of hers had got inhis way before now, and he had suddenly an uneasy feeling, as if he hadstruck against the vein of iron which lay beneath the rich bloom of herpassion. The thought of her opposition, of her secret hardness, bitterlyangered him. He wanted her--no other woman could satisfy him--but hewanted her utterly different from what she was. He was seized with anindomitable desire to make her over, to change her entirely from thatGabriella with whom he had fallen in love. Of course, she was right asfar as the mere facts of the case were concerned. He had promised thather mother should live with them; but he felt indignantly that it was anact of disloyalty for her to be right at his expense. She ought to havegiven in, and she ought to have given in gracefully, there was noquestion of that. When a woman loved a man as much as she loved him, itwas unreasonable of her to let these innumerable little points of factcome between them; it was ungenerous of her to cling so stubbornly toher advantage. Her very quietness--that look of gentle obstinacy whichrefused either to fight back or to surrender--irritated him almost todesperation. His temper, always inflammable, suddenly burst out, and hefelt that he wanted to shake her. He wanted, indeed, to do anything inthe world except the sensible thing of walking out of the house andleaving her to reflection. 

"I should think your first duty would be to your husband, " he said, while the streak of cruelty which was at the heart of his love showedlike a livid mark on the surface of his nature. His mind was consciousof but a single thought while he stood there in the wind which flutteredthe curtains and filled the room with the roving scents of October, andthis was the bitter longing to make Gabriella over into the girl that hewanted her to become. Though it cost him her love, he felt that he mustpunish her for being herself. 

"Do you mean always to put your mother before me?" he askedpassionately, after a minute. 

Still she did not answer, and in the deep, earnest eyes that she turnedon him he saw not anger, not sorrow even, but wonder. As he stretchedout his hand, it fell on Mrs. Carr's window box, where a rose geraniumremained bright green in the midst of the withered stems of the clovepinks, and the scent of the leaves, as he crushed them between hisfingers, evoked a swift memory of Gabriella in one of her soft moods, saying over and over, "I love you! Oh, I do love you!" At the image histemper changed as if by magic, and crossing the room, he bent down andkissed her with a fierceness that bruised her lips. 

"I adore you, Gabriella, " he said. 

Though she had seen these sudden changes in him before, she had nevergrown wholly used to them. Her deeper nature, with its tranquilbrightness, untroubled by passing storms, was unprepared for the shallowviolence which swept over him, leaving no visible trace of its passage. No, she could not understand him--she could only hope that after theywere married the blindness would pass from her love, and she wouldattain that completer knowledge for which she was striving so patiently. The transforming miracle of marriage, she trusted, would reveal thismystery, with so many others. 

"How can you hurt me so, George?" she asked with reproachful tenderness. 

"It's because you are so stubborn, darling. If you weren't so stubborn Ishouldn't do it. Do you know you get almost mulish at times, " he added, laughing, while she moved nearer and rubbed her cheek softly against hissleeve. 

"You frighten me, " she whispered. "I was just beginning to believe thatyou really meant it. "

"Oh, lovers always quarrel. There's nothing in that. "

"But I hate to see you angry. It would almost kill me if it lastedlonger than a minute. Never let it last, will you, George?"

"Of course not, Goosey. It never has lasted, has it?"

"Goosey" was one of his favourite names for her. He liked it because itgave him a merry feeling of superiority when he said it, and Gabriellaliked it for perhaps the same reason. In the first ardour of herself-surrender she caught eagerly at any straw that she might cast onthe flame of her passion. 

"And I'm not really stubborn, dear. Tell me that I'm not reallystubborn. "

"You darling! I was only teasing you. "

"I'll do anything on earth for you that I can, George. "

"I know you will, dearest, and you don't honestly care more for yourfamily, do you?"

"I love you better than all the rest of the world put together. Thereare times when I think it must be wrong to love any man as much as Ilove you. My grandmother used to say that when you loved like that you'tempted Providence. ' Isn't it dreadful to believe that you could temptProvidence by loving?"

He kissed her throat where a loosened strand of dark hair had fallenagainst the whiteness. 

"Will you do what I ask, Gabriella?"

So it was all to begin over again! He had not really given in, he hadnot really yielded even while he was kissing her. She closed her eyes, leaning her head on his shoulder. For a moment she felt as if a physicalpain were pressing into her forehead. 

"Will you do it, Gabriella?" It was as if he put his soul into hisvoice, wooing her tenderly away from her better judgment. He was testinghis power to dominate her; and never had she felt it so vividly, neverhad her will been so incapable of resisting him as at that instant. Moving slightly in his arms she looked at the clear red brown of histhroat, at his sensitive mouth, with the faint dent in the lower lip, athis bright blue eyes, which had grown soft while he pleaded. Hisphysical power over her was complete, and he knew it. Her flesh hadbecome as soft as flowers in his arms, while her eyes, like dark flames, trembled and fell away from his look. 

"It isn't only the thing itself, darling, but I don't like you to refuseme. It hurts me that you won't do what I ask of you. "

"If it were anything else, George. "

"But it isn't anything else. It is just that I want you to myself--allto myself, after we are married. "

"Don't ask me, dearest. If you only knew how it makes me suffer. "

Her voice was a caress when she answered, but, as he told himselfpassionately, she had not yielded an inch. Once again he had run againstthe iron hidden under the bloom. 

"Then you refuse absolutely?" he asked, and though his voice quiveredstill, it was no longer from tenderness. He hated stubbornness, and, most of all, he hated it in the woman who was going to be his wife. Alife of continual contradiction, he felt, would be intolerable. A strongwill, which he had always admired in himself, became a positive failingin Gabriella. A woman's strength lay, after all, not in force ofcharacter, but in sweetness of nature. And yet how lovely she was! Howsoft, how sweet she looked as she gazed up at him with her radiant eyes. There was a fascination for him in her tall slenderness, in the gracefulcurve of her head, which drooped slightly like a dark flower on itsstem. Everything about her charmed him, and yet he had never called herbeautiful in his thoughts. 

"I told you how it was, dear, when you first asked me to marry you, " shesaid, with infinite patience. "I told you that it wasn't fair to ask youto take mother, but that I couldn't possibly leave her alone in her oldage. Jane's home is wretchedly unhappy--she can never tell when Charleyis to be counted on--and it would kill mother to be dependent on Charleyeven if he were willing. I see your side, George, indeed, indeed, I do, but I can't--I simply can't act differently. I have always known it wasmy duty to look after mother--nothing can change that, not even love. She worked for us while we were little, and it is trouble that has madeher what she is to-day. You must see that I am right, George; you can'tpossibly help it. "

But he couldn't see it. If the truth had been twice as evident, ifGabriella had been twice as reasonable, he could still have seen onlyhis wishes. 

"I am only asking you to do what is best for us both, Gabriella. "

"But how can it be best for me to become an ungrateful child, George?"

Neither of them wanted to quarrel, yet in a minute the barbed words wereflying between them; in a minute they faced each other as coldly as ifthey had been strangers instead of adoring lovers. At the last, helooked at her an instant in silence while she sat perfectly motionlesswith her deep eyes changing to gold in the sunlight; then, turning onhis heel, without a word, he left the house, and walked rapidly over thecoloured leaves on the pavement. As he passed under the poplar tree thegray squirrel darted gaily along a bough over his head, but he did notlook up, and a minute later Gabriella saw him cross the street andvanish beyond the pointed yew tree in the yard at the corner. 

"I wonder if this is the end?" she thought bitterly, and she knew thateven if it were the end, that even if she died of it, she could nevergive way. Something stronger than herself--that vein of iron in hersoul--would not bend, would not break though every fibre of her beingstruggled against it. All the happiness of her life vanished with Georgeas he passed beyond the yew tree at the corner, yet she sat there withher hands still folded, her lips still firm, watching the tree longafter its pointed dusk had hidden her lover's figure. Had she followedher desire as lightly as George followed his, she would have run afterhim as he disappeared, and bringing him back to the room he had left, dissolved in tears on his breast. She longed to do this, but the vein ofiron held her firm in spite of herself. She could not move toward him, she could not even have put out her hand had he entered. 

The bell rang, and her blood drummed in her ears; but it was only CousinJimmy bringing Mrs. Carr back from the cemetery. Hearty, deep-chested, meticulously brushed and groomed, he wore his Sunday frock with anunnatural stiffness, as if he were still hearing Pussy's parting warningto be "careful about his clothes. " His dark hair, trained for twentyyears from a side parting, shone with the lustre of satin, and hisshining eyes, so like the eyes of adventurous youth, wore theiraccustomed Sabbath look of veiled and ashamed sleepiness. 

"So you're going to take the old lady to New York with you, Gabriella?"

"I can't bear to think of it, Cousin Jimmy, " remarked Mrs. Carr, whileshe adjusted her crape veil over the back of her chair. "I don't see howI can stand living in the North. "

"Well, what about our friend Charley? Do you think you could get on anybetter with Charley for a son-in-law?"

"You oughtn't to joke about it, Cousin Jimmy. It is too serious forjoking. "

"I beg your pardon, Cousin Fanny--but where is George, Gabriella? Ithought he was to meet you here. "

"He had to go just before you came. Don't you think mother is lookingwell?"

"As well as I ever saw her. I was telling her so as we drove back fromHollywood. All she needs is to leave off moping for a while and she'dlose ten years of her age. Why, I tell you if it were I, I'd jump at thechance to go to New York for a few years. If there wasn't a single thingthere except the theatres, I'd jump at it. You can go to a differentshow every night of your life, Cousin Fanny. "

"I have never been inside of a theatre in my life. You ought to know mebetter than to think it, " replied Mrs. Carr, while the corners of hermouth drooped. She had laid her bag of grosgrain silk on the table ather elbow, and untying the strings of her bonnet, she neatly rolled theminto two tight little wads which she fastened with jet-headed pins. 

"You make her go, honey, when you get hold of her, " said Jimmy toGabriella in a sympathetic aside "What she needs is bracing up--I wassaying so to Pussy only this morning. 'If you could just brace up CousinFanny, she'd be as well as you or I, ' was what I said to her Now I don'tbelieve there's a better place on earth to brace a body up than old NewYork. I remember I took my poor old father there just a month or twobefore his last illness, when he was getting over a spell of lumbago, and it worked on him like magic. We stayed at the Fifth AvenueHotel--you must be sure to get a dinner at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, Cousin Fanny--and went to a show every blessed night for a week. It madethe old man young again, upon my word it did, and he was still talkingabout it when he came down with his last illness. Well, I must be goinghome to Pussy now. The boys and I went out squirrel hunting yesterday, and Pussy promised me Brunswick stew for dinner. Now, don't you forgetto brace up, Cousin Fanny. That's all on earth you need. The world ain'tsuch a bad place, after all, when you sit down and think right hardabout it. "

He went out gaily, followed by Mrs. Carr's accusing eyes to the hatrack, where he stopped to take his glossy silk hat from a peg. Turning in thebuggy as he drove off, he waved merrily back at them with the whipbefore he touched the fat flanks of his gray. 

"Cousin Jimmy means well, but he has a most unfortunate manner attimes, " observed Mrs. Carr. 

"What is the matter, Gabriella? Have you a headache?"

"Oh, no, but the sunshine is so strong. "

"Then you'd better lower the shade. Why, what in the world has happenedto my rose geranium? I was just going to pot it for the winter. "

"I'm sure it isn't hurt, mother. George broke the leaves when he waslooking out of the window. "

"I thought he was going to stay for dinner. Did you make the jelly andsyllabub?"

"I made it, but he wouldn't stay. "

"Well, we'll send some upstairs to Miss Jemima. Do you know she had tohave the doctor this morning? I met him as I was going out, and he saidhe was sorry to hear I was going to leave Richmond. I can't imaginewhere on earth he could have heard it, for I haven't mentioned it to asoul except Lydia Peyton. Yes, I believe I did speak of it to BessieSpencer at the meeting of the Ladies' Aid Society the other day. Whereare you going, Gabriella? Would you mind putting my bonnet in thebandbox?"

No, Gabriella wouldn't mind, and taking the folds of crape in her arms, she went to get the green paper bandbox out of the closet. Though shehad sacrificed her happiness for her mother, she felt that it would beimpossible for her to listen with a smiling face to her innocentprattle. 

In the afternoon, when Mrs. Carr, with a small and inconspicuous basketin her hand, had set out on her Sunday visit to the Old Ladies' Home, and Marthy, attired in an apron with an embroidered bib, had taken thejelly and syllabub upstairs to Miss Jemima, Gabriella sat down in hermother's rocking-chair by the window, and tried desperately to bephilosophical. The sound of the old maids from the floor abovedescending on their way to a funeral disturbed her for a minute, and shethought with an extraordinary clearness, "That is what my life will beif George never comes back. That is what it means to be old. " And therewas a morbid pleasure in pressing this thought, like a pointed weapon, into her heart. "That is all there will be for me--that will be mylife, " she went on after an instant of throbbing anguish. "I had noright to think of marriage with mother dependent on me, and the bestthing for me to do is to start again with Mr. Brandywine. George wasright in a way. Yes, it is hard on him, and I was wrong ever to think ofit--ever to let him fall in love with me. " The mere thought that Georgewas right in a way gave her singular comfort, and while she dwelt on it, the discovery seemed to throw a vivid light on the cause of the quarrel. Of course, she had expected too much of him. It was natural that heshould not want to be burdened with her family. What she had looked uponas selfishness was only the natural instinct of a man in love with awoman. He had said that he wanted her to himself, and to want her tohimself appeared now to be the most reasonable desire in the world. 

Yes, she had acquitted George; but, in acquitting him, it wascharacteristic of her that she should not have yielded an inch of herground. She drew comfort from declaring him innocent, but it was thetragic comfort of one who blesses while she renounces. George'sblamelessness did not alter in the least her determination to cling toher mother. 

The afternoon wore on; the soft golden light on the pavement was dappledwith shadows; and the wind, blowing over the iron urns in the yard, scattered the withered leaves of portulaca over the grass. Though thesummer still lingered, and flowers were blooming behind the fences alongthe street, the faint violet haze of autumn was creeping slowly over thesunshine. Now and then an acquaintance, returning from afternoonservice, looked up to bow to her, and while the daylight was stillstrong, Marthy, resplendent in Sunday raiment, came out of the littlegreen gate at the side of the yard and passed, mincing, in the directionof the negro church. Then the door opened slowly, and the two old maidscame in and stopped for a minute at the parlour door to see if Gabriella"had company. "

"Such a lovely evening, my dear"--they never used the wordafternoon--"we went all the way to the cemetery. She was buried in hergrandfather's lot, you know, in the old part up on the hill. It was abeautiful drive, but Amelia and I couldn't help thinking of the pooryoung thing all the time. "

It was Miss Jemima who had spoken, and her kind, plain face, all puffsand pleasant wrinkles, had not yet relaxed from the unnatural solemnityit had worn at the funeral. She was seldom grave, and never despondent, though to Gabriella she appeared to lead an unendurable life. UnlikeMiss Amelia, she had not even a happy youth and a lover to look backupon; she had nothing, indeed, except her unfailing goodness andpatience to support her. 

"I don't like to see you alone, honey, " she said, untying the strings ofher black silk bonnet, which fitted her cheerful features like a frame. "If the doctor hadn't told me to go to bed as soon as I came in, we'dsit a while with you for company. "

She felt that it was morbid and unnatural in Gabriella to sit alone in adim room when there were so many young people out in the streets. "Youmark my words, there's some reason back of Gabriella's moping all byherself, " she remarked to Miss Amelia as she took off her "things" a fewminutes later. "It wouldn't surprise me a bit to hear that she'd had afuss with her sweetheart. "

"I declare, sister Jemima, you are too sentimental to live, " observedMiss Amelia as she filled the tea kettle on the fender "Anybody wouldthink to hear you talk that there was nothing in life except makinglove. "

"Well, there isn't anything else so interesting when you're young. Youused to think so yourself, sister Amelia. "

Standing gaunt and black, with the tea kettle held out stiffly beforeher, Miss Amelia turned her tragic face on her sister. 

"Well, I reckon you don't know much about it, " she responded with theunconscious cruelty of age. Having been once the victim of a greatpassion, she had developed at last into an uncompromising realist, wholly devoid of sentimentality, while Miss Jemima, lacking experience, had enveloped the unknown in a rosy veil of illusion. 

"You don't have to know a thing to think about it, sister Amelia, "replied the invalid timidly as she put on her flannel wrapper andfastened it with a safety pin at the throat. 

"Well, I reckon it's all right for a girl like Gabriella, " said MissAmelia crushingly, "but when you look back on it from my age, you'llknow it isn't worth a row of pins in a life. "

And beside the window downstairs Gabriella was thinking passionately:"Shall I ever grow old? Is it possible that I shall ever grow old likethat?"

With the bare question, terror seized her--the terror of growing oldwithout George, the terror of dying before she had known the full beautyof life. Looking ahead of her at the years empty of love, she saw themlike a gray road, leaf strewn, wind swept, deserted, and herselfcreeping through them, as bent, as wrinkled, as disillusioned, as MissAmelia. The very image of a life without love was intolerable to hersince she had known George--for love meant George, and only George, inher thoughts. That she could ever be happy again, ever take a naturalpleasure in life if she lost him, was unimaginable to her at theinstant. She loved him, she had loved him from the first moment she sawhim, she would never, though she lived a million years, love any oneelse. It was as absurd to think that she could love again as that aflower could bloom afresh when its petals were withered. No, withoutGeorge there was only loveless old age--there was only the future ofMiss Amelia before her. And she clung to this idea with a horror whichMiss Amelia, who seldom reflected that she was loveless and by no meansconsidered herself an object of pity, would have despised. 

"I have no right to marry George, and yet if I don't marry him I shallbe miserable all my life, " she told herself with a sensation of panic. It would be so long, the rest of her life, and without George it was asdesolate as the gray road of her vision. All the beauties of theuniverse, all the miracles of hope, of youth, of spring; her health, herintellect, her capacity for work and for taking pleasure in littlethings--all these were as nothing to her if she lost George out of herlife. "I oughtn't to marry him, " she repeated, "but if I don't marry himI shall be miserable every minute until I die. "

Then a terror more awful than any she had yet suffered clutched at herheart. Suppose he should never come back! Suppose he had really meant toleave her for good! Suppose he had ceased to love her since he went outof the house! The possibility was so agonizing that she rose blindlyfrom her chair and turned from the window as if the quiet street, filledwith the dreamy sunshine of October, had offered an appalling, anunbelievable sight to her eyes. If he had ceased to love her, she washelpless; and this sense of helplessness awoke a feeling of rage in herheart. If he did not come back, she could never go after him. She couldonly sit and wait until she grew as old and as ugly as Miss Amelia. While the minutes, which seemed hours, dragged away, she wept thebitterest tears of her life--tears not of wounded love, but of angerbecause she could do nothing but wait. 

While she wept the bell rang. When she did not answer it, it rang again, and after an interminable pause the footsteps of Miss Amelia were hearddescending the stairs. Then the door opened and shut, the footstepsbegan their slow ascent of the stairs, and after an eternity of silence, she knew that George had entered the room. 

Wiping her eyes on the ruffle of the sofa pillow, she sat up and facedhim, while her pride hardened again. 

"Gabriella, I have come back. "

"I see you have, " she answered coldly, and choked over a sob. 

"What are you crying about, Gabriella?"

"I--I have a headache. "

"Have you thought about me at all to-day?"

"A little. "

He laughed softly, the laugh of a conqueror. 

"I'm glad at least that I didn't give you the headache. "

"You didn't. I had it anyway. "

He was radiant, he was as fresh as the wind. Never in his life had helooked so gay, so handsome, so kind. His blue eyes were brimming withlight. The mere fact of being alive appeared to fill him with ecstasy. And she loved him for his gaiety, for his lightness, for the ease withwhich he took for granted her unchangeable love. She longed with all hersoul and body to prove this love by a surrender more complete than anyshe had made in the past. She longed to say: "I am yours to do with asyou please, and nothing in the universe matters but you and my love foryou. " The very core of her nature longed to say this to him; but herindomitable pride, which even passion could not overcome, kept hersitting there in silence while she felt that her heart was bursting withhappiness. 

"Have you thought it over, Gabriella?"

She nodded. To save her life, she felt, she could not utter a wordwithout sobbing. 

"And you have absolutely and finally decided to have your way?"

This time she shook her head, but the tears fell on her cheeks and shedid not brush them away. From his voice she knew that she had triumphed, but there was no delight in the knowledge. She did not want to triumph;she wanted only to yield to him and to make him happy by yielding. 

"O George!" she cried suddenly, and held out her arms to him. 

As he looked down at her his expression changed suddenly to one ofintense sadness. From his face, which had grown pale, he might have beencontemplating the Eternal Verities, though, in reality, he wasconsidering nothing more exalted than the dreary prospect of a lifetimespent in the society of Mrs. Carr. 

Then, as Gabriella enfolded him, he laughed softly. He had given in, buthe knew in the very instant of his defeat that he should some day turnit to victory. 

CHAPTER V

THE NEW WORLD

Gabriella stood in front of the station, ecstatically watching Georgewhile he struggled for a cab. In the pale beams of the early sunshineher face looked young, flushed, and expectant, as if she had justawakened from sleep, and her eyes, following her husband, were the happyeyes of a bride. She wore a new dress of blue broadcloth, passionatelyovertrimmed by Miss Polly Hatch; on her head a blue velvet toque fromBrandywine's millinery department rested as lightly as a benediction;and her hands clasped Arthur's wedding present, a bag of alligator skinbearing her initials in gold. One blissful month ago she and George hadbeen married, and now, on the reluctant return from a camp in theAdirondacks, they were confronting the disillusioning actuality of theNew York streets at eight o'clock in the morning. While Gabriellawaited, shivering a a little, for the air was sharp and her broadclothdress was not warm, she amused herself planning a future which appearedto consist of inexhaustible happiness. And mingling with her dreamsthere were divine memories of the last month and of her marriage. Afterthat one quarrel George, she told herself, had been "simply perfect. "His manner to her mother had been beautiful; he had been as eager asGabriella to obliterate all memory of the difference between them, though, of course, after his yielding that supreme point she had feltthat she must give up everything else--and the giving up had beenrapture. He had shown not the faintest disposition to crow over her whenat last, after consulting Mrs. Carr, she had told him that her motherreally preferred to stay with Jane until summer, though he had remarkedwith evident relief: "Then we'll put off looking for an apartment. It'seasier to find one in the summer anyway, and in the meantime you cantalk it over with mother. "

After this everything had gone so smoothly, so exquisitely, that it wasmore like a dream than like actual life when she looked back on it. Shesaw herself in the floating lace veil of her grandmother, holding whiteroses in her hand, and she saw George's face--the face of her dreamscome true--looking at her out of a starry mist, while in the shiningwilderness that surrounded them she heard an organ playing softly "TheVoice That Breathed O'er Eden. " Then the going away! The good-byes atthe station in Richmond; her mother's face, pathetic and drawn againstthe folds of her crape veil; Cousin Jimmy, crimson and jovial; Florrie'sviolent waving as the train moved away; Miss Jemima, with her smiling, pain-tortured eyes, flinging a handful of rice; the last glimpse ofthem; the slowly vanishing streets, where the few pedestrians stopped tolook after the cars; the park where she had played as a child; thebrilliant flower-beds filled with an autumnal bloom of scarlet cannas;the white-aproned negro nurses and the gaily decorated perambulators;the clustering church spires against a sky of pure azure; the negrohovels, with frost-blighted sunflowers dropping brown seeds over thepaling fences; the rosy haze of it all; and her heart saying over andover, "There is nothing but love in the world! There is nothing but lovein the world!"

"I've got a cab--the last one, " said George, pushing his way through thecrowd, and laying his hand on her arm with a possessive andauthoritative touch. "Let me put you in, and then I'll speak to thedriver. "

As he gave the address she watched him, still fascinated with thedelicious strangeness of it all. It was like an adventure to have Georgewhisk her so peremptorily into a cab, and then stand with his foot onthe step while he curtly directed the driver. Nothing could surpass theromance--the supreme exciting romance of life. Every minute was anevent; every act of George's was as thrilling as a moment in melodrama. And as they drove through the streets, over the pale bands of sunshine, she had a sense of lightness and wonder, as if she were driving in aworld of magic toward ineffable happiness. 

"Isn't it strange to be here together, George?" she said. "I can hardlybelieve it. " But in her heart she was thinking: "I shall never wantanything but love in my life. If I have George I shall never wantanything else. " The bedraggled, slatternly figures of the women sweepingthe pavements in the cross-street through which they were driving filledher with a fugitive sadness, so faint, so pale that it hardly dimmed theserene brightness of her mood. "I wish they were all as happy as I am, "she thought; "and they might be if they only knew the secret ofhappiness. If they only knew that nothing in the world matters when onehas love in one's heart. "

"You'll believe it soon enough when we turn into Fifth Avenue, " repliedGeorge, glancing with disgust out of the window. A month of intimacy hadincreased the power of his smile over her senses, and when he turned toher again after a minute, she felt something of the faint delicioustremor of their first meeting. Already she was beginning to discoverthat beyond his expressive eyes he had really very little of importanceto express, that his prolonged silences covered poverty of ideas ratherthan abundance of feeling, that his limited vocabulary was due less toreticence than to the simple inarticulateness of the primitive mind. Through the golden glamour of her honeymoon there had loomed suddenlythe discovery that George was not clever--but cleverness mattered solittle, she told herself, as long as he loved her. 

"I hope your mother will like me, " she said nervously after a minute. 

"I'll be sorry for her if she doesn't. "

"Do I look nice?"

"Of course you do. I never saw you when you didn't. "

"I feel so dreadfully untidy. I never tried to dress in a sleeping-carbefore. "

"It did rock, didn't it?"

"I'll never travel again at night if I can help it. There's a cinder inyour eye; let me get it out for you. " It thrilled her pleasantly toremove the cinder with the corner of her handkerchief, and to order himto sit still whenever the cab jolted. It was incredibly young, incredibly foolish, but it was all a part of the wonderful enchantmentin which she moved. The cinder had made an agreeable episode, but whenit had been removed there was nothing more for them to talk about. Infour weeks of daily and hourly companionship they had said very easily, Gabriella had found, everything they had longed so passionately to sayto each other. It was strange--it was positively astounding how soonthey had talked themselves empty of ideas and fallen back uponrepetition and ejaculation. Before her marriage she had thought that alifetime would be too short to hold the full richness of theirconfidences; and yet now, after a month, though they still made love, they had ceased, almost with relief, to make conversation. 

After turning into Fifth Avenue they drove for ages between depressingexamples in brownstone of an architecture which, like George, was tryingrather vaguely to express nothing; and then rolling heavily intoFifty-seventh Street stopped presently before one of the solemn houseswhich stood, in the dignity of utter ugliness, midway of a long block. "They are all so alike I don't see how I shall ever know where I live, "thought Gabriella. Then, as George helped her out of the cab, the dooropened as if by magic, and beyond the solemn manservant she saw theshort, stout figure of a lady in a tightly fitting morning gown of blacksilk. Hurrying up the steps, she was pressed against a large smoothbosom which yielded as little as if it had been upholstered in leather. 

"My dear daughter! my dear Gabriella!" exclaimed the lady in a charmingvoice; and looking down after the first kiss, Gabriella saw a handsome, slightly florid face, with the vivacious smile of a girl and a beautifulforehead under a stiffly crimped arch of gray hair which looked as hardand bright as silver. 

"I've been up since seven o'clock waiting for you. You must befamished. Come straight in to breakfast. Your father is already at thetable, George. Poor man, he has to start downtown so dreadfully early. "

Bright, effusive, vivacious, and as emphatically Southern as if she hadnever left Franklin Street, Mrs. Fowler took off Gabriella's hat andcoat, kissed her several times while she was doing so, and at last, still talking animatedly, led them into the dining-room. 

"Archibald, here they are, " she said in a tone of unaffected delight, while a thin, serious-looking man, with anxious eyes, pale, aristocraticfeatures, and skin that had a curious parchment-like texture, put downthe _Times_, and came forward to meet them. Though he did not speak ashe kissed her, Gabriella felt that there was sincere, if detached, friendliness in his little pat on her shoulder. He led her almosttenderly to her chair; and as soon as she was comfortably seated andsupplied with rolls and bacon, resigned her contentedly to his wife andthe butler. His manner of gentle abstraction, which Gabriella attributedfirst to something he had just read in the newspaper, she presentlydiscovered to be his habitual attitude toward all the world except WallStreet. He ate his breakfast as if his attention were somewhere else; hespoke to his son and his daughter-in-law kindly, but as if he were notthinking about them; he treated his wife, whom he adored, as if he hadnot clearly perceived her. In the profound abstraction in which he livedevery impression appeared to have become blurred except the tremendousimpression of whirling forces; every detail seemed to have been obscuredexcept the gigantic details of "Business. " His manner was perfectlywell-bred, but it was the manner of a man who moves through liferehearsing a part of which he barely remembers the words. From thefirst minute it was evident to Gabriella that her father-in-law adoredhis wife as an ideal, though he seemed scarcely aware of her as aperson. He had given her his love, but his interests, his energies, hisattention were elsewhere. 

"Is that the way George will treat me--as if I were only a dream woman?"thought Gabriella while she watched her father-in-law over the opensheet of the _Times_. Then, with her eyes on her husband, she realizedthat he was of his mother's blood, not his father's. Business couldnever absorb him. His restlessness, his instability, his love ofpleasure, would prevent the sapping of his nature by one supremeinterest. 

The table, like everything else in the room, was solid, heavy, andexpensive. On the floor a heavy and expensive carpet, with a pattern insquares, stretched to the heavy and expensive moulding which bordered aheavy and expensive paper. Mrs. Fowler's taste, like Jimmy's (he was herthird cousin), leaned apparently toward embossment, for behind a massiverepoussé silver service she sat, as handsome and substantial as theroom, with her face flushing in splotches from the heat of her coffee. 

Some twenty-odd years before the house had been furnished at great cost, according to the opulent taste of the early 'seventies, and, unchangedby severer and more frugal fashions, it remained a solid monument to thefirst great financial deal of Archibald Fowler. It was at the goldenage, when, still young and energetic, luck had come to him in a day, that he had bought the brownstone house in Fifty-seventh Street, and hiswife, also young and energetic, had gone out "to get whatever sheliked. " Trained in a simple school during the war, and brought up in theformal purity of high-ceiled rooms furnished in Chippendale andSheraton, her natural tastes were, nevertheless, as ornate as theinteriors of the New York shops. Though the blood of colonial heroes ranin her veins, she was still the child of her age, and her age prideditself upon being entirely modern in all things from religion tofurniture. 

As she sat there behind the mammoth coffee urn, from which a spiral ofsteam floated, her handsome face irradiated the spirit of kindness. Because of her rather short figure, she appeared at her best when shewas sitting, and now, with her large, tightly laced hips hidden beneaththe table and her firm, jet-plastered bosom appearing above it, shepresented a picture of calm and matronly beauty. Not once did she seemto think of herself or her own breakfast. Even while she buttered hertoast and drank her steaming coffee, her bright blue eyes travelledunceasingly over the table, first to her husband's plate, then toGabriella's, then to her son's. It was easy to see that she was thedominant and vital force in the household. She ruled Archibald, lessindirectly perhaps, but quite as consistently as Cousin Pussy ruledCousin Jimmy. 

"My dear, you must eat your breakfast, " she said urgently to herdaughter-in-law. "Archibald, let me give you your second cup of coffee. Remember what a trying day you have before you, and make a goodbreakfast. It is so hard to get him to eat, " she explained to Gabriella;"I have to coax him to drink his two cups of coffee, for if he doesn'the is sure to come home with a headache. "

"Well, give me a cup, Evelyn, " replied Mr. Fowler, in his gentle voice, yielding apparently to please her. In his youth he must have been veryhandsome, Gabriella thought; but now, though he still retained a certaindistinction, he had the look of a man who has been drained of hisvitality. What surprised her--for she had heard him described as "a hardman in business"--was the suggestion of the scholar in his appearance. With his narrow, carefully brushed head, his dreamy and rather wistfulblue eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses, his stooping, slender shoulders, and his long, delicate hands covered with prominent veins, he ought tohave been either a poet or a philosopher. 

"You must be happy with us, my dear, " he had said to Gabriella, showinga minute later such gentle eagerness to return to a part of thenewspaper which Gabriella had never read and did not understand, thathis wife remarked pityingly: "Read your paper, Archibald, and don't letour chatter disturb you. There are a thousand things I want to say tothe children. "

"Well, it's time for me to be going, Evelyn, " Mr. Fowler responded, reluctantly folding the pages; "I'll look into this on the way down. "

"Remember, dear, that Judge Crowborough is coming to dinner. "

"I'll remember. Is there any one else?"

"Mrs. Crowborough, of course, and Colonel Buffington, and one or twoothers. Nobody that you will care for except the judge and Patty andBilly. "

"I shan't forget, but I may be a little late getting home. Good-bye, mydear, until evening. "

Bending over her chair, he kissed her flushed cheek, while Georgeremarked carelessly: "I'll see you later, father, when I've had a bathand a shave. "

After the gentle tones of Mr. Fowler, the vitality of George's voicesounded almost brutal, and he added just as carelessly when the frontdoor had shut softly: "The old man looks seedy, doesn't he, mother?"

A worried look brought out three startling lines in Mrs. Fowler'sforehead, and Gabriella observed suddenly that there were tiny crow'sfeet around her blue eyes where the whites were flecked ever so faintlywith yellow. Though she was well into the mid-fifties, her carefullypreserved skin had kept the firmness and the texture of youth, and shestill flushed easily and unbecomingly as she had done as a girl. 

"He hasn't been a bit well, George. I am very anxious about him. Youknow when he worries over his business, he doesn't eat his meals, and assoon as he stops eating he begins to have nervous dyspepsia. He has justhad a bad attack; that's why he looks so run down and haggard. "

"Can't the doctor do anything for him?"

"He gave him some drops, but it is so hard to get your father to takemedicine. Rest is what he needs, and, of course, that is out of thequestion while things are so unsettled. You must help him all you can, my boy, and Gabriella and I will manage with each other's company. "

Her bright smile was still on her lips, but Gabriella noticed that shepushed her buttered roll away as if she were choking. 

In the early afternoon, when George had gone to join his father in theoffice, and Gabriella, seated at a little white and gold desk in theroom which had been Patty's, was just finishing a letter to her mother, Mrs. Fowler came in, and pushing a chintz-covered chair close to thedesk, sank into it and laid her small nervous hand on the arm of herdaughter-in-law. She was wearing a velvet bonnet, with strings, and astreet gown of black broadcloth, which fitted her like a glove andaccentuated, after the fashion of the 'nineties, her small, compactwaist and the deep substantial curves of her bosom and hips. Her eyes, behind the little veil of spotted tulle which reached to the tip of hernose, were bright and wistful, and though her colour was too high, asmile of troubled sweetness lent it a peculiar charm of expression. 

"How nice you look, my dear, " she said, with her pleasant manner, whichno anxiety, hardly any grief, could dispel. "Are you very busy, or may Italk to you a little while?"

Drawing closer to her, Gabriella raised the plump little hand to herlips. Beneath the surface pleasantness of Mrs. Fowler's life--thatpleasantness which wrapped her like a religion--she was beginning todiscern a deep disquietude. 

"I want to talk to you, mamma, " she said, and her manner was a caress. 

"You love George very much, dear?" asked Mrs. Fowler so suddenly thatGabriella looked at her startled. 

For a minute the girl could not speak. "Oh, yes; oh, yes, " she answeredpresently, and choked over the words. 

"We wanted so much to go to your wedding--we were afraid you would thinkit strange that we stayed away, but Archibald had his attack just then, and on top of it he was terribly worried about his affairs. We have hada very hard year, and we feel so sorry, both of us, that we can't domore for your pleasure. As it is, we are cutting down our expenses inevery way, and I have even decided to give up my carriage the first ofnext year. 

"I know, I know, " said Gabriella, who had never had a carriage, and towhom the giving up of one seemed the smallest imaginable sacrifice. "Wemustn't add to your cares, " she went on after a minute. "Wouldn't it bebetter, really better, if we were to take an apartment at once insteadof waiting until June?"

"Until June?" repeated Mrs. Fowler vaguely, and she added quickly: "Itis the greatest pleasure to have you here. Since Patty went I get soterribly lonely, and I don't think it would be at all wise for you to goto yourselves. George has hardly anything except what his father is ableto give him, you know. The poor boy hasn't the least head for business. "

"But we shouldn't need much. I am sure I could manage just with whatGeorge makes--no matter how little it is. "

For an instant Mrs. Fowler looked at her thoughtfully. 

"You could, but George couldn't, " she answered. 

"You mean he is extravagant?"

"He has never had the slightest idea of the value of money--that is oneof the things you must teach him. He is a dear boy, but he has nevermade a success of anything he has undertaken, and his father thinks heis too unpractical ever to do so. But you must try to get him to livewithin your means, my dear, or you will both be miserable. Try to keephim from borrowing. "

"But he refuses to talk to me about his work. It bores him, " saidGabriella; and her simple soul, trained to regard debt as a deeperdisgrace than poverty, grew suddenly troubled. In her childhood they hadgone without food rather than borrow, she remembered. 

"The matter with dear George, " pursued Mrs. Fowler--and from thesweetness of her manner she might have been paying him a compliment--"isthat he has never been steady. He doesn't stick at anything long enoughto make it a success. If he were left to himself he would speculatewildly, and this is why his father is obliged to overlook all that hedoes in the office. It is just here that you can be of such wonderfulhelp to him, Gabriella, by your influence. This is why I am tellingyou. "

But had she any influence over him? In spite of his passion for her hadshe ever turned him by so much as a hair's breadth from the direction ofhis impetuous desires? Once only she had withstood him--once only shehad triumphed, and for that triumph she had paid by a completesurrender! She had been too glad to yield, too fearful of bringing acloud over the sunny blue of his eyes. 

"I want to help him--I want you to tell me how I can help him, " she saidearnestly. "While we are with you this winter, you must teach me how todo it. Before we begin housekeeping in the summer, I want to learn all Ipossibly can about George's affairs. He won't talk to me about practicalmatters, so you must do it. "

"But where are you going, Gabriella? I thought you had decided to livewith us?"

"But didn't George tell you? Surely he must have told you. We are totake an apartment in June so my mother can come to us. I felt, ofcourse, that I couldn't leave mother, and George understands. He wasperfectly lovely about it. "

"I see, I see, " murmured Mrs. Fowler, as if she were thinking ofsomething else. "Well, that will all come right, dear, I hope. "

Rising abruptly, she began to draw on her gloves. "If you only knew howI long to make you happy, " she said softly; "as happy as I have beenwith George's father. "

"They are so unlike, " answered Gabriella, and the next day when sheremembered the admission, she wondered how it had slipped from her. 

"Yes, they are unlike, " agreed Mrs. Fowler. "George takes after me, andI am a frivolous person. But there doesn't live a better man than myhusband, " she added, glowing. "I've been his wife for thirty years, andin all that time I don't believe he has ever thought first of himself. Yes, it was thirty years ago that I drove through the streets with mybridal veil on, and felt so sorry for all the girls I saw who were notgoing to be married. To-day I feel exactly the same way--sorry for allthe women who couldn't have Archibald for a husband. I've lived with himthirty years, I've borne him children, and I'm still sorry for all theother women--even for you, Gabriella. "

"He seems so kind, " said Gabriella; "I felt that about him, and it's thebest thing, after all, isn't it?" It was the best thing, and yet sheknew that George was not kind--that he was not even good-tempered. 

"Yes, it's the best thing, after all, in marriage, " answered the olderwoman; "it's the thing that wears. "

"I have always wanted the best of life, " rejoined Gabriellathoughtfully; and she went on gravely after a moment: "I couldn't loveGeorge any more than I do, but I wish that in some ways he would growlike his father. "

"The boy has a very sweet nature, " replied George's mother, "and I hopemarriage will steady him. " It was a warning, Gabriella knew, and shewondered afterwards if her silent acquiescence in Mrs. Fowler's judgmenthad not been furtive disloyalty to George. 

"A great deal will depend on you, dear, for he is very much in love, "resumed Mrs. Fowler when Gabriella did not speak, and she repeated verysolemnly, "I hope marriage will steady him. "

In her heart Gabriella was hoping so, too, but all she said was, "Ipromise you that I will do all I can. " She had given her word, and, looking into her eyes, Mrs. Fowler understood that her daughter-in-lawwas not one to give her word lightly. Gabriella would keep her promise. She would do her best, whatever happened. 

The older woman, with her life's history behind her, watched the girlfor a minute in silence. There was so much that she longed to say, somuch that could never be spoken even between women. She herself was anoptimist, but her optimism had been wrung from the bitter core ofexperience. Her faith was firm, though it held few illusions, for, ifshe was an optimist, she was also a realist. She believed in life, notbecause it had satisfied her, but because she had had the wisdom tounderstand that the supreme failure had been, not life's, but her own. If she could only have lived it again and lived it differently from thebeginning! If she could only have used her deeper wisdom not to regretthe past, but to create the future! Much as she had loved her husband, she knew now that she had sacrificed him to the world. Much as she hadloved her children, she would have sacrificed them, also, had it beenpossible. To the tin gods she had offered her soul--to the things thatdid not matter she had yielded up the only things that mattered at all. And she knew now that, in spite of her clearness of vision, theworldliness which had ruined her life was still bound up in all that wasessential and endurable in her nature. She still wanted the illusions aspassionately as if she believed in their reality; she still winced assharply at the thought of Patty's marriage and of all that Patty hadgiven up. In the case of George, she admitted that it was herfault--that she had spoiled him--but how could she have helped it? Sheremembered how he had looked as a child, with his round flushed face, his chestnut curls, and his eager, questioning eyes. He had been abeautiful child, more beautiful even than Patty, and because of hisbeauty she had been able to refuse him nothing. Then she thought of hisboyhood, of his reckless extravagance at college; of the tales of hiswildness to which she had shut her ears; of his debts, and still of hisdebts, which she had paid out of the housekeeping money because she wasafraid to let his father know of them. Yes, George, in spite of hissweet nature, had given them a great deal of trouble, so much troublethat she had been quite reconciled to his marriage with any respectablegirl. The memory of a chorus girl with whom he had once entangledhimself still gave her a shiver at the heart when she recalled it. Money, always more money, had gone into that; and at last, just as shehad grown hopeless of saving him, he had met this fine, sensibleGabriella, who looked so strong, so competent, and there had come an endto the disturbing stories which reached her at intervals. Surely it wasproof of her son's inborn fineness that from the pink perfection ofgirlhood he should have chosen the capable Gabriella! At first she hadregretted his choice, hoping, as the worldly and the unworldly alikehope for their sons, that the object of George's disinterested affectionwould prove to be wealthy. Then at the sight of Gabriella she hadsurrendered completely. The girl was fine all through, this she couldsee as soon as she looked at her. She liked her noble though notbeautiful face, with the broad clear forehead from which the soft darkhair was brushed back so simply, and, most of all, she liked the charmand sympathy in her voice. George had chosen well, and if she couldtrust his choice, why could she not trust him to be true to it?

"I wonder if you would like to put on your hat and come with me?" sheasked, obeying an impulse. "I'm going to drive up to Patty's with somecurtains for her bedroom. "

"Oh, I'd love to, " replied Gabriella with eagerness, for she hatedinaction, and it was impossible to spend a whole afternoon merelythinking about one's happiness. "It won't take me a minute to getready. "

While she put on her hat and coat, Mrs. Fowler watched her thoughtfully, saying once: "It is quite cool, you'd better bring your furs, dear. "

When Gabriella answered frankly, "I haven't any, I never had any furs inmy life, " a tender expression crept into the rather hard blue eyes ofher mother-in-law, and she said quickly: "Well, I've a set of white foxthat I am too old to wear, and you shall have it. "

"But what of Patty?" asked Gabriella, for she had grown up thinking ofother people and she couldn't break the habit of twenty years in aminute. 

"Oh, Patty has all the furs she'll need for years. We spent every pennywe had on Patty before she married, " answered Mrs. Fowler, but she wassaying to herself: "Yes, the girl is the right wife for him. I am sureshe is the right wife for him. "

The Park was brilliant with falling leaves, and as they drove beneath aperfect sky beside a lake which sparkled like sapphire, Gabriella, lifting her chin above the white furs, said rapturously, "Oh, I am sohappy! Life is so beautiful!"

A shadow stole into the eyes with which Mrs. Fowler was watching thepassing carriages, and the fixed sweetness about her mouth melted intoan expression of yearning. Tears veiled the faces of the women who spoketo her in passing, for she was thinking of her first drive in the Parkwith her husband, and though her marriage had been a happy one, she felta strange longing as if she wanted to weep. 

"I never saw such wonderful horses, " said Gabriella. "Cousin Jimmy wouldbe wild about them;" and she added impetuously, "But the hats aren't inthe least like the one I am wearing. " A misgiving seized her as sherealized that her dresses, copied by Miss Polly with ardent fidelityfrom a Paris fashion book, were all hopelessly wrong. She wondered ifher green silk gown with the black velvet sleeves was different in stylefrom the gowns the other women were wearing under their furs? Hadsleeves of a different colour from the bodice, which Miss Pollyconsidered the last touch of elegance, really gone out of fashion?

The carriage passed out of the Park, and turning into one of the streetson the upper West Side stopped presently before a small dingy apartmenthouse, where a dozen ragged children were playing leapfrog on thepavement. 

"Patty has the top floor--there's a studio. " Drawing her skirts awayfrom the children, for her generation feared contact with the lowerclasses, Mrs. Fowler walked briskly to the low brown steps, on which anash can stood waiting for removal. Inside, where the hall smelleduninvitingly of stale cooking, they rang for the elevator under a dimyellow light which revealed a hundred secret lines in their faces. 

"I can't imagine how Patty puts up with the place, " remarked Patty'smother dejectedly. "You wouldn't believe the trouble we went to to starther well. She was the acknowledged beauty of her winter--everybody wascrazy about her looks--and the very week before she ran off with Billyshe had a proposal from the Duke of Toxbridge. Of course, if I'd everdreamed she had a fancy for Billy, I'd have kept him out of her sightinstead of allowing him to paint her portrait whenever she had any timeshe could spare. But who on earth would have suspected it? Billy King, whom she had known all her life, as poor as a church mouse, and the kindof painter whose work will never 'take' if he lives to be a thousand!His portraits may be good art--I don't pretend to know anything aboutthat--but I do know pictures of pretty women when I see them, and hiswomen are frights, every last one of them. If you're thin, he paintsyour skeleton, and if you're fat, he makes you as square as a house, and, thin or fat, he always gives you a blue and yellow complexion. Hewouldn't even make Patty white, though I implored him to do it--and hemade her look exactly ten years older than her age. "

"I've never seen any portraits of living people--only of ancestors, "said Gabriella, "and I am so much interested. "

"Well, you mustn't judge them by Billy's, my dear, even if he did getall those prizes in Paris. But I always said the French were queer, andif they hadn't been, they would never have raved so over the thingsBilly painted. Now, Augustus Featherfield's are really charming. One cantell to look at his portraits that he paints only ladies, and he givesthem all the most perfectly lovely hair, whether they have it or not. Some day I'll take you to his studio and let you see for yourself. "

The elevator descended, creaking beneath the weight of a negro youth whoseemed half asleep, and a little later, creaking more loudly, it borethem slowly upward to the top of the house. 

"I feel as if I were taking my life in my hands whenever I come here, "observed Mrs. Fowler, in the tone of dispassionate resignation withwhich she always discussed Patty and the surroundings amid which Pattylived. Marching resolutely, though disapprovingly, down a long hall, shepressed a small bell at the side of a door, and stood, holding tightlyto the bundle of curtains, while her expression of unnaturalpleasantness grew almost painful in its determination. Here, also, theywaited some time, and when at last the door was opened by an agitatedmaid, without an apron, and they were led into a long, queerly furnishedstudio, with a balcony from which they had a distant cloudless view ofthe river, Gabriella felt for a minute that she must have fallen into adream. Long afterwards she learned that Billy's studio was charming, with its blurred Italian tapestries, which had faded to an exquisitetone, with its broken torsos of old marble, warming to deep ivory in thesunlight, with its ecstatic haloed saints praying against dim Tuscanlandscapes, with its odd and unexpected seats of carved stone on whichthe cushions made strange splotches and pools of colour. At the time, seen through provincial eyes, it seemed merely "queer" to her; andqueerer still appeared the undraped figures of women, all lean lines andviolet shadows, which, unframed and unhung, filled the dusty corners. 

"The river is lovely, but it is so far away, " she said, turning herabashed eyes from the nude figures, and thinking how terribly they wouldhave shocked the innocence of Cousin Jimmy. 

"I always look at the river when I come here, " responded Mrs. Fowler, and her tone implied that the river at least was perfectly proper. "Amonth ago the colours were wonderful. "

In the drive, which they could see from a corner view, a few old men, forgotten by time, warmed themselves in the sunlight. Far below, theriver reflected the changeable blue of the sky, while the autumnalpageantry on the horizon was fading slowly, like a burned-out fire, tothe colour of ashes. 

"Mother, dear, I'm so glad, " said a gay voice in the doorway, andturning quickly, Gabriella stared with wide eyes at the vision ofPatty--of Patty in some soft tea-gown, which borrowed its tone from theold tapestries on the wall, with her honey-coloured hair hanging overher shoulders, and her eyes as fresh as blue flowers in the ivory pallorof her face. 

"And this is Gabriella, " she added, holding out her arms. "What adarling you are to come so soon, Gabriella. "

She was a tall girl, so tall that she stooped to kiss Gabriella, whoseheight measured exactly five feet and seven inches, and she wasbeautiful with the faultless beauty which is seen only once or twice ina generation, but which, seen once, is never forgotten. For Patty'sbeauty, as a poet once wrote of a dead woman, was the beauty of destiny, the beauty that changes history and turns men into angels or intobeasts. Though Gabriella had seen lovely skins on Southernwomen--rose-leaf skins, magnolia skins, peach-blossom skins--she hadseen nothing that resembled the exquisite colour and texture of Patty'sface. 

"The curtains were finished, so I brought them, " said Mrs. Fowler, pointing to the bundle. "I wanted Gabriella to see the Park. You arecoming to-night without fail, aren't you, Patty?"

"Without fail, even if we have to walk, " answered Patty. "You can'timagine how much it costs to get about when one lives so far uptown. That's one reason we are anxious to move. Billy has been looking for astudio for weeks, and, do you know, he has really found one at last. Harry Allen is moving out of the Rubens Building, and we are going totake his studio on the top floor. We're awfully lucky, too, to get it, for it is the first vacancy there for years. "

"But it's over a stable, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Fowler. "How could youpossibly live there? And the East Side way down there is just as bad asup here"

"I believe there is a stable, but it won't bother us--we're too high, "replied Patty. 

"Well, we can't stop; Gabriella hasn't unpacked her trunks, " returnedMrs. Fowler; "but be sure to come early, Patty. I want your father tosee you. "

"I wish there wasn't going to be anybody else. I want to talk to mysister. Isn't it lovely to have a sister, and mamma was too selfish togive me one. Do you call her 'mamma, ' too, Gabriella?"

"Of course she calls me 'mamma, '" answered Mrs. Fowler before Gabriellacould speak, "and she is a much better daughter already than you everwere. "

"And a much better son, too, than George ever was?" asked Patty slyly. 

"We aren't talking about George. George has settled down, " said Mrs. Fowler quickly, too quickly it occurred to Gabriella, who was eager tohear all that the daring Patty would say. "Don't you think those whitefurs look well on Gabriella?"

"She looks like the snow queen in them. Does it matter what I wearto-night? Who is coming?"

"Nobody you will care about--only Judge and Mrs. Crowborough and ColonelBuffington. "

"That old bore of a colonel! And why do you have to ask the judge againso soon? He looks like a turkey gobbler, Gabriella, and he has so muchmoney that it is impossible to judge him by the standards of otherpeople, everybody says that--even Billy. "

"Hush, Patty. You mustn't corrupt Gabriella. "

"If the judge doesn't, I shan't, mamma. "

"Well, your father has the greatest respect for him, and as for askinghim often to dinner, it isn't by any means so easy to get him as youthink. I don't suppose there's another man in New York who is invitedout so often and goes out so little. "

"Papa is a sweet innocent, " observed Patty maliciously, "but if you canstand the judge, mamma, dear, I am sure I can, especially as I shan'thave to sit by him. That honour will be reserved for poor Gabriella. Iwish you didn't have to go, but you really must, I suppose?"

"Yes, we must go. Come, Gabriella, or you won't have time to get intoyour trunks before dinner. "

On the drive home Mrs. Fowler was grimly silent, while the sweetnessabout her mouth ebbed slowly away, leaving the faintest quiver of themuscles. For the first time Gabriella saw George's mother look as shemust look in her sleep, when the artificial cheerfulness of herexpression faded into the profound unconsciousness which drowns not onlyhappiness, but the very pretence of happiness. So here, also, wasinsincerity, here, also, was the striving, not for realities, but forappearances! In a different form she saw her mother's struggleagain--that struggle, without beginning and without end, which movedalways in a circle and led nowhere. Was there no sincerity, no realityeven in love? Was George, too, only a shadow? And the visible sadness ofthe November afternoon, with its faint haze like the haze of a dreamlandscape, seemed a part of this invisible sadness which had sprung fromnothing and which would change and pass away in a breath. "If thingswould only last, " she thought, looking with wistful eyes on the gold andpurple around her. "If things would only last, how wonderful life wouldbe!"

"To think that all Patty's beauty should have been thrown away, " saidMrs. Fowler suddenly. 

Though Gabriella had never seen Billy, she was inclined at the moment, in her mood of dissatisfaction with the universe, to sympathize withMrs. Fowler's view of the matter. To her frugal mind, trained to economyof material, it seemed that Patty was altogether too much for a poorman--even though he could paint her in lean lines and violet shadows. 

Upstairs she found her trunks in her bedroom, and after she had unpackedher wedding-gown of white satin, removed the tissue paper stuffing fromthe sleeves, and shaken out the creases with gentle hands, she sat downand pondered deeply the problem of dressing for dinner. By removing thelace yoke, she might make the gown sufficiently indecorous for thefashion of the period, and her only evening dress, the white muslin shehad worn to dances in Richmond, she reflected gloomily, would appearabsurd in New York. 

"I wish I didn't look such a fright, " she said aloud, as she ripped andsewed. Then, in a flash, her mind wandered from herself, and shethought: "I wonder why George didn't tell his mother that we are goingto take an apartment? I wonder why he didn't tell her that mother iscoming in June? When he comes I must ask him. "

Looking at the clock, she saw that it was after seven, and hurriedlytaking the last few stitches, she laid the gown on the bed, bathed herface in cold water, and then, sitting down before her dressing-table, drew the pins from her hair. In some obscure way she felt herself adifferent person from the bride who had watched George so ecstaticallyat the station that morning. She could not tell how she had altered, andyet she felt perfectly conscious that an alteration had taken place inher soul--that she was not the same Gabriella--that life could never beagain exactly as it had been before. Nothing and yet everything seemedto have happened to her in a day. Her face, gazing gravely back at herfrom the mirror, looked young and wistful, the face of one who, like abird flying suddenly out of darkness against a lamp, is bewildered bythe first shock of the light. 

When her hair was arranged in the simple way she had always worn it, sheslipped her dress over her bare shoulders, and fastened it slowly--forMiss Polly had no patience with "back fastenings"--while she toldherself again that George would not be satisfied. She knew that her gownwas provincial, knew that she lacked the "dash" he admired in women; andfrom the first she had been mystified by a love which could, while stillpassionately desiring her, wish her different in so many ways. "I'd likehim to be proud of me, but I suppose he never will be, " she thoughtdejectedly, "and yet he fell in love with me just as I was, and he didnot fall in love with any of the dashing women he knows, " she addedquickly, consoled by the reflection. "And of course in a few things Iwish him different, too. I wish he wasn't so careless. He is so carelessthat I shall have to be twice as careful, I shall have to look after himall the time. Even to-night he has forgotten about the dinner, and he'llbe obliged to dress in a hurry, which he hates. "

Glancing at the clock again, she saw that it was a quarter of eight, andstill George had not come. 

CHAPTER VI

THE OLD SERPENT

At five minutes of eight o'clock he came in, with a lighted cigar in hismouth. For the first few days after her marriage there had been apleasant excitement in the scent of George's cigars in her bedroom. Now, however, habit had dulled the excitement, and the smell of tobacco gaveher a headache. 

"Oh, George, you are late!" she exclaimed, sinking the lesser into thegreater offence after the habit of wives. As if he had all night insteadof five minutes before him in which to dress, he stood in the centre ofthe room, blandly looking her over. 

"You're all right, " he said after a pause. "I met a fellow at the club Ihadn't seen for a year. He had been hunting big game in Africa, and hewas telling me about it. By Jove, that is life!"

They had been married but a month; it was their first day at home, andhe could linger at the club to talk of big game while she waited forhim. Flushed, excited, he stood there on the white bearskin rug midwaybetween the bed and the wood-fire, while she felt his charm stealinglike a drug over her senses. Though she had begun to realize thethinness of his mental qualities, she was still as completely in thepower of his physical charm as she had been on the day of her wedding. In the flickering light of the fire he appeared to diffuse the glamourof romance, of adventure; and she felt that this single day in New Yorkhad left a vital impression upon him. It was as if he had becomesuddenly more alive, more inexplicable in his simplicity; and, thoughshe had grasped vaguely the fact that his personality was composed ofinnumerable reactions, she had never really understood before howentirely he was the creature of his environment. It was as if the veryessence of his soul floated there, a variable and fluid quantity, forever changing form and colour beneath the shallow ripples of hispersonality. She had seen him in many moods, but never in this one. Didhe possess a deeper subtlety than she had imagined or was it thesincerity of his nature that defied analysis?

"Did you enjoy yourself?" she asked cheerfully. Tell me about it. "

"Oh, it was rather jolly, " he replied, and she knew that this was asmuch as she should ever get out of him. Beyond a few stock phrases, words hardly existed for him at all, or existed only in foreignlanguages, for, having been educated abroad, he spoke French and Germanfluently, if without felicity. Already his inarticulateness was like anencumbering veil between them--a veil in which she struggled ashelplessly as a moth in a net. And only a month ago she had believedthat the very immensity of his nature rendered him dumb. 

"Then you had better hurry, dear. Dinner is at eight, and you have onlya minute. "

"You go down and tell them not to wait. I was detained downtown, but itwon't take me a second to dress. "

As he passed under the electric light by the mirror, she saw his facewith exaggerated distinctness, as if it were held under a microscope, and a heaviness, which she had never noticed before, marred the edge ofhis profile. If he hadn't been George, would she have said that helooked stupid at the moment? For a flashing instant of illumination shesaw him with a vision that was not her own, but a stranger's, with apitiless clearness unsoftened by any passion. Then the clearness fadedrapidly before an impulse of tenderness, and she told herself that hewas merely handsome, gay, and careless, as he had been on theirhoneymoon. If he would only talk to her, she felt that he would beperfect. 

"Yes, I'm going. Come as soon as you can, " she said; and catching up hersatin train, she descended the oak staircase to the drawing-room, wherea fire was burning and the lights were shaded in crimson. 

Twenty minutes later, seated at the round table, which was bright withchrysanthemums in tall silver vases, she looked with a feeling ofresentment at George's empty place. Why was he so careless? Time had forhim, she realized, as little meaning as words had. Then, in the midst ofher disquietude, she caught the serene blue eyes of George's motherfixed upon her. With her young face, her red lips, and her superbshoulders rising out of the rich black lace of her gown, Mrs. Fowlerlooked almost beautiful. Had Patty not been present, with her lovelinesslike a summer's day, her mother would have seemed hardly more than agirl; but who could shine while Patty, beside that long, lean man withthe gray imperial, smiled with lips that were like a scarlet flower inher face?

There were only four guests, but these four, as Mrs. Fowler had said, "counted for something. " The long, lean man beside Patty was one ColonelBuffington, a Virginia lawyer, who had wandered North in search of foodin the barren years after the war. As his mind was active in a patientaccumulative fashion, he had become in time a musty storehouse of waranecdotes, and achieving but moderate success in his law practice, hischief distinction, perhaps, was as a professional Southerner. Combininga genial charm of manner with as sterile an intellect as it is possibleto attain, he was generally regarded as a perfect example of "the oldschool, " and this picturesque reputation made him desirable as a guestat club dinners as well as at the larger gatherings of the variousSouthern societies. His conversation, which was entirely anecdotal, consisted of an elaborate endless chain of more or less historical"stories. " Social movements and the development of civilizationinterested him as little as did art or science--for which he entertaineda chronic suspicion due to the indiscretions of Darwin. Change of anykind was repugnant to his deeper instincts, and of all changes the onesrelating to the habits of women appeared to him to interfere mostunwarrantably with the Creator's original plan. For the rest he had theheart of a child, would strip the clothes from his back to give to afriend, or even to an enemy, and possessed an infallible gift for makinga dinner successful. 

On Colonel Buffington's right sat Mrs. Hamilton, a very pretty, verysprightly widow, with her hair coiled into the fashionable Psyche knot, and the short puffs of her sleeves emphasizing the hour-glass perfectionof her figure. Next to Mrs. Hamilton there was Billy King, who wore awhite flower in his buttonhole and looked like a soldier out ofuniform, and beyond Billy sat Mrs. Crowborough, whom he was tryingdespairingly to entertain. She, renowned and estimable woman, wasplanning in her mind what she should say at a board meeting of one ofher pet charities on the morrow, a charity which, like all of herfavourite ones, concerned itself with the management and spiritualelevation of girl orphans. Tall, raw-boned, strung with jet, Mrs. Crowborough, who had been married for her money, looked as sympatheticas a moral principle or an organized charity. Unfortunately, for she wasrather heavy in company, Judge Crowborough was obliged by custom tobring her to dinner; and she came willingly, inspired less bysociability than by the virtuous instinct which animated her being. Mr. Fowler had taken her in to dinner, and while she lent an inert attentionto Billy's jests, he talked across Gabriella to Judge Crowborough, whowas eating his soup with the complete absorption of a man to whom thesmallest of his appetities is sacred. It was a grievance of Mrs. Fowler's that her husband would never, as she said, "pay any attentionto women, " and in order to feel assured of even so much as a cheerfulnoise at his end of the table, she was obliged to place within hearingdistance of him somebody who could talk fluently, if not eloquently, ofthe stock market. 

To Gabriella's surprise, her father-in-law, who had appeared inert andlistless at breakfast, became, in the stimulating presence of the judge, not only awake, but mildly animated. She had felt before the charm inhis scholarly face, with its look of detached spirituality so strangelyout of keeping with the calling he pursued; and she recognized now thequality of controlled force which had enabled him to hold his own inthe financial whirlpool of his country. Had the girl known more of life, she would have understood that in the American business world there werehundreds of such men winning their way and leaving their mark at thatmoment of history--men whose natures were redeemed from grossness by thepeculiar idealism they infused into their material battles. OfScotch-Irish inheritance, the direct descendant of one GregoryTruesdale, who had died a martyr for Presbyterianism, Archibald Fowlerwas inspired by something of the austere devotion which had fortifiedhis religious ancestor. Since his college days his private life had beenirreproachable. Though he was a stronger character than his wife, heregarded her with almost superstitious reverence, and made no decisionabove Wall Street without consulting her. His heart, and as much of histime as he could spare from business, were hers, and she made the mostof them. Women, as women, did not attract him, and he avoided themexcept at his own table, where custom constrained him to be polite. After a few courteous words to Mrs. Crowborough, he had turned withrelief to her husband. 

"You've got a bright chap in your office, Stanley, " he said; "thatfellow Latham. I was talking to him this morning. He's from Colorado, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes, they're all from the West now, " responded the judge--he hadsat on the bench in his youth. "Ten years ago the bright ones were fromthe South, but you Southerners are outstripped to-day, and it's the menfrom the West who are doing it. There's a fundamental reason there, Isuppose, if you go deep enough, " he added, fingering the ends of hisshort gray moustache while he kept an eye on his champagne glass. "We've done with mere classifying and imitation, and we're waiting for afresh explosion of raw energy. Now for pure constructive imagination theNorth and South don't hold a candle--they simply don't hold a candle--tothe West. Mark my words, in twenty-five years there'll hardly be a bigrailroad man in the country who wasn't born in sight of the Rockies. "Unlike Mr. Fowler, whose mind ran in a groove leading directly tobusiness, the judge had a natural bent toward generalization, and whendining, preferred to discuss impersonal topics. He was a tall, floridman with an immense paunch flattened by artificial devices, and avitality so excessive that it overflowed in numberless directions--inhis hearty animal appetites, in his love of sports, in his delight inthe theatre and literature, particularly in novels of the sentimentaland romantic school, in his fondness for the lighter operas, and in hisirrepressible admiration for pretty women. His face, large, ruddy, witha hooked nose, where the red was thickly veined with purple, andprotruding lips over square yellow teeth that gripped like the teeth ofa bulldog, aroused in Gabriella a quick repulsion which only the genialhumour of his smile overcame. That he should have married his wife forher money was less amazing to the girl than that his wife should havemarried him for any reason whatsoever. Only a moral principle or acharitable institution, she felt, could have endured him and survived. But in spite of his repulsiveness he had evidently experienced thenatural activities of humanity. He had taken a wife; he had begottenchildren; he had judged other men; he had dug into the bowels of theearth for mines, and had built railroads on its surface; he had madegrass grow in deserts and had turned waste places into populous cities;he had read romances and heard music; he had attained a social positionsecurely founded upon millions of dollars--and all these things he hadachieved through his unconquerable colossal vitality. "I wonder why theyput him by me, " thought Gabriella. "I shall never get on with him. "

Then he turned to her and said bluntly, between two mouthfuls oflobster: "So you're George's wife! Handsome chap George, but he hasn'tmuch head for business. He lacks the grip of the old man. Where's heto-night?"

"He got home so late that he wasn't ready for dinner. He'll be down in aminute. "

"It's a bad habit. He oughtn't to be late. Now, I haven't been late fordinner for twenty years. "

"I'm afraid he doesn't pay much attention to time. I'll try to changehim. "

"You won't. No woman alive ever changed a man's habits. All you can dois to hide them. "

That his blunt manner was an affectation, she was quick to discern. While he talked to her, he looked at her knowingly with his light fishyeyes, and by his look and his tone he seemed to establish an immediateintimacy between them--as if he and she were speaking a language whichwas foreign to the rest of the table. He appeared to be kind, shethought, and on his side he was thinking that she was a nice girl, withan attractive face and remarkable eyes. On the whole, he preferred browneyes, though his wife's were the colour of slate. "Why the deuce did shemarry that fool?" he questioned impatiently. 

Across the table Billy King was working hopelessly but valiantly toengage Mrs. Crowborough's attention. What a splendid figure he had, andhow clean and fine was the modelling of his features! He was just theman a girl like Patty would fall in love with, and Gabriella no longerfelt that. Patty's beauty was wasted. Once or twice she caught fleetingglances passing between them, and these glances, so winged withhappiness, spoke unutterable and ecstatic things. 

A hush dropped suddenly on the table, and in this hush she heard thevoice of Colonel Buffington telling a story in dialect. It was animmemorial anecdote of Cousin Jimmy's--she had heard him tell it a dozentimes--and while she listened, it made her feel comfortably at home. 

"'Uncle Amos, ' I said to him, 'we've been together thirty years, butwe've got to part. You're a drunkard and a thief and a worthless darkyall round, and you've lived on my place ever since the war without doinga lick of work for your keep. I've stood it as long as I can, butthere's an end to human endurance. Yes, Amos, the time has come for usto part. '

"Hi! Marse Beverly, ' said the old rascal, 'whar you gwine?"

"Capital!" ejaculated the judge softly. "Capital!" And he added forGabriella's ear: "Buffington tells the best negro stories of any man Iknow. Ought to have heard him at the club the other night. "

Gabriella did not answer; Cousin Jimmy's story had made her think ofCousin Jimmy, with his soft heart and his dark shining eyes like theeyes of a good and gentle dog. Then she thought of her mother, andreminded herself that she must ask George when they were to begin thehunt for an apartment. He had said they were very hard to find when youwanted them. 

Another hush fell, and Colonel Buffington was just beginning a secondstory--one of Uncle Meriweather's this time--when George came in fromthe drawing-room, and after a murmured apology, took his seat betweenPatty and Mrs. Hamilton. 

"That's a handsome boy, " said the judge in a husky whisper to Gabriella, "but he hasn't much to say for himself, has he?"

His manner of playful intimacy conveyed the impression that the secretunderstanding between them did not include Gabriella's husband. Georgewas an outsider, but this hideous old man, with his curious repellingsuggestion of over-ripeness, as of fruit that is beginning to rot at thecore, was the dominant personality in her mind at the moment. Shewondered if he knew how repulsive he was, and while she wondered, thejudge, unaware of his tragic plight, went on eating lobster withunimpaired relish. His importance, founded upon a more substantial basisthan mere personal attraction, had risen superior not only to morality, but to the outward failings of the flesh. Had he been twice asrepulsive, she realized that his millions would have commanded a respectdenied to both beauty and virtue. 

"I wonder how any woman can stand him, " mused Gabriella. Then, glancingacross the table at Mrs. Crowborough, she realized something of theamazing insensibility of the more ethereal sex. No man, not even in thelast extremity, could have loved a woman as ugly as Judge Crowboroughwas. The roughest man would have had sufficient esthetic sense to havebeen shocked into revolt; yet a woman, a refined and intelligent woman, had married the judge and survived it. She appeared now, not onlyexpressionless and unrevolted, but filled with a healthy zest for socialreforms and the spiritual welfare of girl orphans. 

"Well, I've learned something of life to-night, " thought Gabriella whileshe watched her. 

Later in the evening, when she passed into the drawing-room, with Mrs. Crowborough, bleak, unbending, and trailing her chains of jet, shecomforted herself again with the reflection that what she was "seeing"might not be particularly exciting, "but it was life. "

On a short, hard sofa near the fire, beside Fatty, who bloomed like awhite rose under the red-shaded light, she listened to Mrs. Fowler'sunflagging efforts to "get on" with the judge's wife. Never had thedauntless little woman revealed more surprising resourcefulness, neverhad she talked so vivaciously, never had she appeared so relentlesslypleasant. It was as if she said in the face of Mrs. Crowborough'sinsensibility, which was the insensibility not of mind, but of inanimatematter, "Whatever you do, you can't keep me from being sweet. " And inthis strained sweetness there was something touching, something wistful, a hint of inner weariness which showed now and then beneath the restlessvivacity. 

"Isn't it funny, " said Patty suddenly, "how much mamma cares aboutthings that don't matter at all? You wouldn't believe it to look at her, but she is in her heart the most worldly one of the family. Fatherwouldn't give a tallow candle for anything that isn't real. "

A log broke in the centre, and fell, scattering a shower of goldenembers over the hearth. Rising quickly, with one of her sprightlymovements, Mrs. Fowler reached for a pair of small brass tongs andpushed the broken log back on the andirons. Then she threw some freshwood on the flames, and resumed her seat with an animated gesture as ifthe incident had enlivened her. 

"Now they are talking about the everlasting Pletheridges, " whisperedPatty. "I never understand how mother can take so much interest in thosepeople just because they are rich. "

But to Gabriella it was more inconceivable still that her mother-in-law, with the bluest blood of Virginia in her veins, should regard with suchartless reverence the social activities of the granddaughter of atavern-keeper. In her native State an impoverished branch of Mrs. Fowler's family still lived on land which, tradition said, had beengranted one of her ancestors by Charles the Second in recognition ofdistinguished services to that dubious monarch; yet she could longenviously for a closer acquaintance with the plutocratic descendant ofan Irish tavern-keeper--an honest man, doubtless, who had laid thefoundations of his fortune in a string of halfway houses stretching fromNew York to Chicago. 

"Yes, I dined with Mrs. Pletheridge once, " she was saying in the tone inwhich her royalist ancestor might have acknowledged a command from hisKing. 

"It always makes me angry, I can't help it, " pursued Patty. "If dearmamma had only some other weakness--cards or wine or clothes or anythingelse. It's queer, with all her pride, how little social backbone shehas. Now to hear her talk, you would imagine that that vulgar snob, whose father kept hotels and married one of his chambermaids, hadconferred an honour by inviting her to dinner. And the funniest part isthat, for all her good breeding, and her family portraits, and hertitled ancestors, mother hasn't half so much respect for the genuine NewYorkers--I mean the New Yorkers whose names really mean something--asshe has for these mushroom plutocrats. She had set her heart on Georgemarrying one of them, you know, but it's a jolly good thing he didn't. "

"That's the girl he told me about, " said Gabriella. "Was he everinterested in her?"

"Not for a minute. We're awfully contrary about our love affairs. Wewill marry for love--even mother did though she may have forgotten it. We never marry the people--" She clipped off the sentence, but Gabriellacaught it up with a laugh:

"I know, " she said gaily, "you never marry the people your family pickout for you. "

"Well, of course, Billy went dreadfully hard with them--at least withmother. She wanted the Duke of Somewhere so very badly. But it was Billyor nobody for me. I'd have married Billy, " she added while her beautifulface grew stern, "if I'd had to walk all the way across the world tohim. "

"He looks as if he were worth it, " admitted Gabriella. 

"He is, but that probably wasn't my reason for marrying him. One neverknows why one marries, I suppose, unless one marries for money and thenit is so beautifully simple. Now, you and George don't seem a bit alike, but it all happened on the spur of the moment, didn't it?"

"It always seems that way when one looks back, doesn't it?" askedGabriella. "But what I can't understand"--she brought it out with afrown--"is why marriage doesn't change one. I used to think I'd bedifferent, but I'm not. And even love seems to leave people wantingeverything else just as badly. Your mother has had a perfect love--shetold me so--and yet it hasn't kept her from wanting all the other thingsin life, has it? I wish I could work it out, " she finished, a littlesadly, for she was thinking of her mother's cry on the night of Jane'sattack: "I am tempted to hope Gabriella will never marry. The Carrs allmarry so badly!" Why had those words come back to her to-night? She hadnot remembered them for months, she had even forgotten that she hadheard them, and now they floated to her as clearly as if they had beenspoken aloud. 

In a little while Billy came in, and when, after a few moments ofspasmodic affability, Mrs. Crowborough rose and pleaded an early boardmeeting on the morrow, Gabriella watched Patty wrap her honey-colouredhead in a white scarf and then stand, waiting for a cab, in the doorway. Happiness, with so many people an invisible attribute, encircled Pattylike a garment of light. It crowned her white brow under the glory ofher hair; it shone in her eyes; it rippled in her smile; it lingered ina beam of sunshine on her lips. With her arm in Billy's she looked backlaughing from the steps, and it seemed to Gabriella that all thebrightness of life was going with them into the darkness. Beside thecurbstone an old cab horse, dazzled by the light from the door, turnedhis head slowly toward them; and the look in his eyes, wistful, questioning, expectant, seemed to say, "This is not life, but amiracle. " And from his box the red-cheeked, wheezy Irish driver gazeddown on Patty with the same wistfulness, the same questioning, the sameexpectancy. 

"I never see Patty go off in a cab that I don't feel she has thrownherself away, " observed Mrs. Fowler, yawning, while she turned to thestaircase. "Archibald, I hope you had a really good time with the judge. I must say it is like ploughing to talk to his wife. "

Upstairs in her room a little later Gabriella said to George: "Patty wastelling me about the girl your mother wanted you to marry. "

He was pouring out a glass of water, and, absorbed in the act, he merelygrunted for answer. It was his disagreeable habit to grunt when gruntingsaved effort. 

"I wish you'd talk to me, George. It is so annoying to be grunted at. "

"Well, what do you want?" he replied amiably enough. "Patty is a regularsieve, you know. Never tell her a secret. "

"Did you ever like that girl--really?"

"The girl mother had in mind?" Having emptied the glass, he returned itto the tray and came over to her. "Yes, but if you want the truth, Ipreferred the girl in the chorus--the one the old lady got in a bluefunk about, you know. She's still there, the last but one from the end, in the Golden Slipper. I'll take you to see it some night. "

"Men are strange, " observed Gabriella, with philosophic detachment. "NowI couldn't feel the slightest interest in a man in comic opera. Did shereally attract you?"

"Um--humph, " he was grunting again. 

"Wasn't she terribly common?"

"Um--humph. "

"Wasn't she vulgar?"

"Rather. They all are. "

"And fast?"

"Regular streak of lightning. "

Then it was that Gabriella arrived at an understanding of masculinenature. "You never can tell what men will like, " she concluded. 

While she spoke he winked at her from the mirror into which he waslooking--mirrors always fascinated George and he could never keep awayfrom them--and there was in his face the whimsical and appealingnaughtiness of a child. Suddenly Gabriella felt that as far as characterand experience counted, she was immeasurably older than George. Hersuperior common sense made her feel almost middle-aged when he was inone of his boyish moods. At the age of nine she had not been so utterlyirresponsible as George was at twenty-six; as an infant in arms she hadprobably regarded the universe with a profounder philosophy. Though ofcourse George was charming, he was without any sense of the deeperpurpose of life. Like a child he must have what he wanted, and like achild he sulked when he was thwarted and grew angelic when his wisheswere gratified. A single day had taught her that his father could notdepend on him in business, that his mother could not trust him even toremember a dinner engagement. Gabriella loved him, she had chosen him, she told herself now, and she meant to abide by her choice; but she wasnot blind, she was not a fool, and she was deficient in the kind ofloyalty which obliges one to lie even in the sanctity of one's own mind. She would be true to him, but she would be true with her eyes open, notshut. 

"George, " she said presently, while she loosened her hair, "your fathertold me you didn't stay more than an hour in the office. " The question, "What were you doing?" rose to her lips, but she strangled the wordsbefore they escaped her. Her mind was quick to grasp facts, and she hadlearned already something of a man's instinctive dislike to being madeto give an account of himself. 

"You've been hearing too much gossip to-night, " he rejoined gaily. "Takecare what you listen to. "

"Don't joke, dear. I wish you would tell me things. "

"There isn't anything to tell, is there?"

"Is your father very rich?"

"Not very. Did you think you were marrying a millionaire?"

"I never thought about it, but everybody at home thinks he has a greatdeal of money, and yet your mother talks as if she were poor. "

"Well, he made a pile of money in a big deal about ten years ago, andthe papers had a lot about it. After that he lost it, or most of it, andthe papers didn't tell. The fact is, he's always either making orlosing, and now he's losing. That's why they wanted me to put off ourmarriage. "

"They wanted you to put it off?"

"Mother did--the old man never interferes. She had got into her head, you see, that the only way for me to make a living was to marry one, soit was a little while before she could get used to the idea that I wasgoing to marry because I wanted to, not because my family wanted me to. She was a brick though when she found out I was in earnest. Mother istrue blue when you know how to take her. "

"But you never told me. "

"You bet I didn't. If I had, as likely as not, you would be GabriellaMary Carr at this minute. "

Drawing gently out of his grasp, which had grown possessive, she stoodlooking at him with a smile in which tenderness and irony mingled; andthe tenderness was her own, while the irony seemed to belong to thevision of an impersonal spectator of life. The smile fascinated him. Hecould not withdraw his gaze from it, and yet it had the disturbingeffect of placing her at an emotional distance. 

"Your mother is very good to me, " she said, "but I feel somehow as if Ihad taken an unfair advantage of her. And you hadn't even told her, " sheadded, "that we are going to take an apartment in June. "

"Oh, that's all right--there's plenty of time, " he responded irritably. "Only you mustn't make mountains out of molehills. "

Then, because she dreaded his anger, she gave up her point as she hadgiven up many before. He was irresponsible, but he was hers and sheloved him. 

"I am so sleepy, " she said, stifling a yawn, "that I feel as if I couldcry. "

Marriage, at the end of a month, had already disciplined the fearlessdirectness of Gabriella. She had learned not to answer back when sheknew she was right; she had learned to appear sweet when her innerspirit demanded a severe exterior; she had learned to hold her tonguewhen a veritable torrent of words rose to her lips. And these lessons, which George's temper and her own reason had taught her, remained withher in the future, long after she had forgotten George and the severityof her schooling. 

There were many things for her to learn, and the lessons of that firstday and night stretched through the winter and well into the beginningof spring. Accompanying Mrs. Fowler on her busy rounds, she discoveredthat here also, as in the house in Hill Street, the chief end of lifewas to keep up an appearance; here also the supreme effort, the bestenergies, were devoted to a sham--to a thing which had no actualexistence. Though Mrs. Fowler was rich beside Mrs. Carr, Gabriella soonfound out that she was not nearly so rich as her neighbours were, notnearly so rich as her position in society exacted that she should be. She was still not rich enough to be spared the sordid, nerve-rackingeffort to make two ends meet without a visible break. Her smalleconomies, to Gabriella's surprise, were as rigid as Mrs. Carr's; andthough she lived in surroundings which appeared luxurious to the girl, there was almost as little ready money to spend as there had been inMrs. Carr's household. Bills were made recklessly, and dinner partieswere given at regular intervals; for Mrs. Fowler, who denied herself ahundred small comforts of living, who gave up cream in her coffee andbought her butter from a grocer below Washington Square, took quite as amatter of course the fact that she must, as she put it, "pay off socialscores. " Though they ate the simplest food in the market for six days ofthe week, on the seventh, hothouse flowers bloomed profusely in thelower rooms and champagne flowed abundantly into the delicate Venetianglasses on the round table. To be sure, Mrs. Fowler's gown may have beentwo seasons old, but it was covered with rare laces, which she hadpicked up during her summers abroad; and her pearls--the string wasshort, but really good, for she had matched it in Paris--shone, richand costly, around her still beautiful neck. After one of these dinnersthe family lived on scraps and looked at fading flowers for days, whileMrs. Fowler, with the air of one who has done her duty, sat upstairsbefore the little French writing-desk in her room, and patiently addedaccounts from morning till night. A strained look would come into herplump, firm face, three little wrinkles would appear between hereyebrows, and her blue eyes, circled by faint shadows, would grow darkand anxious. Then, when at last the accounts were finished and theunpaid bills laid away in a pigeonhole, she would remark with animation:

"I don't see how on earth I am ever to pay all these bills, " and, afterchanging her dress, set out to bring her butcher or her grocer toreason. On one of these days she took Gabriella (they went in the stagebecause she had given up her carriage) on a hunt for bargains inunderwear, and, to the girl's astonishment, her mother-in-law, whopresented so opulent an appearance on the surface, purchased for herselfa supply of cheap and badly made chemises and nightgowns. As she grew toknow Mrs. Fowler better, she found that the expenditures of thatredoubtable woman, in spite of her naturally delicate tastes, weregoverned by one of the most elementary principles of economy. Throughlong habit she had acquired a perception as unerring as instinct, andthis perception enabled her to tell exactly where extravagance wasuseful and where it failed in its effect. She had learned to perfectionnever to spend money on things that did not show a result. An appearancewas what she strove for, and one's chemises and nightgowns, howeverexquisite in themselves, could not very well contribute to one'sexternal appearance. "Of course I like good underclothes, " she remarkedcheerfully to her daughter-in-law, "but, after all, nobody sees them. "

This was so different from the poverty-stricken point of view ofGabriella's childhood, that the girl puzzled over it afterwards when shesat in her corner of the stage. Mrs. Carr had kept up an appearance, too, she reflected, but, like the old maids on the floor above, she hadkept it up even to herself. Perhaps the difference lay in the immensegulf which divided the appearance of Hill Street from the appearance ofthe East Fifties. Mrs. Fowler was obliged by the public opinion sheobeyed to appear affluent, while Mrs. Carr was merely constrained not toappear destitute. On the whole Gabriella felt that she preferred thesafe middle distance between the two exacting standards of living. 

But, though she might disapprove of her mother-in-law's philosophy, there was no question about her fervent admiration for her disposition. It was Mrs. Fowler's habit to appear "sweet, " and never once didGabriella see her lose her temper, never once, no matter how hard theday or how exasperating the accounts, did she show so much as a passinghint of irritability. Her temper was so angelic that it was the moresurprising George should not have inherited a trace of it. 

If George had not inherited his mother's nature, he revealed, as timewent on, even less resemblance to the perfect reasonableness of hisfather's temperament. Ever since her first day in the house, Gabriellahad been drawn to her father-in-law with an affection which his wife, for all her preoccupied kindness, had not inspired. She respected himfor his calm strength, against which the boisterous moods of Georgereacted as harmlessly as the whims of a child, and she liked him for hisunfailing courtesy, for his patience, for his gentleness, which made herfeel that he was, in spite of the material nature of his occupation, theonly member of the household who possessed even a glimmer ofspirituality. All day long, and the greater part of the night, hethought about money, and yet he had escaped the spiritual corruptionwhich the ceaseless pursuit of wealth had produced in the other rich menwhom Gabriella met in his house. It was as if some subtle alchemy in hissoul had transmuted the baser qualities into the pure gold of character;and sometimes the girl wondered if the fact that he worked not forhimself but for others had preserved him from the grosser contaminationof money. For he seemed to think of himself so little, that after threemonths in his house, Gabriella was still ignorant of his interests apartfrom his work, except, of course, his absorbing interest in the morningpapers. From the time he got up at seven o'clock until he went to bedpunctually on the stroke of ten, he appeared to order his life with thesingle purpose of giving as little trouble as was compatible with livingat all. His tastes were the simplest; he drank only boiled water; he atetwo eggs and a roll with his coffee at breakfast; he spent hardly athird as much on his clothes as George spent; and beyond an occasionalvisit to his club in the evening, he seemed to have absolutely norecreation. His life was in the stock market, and it was a life ofalmost monastic simplicity and self-sacrifice. If he had any pleasure, except the pleasure of providing his wife with the money for her dinnerparties, which bored him excruciatingly, Gabriella had never discoveredit. "He asks so little for himself that it is pathetic, " she remarkedto George one night, when Mr. Fowler had gone upstairs, carrying theevening papers to bed with him. 

"Oh, well, he gets what he asks for, " retorted George indifferently, "and that's more than the rest of us can say. "

George was in a bad humour; he had been in a bad humour for weeks; andfor this reason Gabriella had put off from day to day telling him thatshe expected a child in the autumn. All her efforts to soothe had merelyexasperated him; and there were days when her presence worked him into afit of nervous irritability. After four months of marriage prolongedboredom had replaced the passionate tenderness of their honeymoon. Whythis should be so she was too well-balanced emotionally to understand. She saw only the outward evidences of change, of gradualdisillusionment; and though at first she wept a little while shewondered, she ended by drying her tears and attributing his casualindifference and his explosive violence alike to some obscure disturbingcondition of health. Every evening, except when there were guests, hespent at his club; he came to bed late, and his waking hour was filledwith complaint about the number and the size of his bills. He treatedthese bills as if they had been gratuitous insults, as if they hadleaped, without reason for being, out of a malign world to assail him. As yet Gabriella had bought nothing; and she dreaded the time when herclothes would wear out beyond the hope of repairing, and she should beobliged to add another bill to the growing pile under the silver paperweight on the little white and gold desk. 

But in the last few weeks even this anxiety had faded from her mind, for the miracle of life which stirred in her body had diffused itsgolden halo around every trivial incident of her existence. After daysof physical wretchedness, which she had hidden from George, she sat oneevening, utterly at peace, in front of the fire in the room which hadbeen Patty's before her marriage. It was past midnight, and she waswaiting for George to come home because she felt that she could notsleep until she had told him. In the morning he had been unusuallygentle, and as he left the house, she had said to herself a littlesternly that he must know about the child before the day was over. Asecret consultation with her mother-in-law had strengthened herresolution. "Don't keep it from him another day, Gabriella, " Mrs. Fowlerhad urged. "It will make such a difference. I shall never forgetArchibald's joy when I told him George was coming. Men are like thatabout children, you know. "

"Yes, I'll tell him to-night, " Gabriella had answered; and sitting nowin the rocking-chair by the fire, she began to wonder if George would beexactly like other men about children. 

The house was very still, but even in its stillness it exhaled thenervous apprehension which she felt to be its living character--as ifGeorge's parents, sleeping two doors away, had dropped their guard forthe night, and allowed their anxious thoughts the freedom of the hallsuntil daybreak. And these thoughts, which had become like invisiblepresences to the girl, wandered up and down the dim staircase, where thelowered lights awaited George's return, invaded the drawing-room, filledwith stuffy red velvet chairs, so like crouching human beings in thedarkness, and even thronged about her threshold, ready to spring insideat the instant when George should open the door. While her fire burnedbrightly on the andirons, and rosy shadows danced on the white rugbeside her bed, on the lace coverlet turned back for the night, on thedeep pillows with their azure lining showing through the delicate linenof the slips, on her simple nightdress, in which the buttonholes were sobeautifully worked by her mother, --while she looked at these things itwas easy for her to shut out the apprehensions of yesterday. But theseapprehensions would come with George and they would not go until Georgeleft her again. The house with its heavy late-Victorian furniture, itsvelvet carpets which muffled footsteps, its thick curtains which hiddoorways, its red walls, its bevelled mirrors, its substantial andcostly ornaments, its solid paintings in solid frames--the house and allthat it contained diffused for Gabriella an inescapable atmosphere, andthis atmosphere was like the one in which she had waited expectantly inher childhood for the roof to be sold over her head. Now, as then, shewaited for something to happen, and this something was a fact of dread, a shape of terror, which must be ignored as long as its impendingpresence was not directly before one's eyes. But with the look she wasfamiliar, for she had seen it in her mother's face as far back as shecould remember. It was associated in her mind with the need of money, with scant food, with scant fires, with a brooding and sinister hush inthe house. With the knowledge of these things in her mind how could shehope that George would be glad of the child that was coming to them inthe autumn?

And yet to Mrs. Fowler the news had appeared to bring no additionalanxiety. She had seemed pleased rather than otherwise, mildlyinterested, animatedly sympathetic. 

"I am afraid it will be very expensive, " Gabriella had reminded her alittle timidly, feeling frankly apologetic when she thought of all thetrouble she must bring to the harassed and over-burdened little woman. 

But into Mrs. Fowler's face there had come the look with which she wasaccustomed to receive the suggestion that her dinner parties were anextravagance. That economy which she practised so rigidly, which was soelastic to cover little pleasures and the minor comforts of life, brokelike a cobweb when she tried to stretch it over larger needs anddesires. The severity of her self-denial was directed entirely againstthe trivial and the unessential. With regard to the indispensablematerials for happiness, she seemed to feel that she possessed anunquestionable right to enjoy them at any cost; and she had reassuredGabriella with an optimism which appeared perfectly genuine. Aftertalking to her the girl had felt that she might allow herself to behappy if only George would change back into his old way. 

Four months ago, at the beginning of her marriage, she had told herselfthat she needed only the daily intimacy of life to make her understandhim. Now, after living with him, she felt that she was growing tounderstand him less every hour--that the relation which ought to havebrought them spiritually closer, had ended by thrusting them to anincalculable distance from each other. Of the nervous reactions which hehad suffered she knew nothing. All she saw clearly was that the wideningbreach between them would soon become impassable unless it could befilled by their new love for the child. The power to hold him must slipfrom her hands to the child's, and she was more than ready, she was eveneager, to relinquish it. In the last few months her feeling for Georgehad altered, and, though she was hardly conscious of the change inherself, her love for him had become less passionate and more maternal. The tenderness was there, but the yearning, the delight in his merephysical presence was gone. Like every other emotion that she had feltin the past, her love for her husband had become absorbed in thepassion, the longing, the delight with which she enfolded the thought ofher child. 

"I wonder if mother felt like this about me, " she would say to herself, and the wonder was like a cord drawing her back to her mother and to herown babyhood. Then George would become strangely vague, strangely remotein her thoughts; and her mother would seem nearer to her than everythingexcept the child under her heart. 

But since her talk with Mrs. Fowler, who had shown her photographs ofGeorge as a baby, some in long clothes, some in his first short frock, with a woolly lamb in his hands, some in a velvet suit, with hislustrous curls falling over a lace collar, Gabriella had felt that shepossessed a new understanding of her husband and of the imperative needsof his nature. The child quality in him, the eternal boy that hebetrayed sometimes by accident, appeared to her now to be the salientattribute of his character. After all, because of this quality, whichwas at once his charm and his weakness, she could not judge him asharshly as she might judge another man, she could not demand of him thegravity and the restraint of his father, who had never been young. 

"I ought not to have kept it from him. His mother is right. Sheunderstands him better than I do, " she thought, as she looked at theclock. "If I had told him sooner he might be with me now. "

Through the muffled stillness of the house the sound of the openingfront door stole up to her, and she heard George come in and stop for aminute to take off his hat and coat in the lower hail. Then she heardhis footsteps move to the staircase; and while she listened she had acurious intuitive sense that it was not George at all, but a strangerwho was coming to her, and that this stranger walked like a very oldman. She heard him reach the bend in the stairs, and without stopping toput out the light, pass on to her door, which was the first on thelanding. As he reached the top of the stairs, he stumbled once; then sheheard his hand on the knob and a fumbling sound as if the knob would notturn. The door seemed to take an eternity to open, and while she sprangup with the clutch of terror at her heart, she felt again the sharp, agonizing premonition that a stranger was approaching her. 

"George!" she called in a strangled voice, and waited, standing, for himto enter. 

CHAPTER VII

MOTHERHOOD

At noon the next day Mrs. Fowler came into Gabriella's room and foundher sewing beside the window which looked on a gray expanse of sky andstreet, where a few snowflakes were falling. 

"Did you tell him, dear?" she asked, arranging a handful of red roses ina little alabaster vase on the desk. 

No, Gabriella had not told him. She felt now that she should never beable to tell him, but all she said was:

"I didn't get a chance. How lovely those roses are. "

Mrs. Fowler set the vase where the gray light fell on it, and thenturning with empty hands from the desk, asked gently:

"Aren't you making a mistake, dear?" Her movements were like those of acharacter in a play who is made to fill in an awkward pause with somemechanical action. 

"I couldn't tell him last night, " replied Gabriella; "he was sick allnight. "

She was very pale, even her lips had lost their rich colour, and hereyes had a drawn and heavy look as if she had not slept. Without lookingat her mother-in-law, she went on with her sewing, working buttonholesof exquisite fineness in a small white garment. In her lap there was alittle wicker basket filled with spools of thread and odd bits of laceand cambric; and every now and then she stopped her work and gazedthoughtfully down on it as if she were trying to decide how she mightuse the jumble of scraps that it contained. 

"Gabriella, " said Mrs. Fowler suddenly, after she had watched her amoment, "did anything happen last night?"

"Happen? No, what could have happened?"

"At what time did George come in?"

"About one o'clock. I sat up for him. "

"Was--was anything the matter with him? Was he in any way different?"

"He was sick. He was sick all night. " A look of disgust crossed her facewhile she stopped to wipe away a drop of blood from her finger. "I don'tremember pricking my finger since I was a child, " she remarked. 

"You are keeping something from me, " said Mrs. Fowler; and sitting downin the small chair by the desk, she leaned her elbow, in her full sleeveof violet cashmere, on the edge of the blotting-pad. She was wearing amorning gown made, as all her house gowns were made, after the princessstyle, and Gabriella could see the tight expanse of her bosom rising andfalling under a garniture of purple and silver passementerie. Her hair, fresh from the crimping pins, rose in stiff ridges from her forehead, and her bright red lips were so badly chapped from cold that theycracked a little when she smiled. She looked as hard as granite thoughin reality her heart was breaking with pity. 

"I want to help you, " she said, "and I can't if you keep things back. "

"I told you George was sick. I was up all night with him. " Again a lookof disgust, which she could not control, flickered and died in her face. 

"But you oughtn't to have let him keep you awake. You need all the sleepyou can get. When he comes in late he must sleep in the spare roomacross the hall. "

"His things are all in here and he would come in to get them; that wouldwake me. "

For a moment Mrs. Fowler hesitated while the struggling breath grew moreirregular under the passementerie on her bosom. The ripe colour fadedfrom her cheeks and her lips looked blue in the harsh light from thewindow. 

"I think I'd better speak to George, " she said. "He is spoiled and healways thinks first of his own comfort. I suppose it's the way webrought him up--but when he understands, he will be more considerate. "

For the first time Gabriella laid down her sewing and, leaning forwardin her chair, fixed her eyes, with their look of deep stillness, ofwistful expectancy, on the face of her mother-in-law. 

"Would you mind telling me if George was ever--ever wild about women?"she asked, and though her voice was very low and quiet, her words seemedto echo loudly through the hushed suspense in her brain. It was as ifevery piece of furniture, every vacant wall, every picture, and everypane of glass, repeated the sound. 

The pleasant smile on Mrs. Fowler's lips became suddenly painful. As ifshe were suffering a physical hurt, she put her handkerchief to hermouth while she answered:

"He was once--but that was before he fell in love with you. We hopedthat you would be able to steady him--that marriage would make himsettle down. "

"Did he drink then?"

"A little--not enough to make him show it. I never saw him really showit but once, and then he was dreadfully sick. Was--was he like that lastnight?"

For a long minute, while she looked out of the window at the fallingsnowflakes, Gabriella did not reply. Then she spoke in a voice that wassternly accusing. 

"You ought to have told me. I ought to have known. " Her own wild passionfor George was forgotten. She felt only a sense of outrage, of woundedand stunned resentment, They had treated her as if she were a child or afool. That she had been a fool she was not prepared to admit at theinstant--and yet it was less than a year ago, that June night when shehad watched George over the clove pinks while her heart melted withhappiness. She had had her way, and she was already regretting hermadness. "Is this what love comes to?" she asked herself bitterly as shewatched the white flakes whirling out of the gray sky. "Is this what itall comes to in the end, or am I different from other women?"

Moistening her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, Mrs. Fowler smiledbravely, though there were tears in her eyes. "Archibald wanted to, butI wouldn't let him, " she replied; "I hoped that you would makeeverything different. He was so much in love with you. I thought youcould do anything with him. "

Though her reasoning failed to convince Gabriella, it was sufficientlyforcible to justify her in her own judgment, and with an easierconscience, she settled comfortably behind the impregnable defences ofthe maternal instinct. After all, she had only done what she believedto be best for her boy. She had not been selfish, she had not even beenthoughtless, she had been merely a mother. 

"I wish you would tell me what really happened last night, Gabriella, "she said, and her tone showed that she had recovered her shakenconfidence in the righteousness of her cause. 

"I can't tell you, " answered Gabriella. "What good would it do? Georgewas disgusting, that was all. " She spoke sternly, for no lingeringtenderness softened the judgment of her youth and her injured pride. Howcould she possibly have tenderness for a man who had tired of her infour months, who had become so lost to common decency that he could lether see him revoltingly drunk? And she had held her head so high, shehad so despised Jane for her weakness and folly! At the moment she knewthat she was helpless, but deep down within her she felt that thishelplessness would not last--that the wings of her soul were stillstrong, still free, still untouched by the shame her body had suffered. With a single effort she could break the net of passion, and escape intothe wonderful world which surrounded her. Like Jane, she had been afool, but, unlike Jane, she would not stay a fool always. 

"You seem so hard, Gabriella, " said Mrs. Fowler. "Is it because you areyoung? Young people never make allowances. "

The taste of bitterness rose to Gabriella's lips. 

"I suppose I am hard, " she answered, "and I am going to stay so. Thereis safety in hardness. "

Remembering Jane, remembering the hereditary weakness of the Carrs, whohad all married badly, she told herself that in hardness lay hersolitary refuge from despair. After all, it was better to be hard thanto break. 

"You can't judge George quite as you would other men, " began George'smother, and she was aware after a minute that the maternal instinct hadin this instance led her to defeat. 

"I am not judging other men, " replied George's wife coldly; "I amjudging George. " Against men as men she had never even thought ofcherishing a grievance. All her life she had looked to some man as tothe saviour of the family fortunes, and her vision was still true enoughto perceive that, as a human being, Archibald Fowler was finer andbigger than his wife, that Billy was finer and bigger than Patty. Shehad found men less the servants of mere instinct than she had foundwomen, less the passive and unresisting vehicles of the elementalimpulses. Then, too, they were so seldom the victims of life, and therewas in her nature a fierce contempt for a victim. She despised peoplewho submitted to circumstances, who resigned themselves to necessity, asif resignation were a virtue instead of a vice. 

"Well, you must try not to worry, dear; worry is so bad for you. I am sosorry it happened. You won't mind my speaking to George, will you?"

Gabriella shook her head. "I don't care what you say to him. "

"Do you feel able to come down to lunch?"

"Oh, yes, perfectly. I am simply dying for a cup of tea, and afterwardsI think I'll go out for a walk. One gets so stuffy and dull when onestays in the house. "

Her manner had changed as if by magic. In putting the thought of Georgeout of her mind she seemed to have put aside her resentment anddespondency. 

In the evening George came home, looking a little yellow, with a box ofgardenias in his hand; but the scent of the flowers sickened Gabriella, and she put them out of the room while she dressed for dinner. Theattention, instead of pleasing her, brought an ironic twist to her lips, though she thanked George quite as courteously as if he had been astranger to her. At dinner when Mr. Fowler abruptly asked his son why hehad not been to the office, she kept her eyes fixed on her plate, inwhich she seemed to see palely reflected the anxious pleasantness of hermother-in-law's smile. It hardly occurred to her to wonder where Georgehad spent his day, though, when she met Mr. Fowler's kind and tiredlook, a pang shot through her heart. She was sorrier for George's fatherthan she was for herself. He looked so lonely, yet so patient. He soobviously needed help, and no one appeared to notice it, not even hiswife, who began planning a dinner party in the futile effort to come toGeorge's assistance. It was by coming to George's assistance in everydifficulty, Gabriella surmised, that his mother had made George what hewas; and the girl saw in imagination an endless line of subterfuges, ofpitiful excuses and feeble justifications, all hidden in the tortuouslabyrinthine windings of the maternal instinct. She saw, with therelentless vision of a Hebrew prophet, the inevitable ruin of the lovethat does not submit to wisdom as its law. 

More than seven months afterwards, when she lay in her room with herchild in the crook of her arm, she prayed passionately that some supremePower would grant her the strength not of emotion, but of reason. Allher life she had suffered from an unrestrained indulgence of thevirtues--from love running to waste through excess, from theself-sacrifice that is capable of everything but self-discipline, fromthe intemperate devotion to duty that is as morbid as sin. Balance, moderation, restraint--these seemed to her, lying there with her childon her arm, to be the things most worth striving for. She saw hermother, worn to a shadow by the unnecessary deaths she had died, by theuseless crucifixions she had endured; she saw Jane, haggard, wan, withher sweetness turning to bitterness because it was wasted; and again shefound herself asking for balance, moderation, restraint. The child, alittle girl, with George's eyes and hair like gauze, had liberatedGabriella from the last illusions of her girlhood. 

And yet, though Gabriella prayed for moderation, she found after a fewmonths that motherhood was absorbing the full strength of her nature. George hardly existed for her; he came and went like the passing of ashadow, and she began gradually to sink her life into the life of herchild. Not until the winter was she brought back to a sharp realizationof her neglected duty to her mother; and this came with a letter fromMrs. Carr during the last week in January. Mrs. Carr was still livingwith Jane, and though she had accepted mildly Gabriella's reasons forpostponing her coming to New York, she was beginning somewhatplaintively to question. She had made little effort to hide herdisappointment at not being with her daughter when her grandchild wasborn, for, in spite of the fact that she had tragically assisted at theentrance of Jane's six children into the world, she still possessed aninsatiable appetite for the perpetually recurring scenes of birth anddeath. Then only did her natural bent of mind appear to be justified byuniversal phenomena. 

And now on this morning in January, when Frances Evelyn, the baby, laygood and quiet in her crib, Gabriella read over again the disturbingletter she had just received from her mother. 

 MY DEAR DAUGHTER:

 Jane wrote you that I had had a slight attack of pneumonia, so you understood why I was obliged to let so long a time go by without sending you a letter. Though I have been out of bed now for more than a fortnight, I still feel so weak and good for nothing that I am hardly equal to the exertion of writing. Then, too, I have had some trouble with my wrist--the right one--and this has made it really painful for me to hold a pen or even a fork. The doctor thinks it is a nervous affection and that it will pass away as soon as I get back my strength, and I am sure I hope and pray that it will. But sometimes I feel as if I should never get any stronger, and of course while my wrist is crippled I am unable to do any sewing. This has depressed me very much, for poor Jane has so many worries of her own that I dread being dependent on her, and Charley has not been at all well this winter, though kinder and more considerate than I have ever known him to be. He has his faults, but I have always felt that he was not entirely responsible and that we ought to pity rather than blame him. Women can never be too thankful that they are spared by a merciful Providence the temptations which seem to beset men. When we consider how much more sheltered our lives are, we ought to be lenient in our judgment, and I cannot help feeling that God meant us to be so when he gave us more spiritual natures than those of men. Dr. Preston gave a very instructive and impressive talk on that subject before the Ladies' Aid Society of our church the week before I was taken sick. Indeed, I am afraid I caught the cold that led to pneumonia sitting in Charley's pew, which gets a bad draught from the door of the Sunday-school room. 

 I must apologize for this dull letter, as I haven't been able to get out even to market. Before I was taken ill I used to do all of Jane's marketing, and you know what a place the market is for meeting people and hearing all the latest news. There are, however, two things to tell you, and you'll never be able to guess them. First, poor Miss Amelia Peterborough is dead. She was stricken with paralysis a week ago when she was all alone in the house--Miss Jemima was at a funeral--and she never regained consciousness until the end, which came at three o'clock Sunday night. Poor Miss Jemima, I feel so sorry for her. She keeps up beautifully and is very pious and resigned. They say she will go into the Old Ladies' Home as soon as the arrangements can be made. 

 The other piece of news is more cheerful, though, for my part, life seems so short and so uncertain that I can't see much cheerfulness anywhere. So many people are dying that you can't help wondering who will be next, and as Dr. Preston said when he called on me during my illness, our only substantial hope is in a blessed hereafter. My one regret will be leaving my children and grandchildren, and especially my precious little Frances Evelyn, whom I have never seen. I have no doubt that Mrs. Fowler was far more useful than I could have been at the time of your trial, but it was a great disappointment to me not to be able to receive the little darling into the world. 

 But I had entirely forgotten that I started to tell you about Florrie Spencer's marriage to Algernon Caperton. Of course I couldn't go, but Jane says the wedding was lovely and that Florrie looked really beautiful. Bessie had on rose-coloured brocade. Did you ever hear of such a thing at her age? She was just as gay and flirtatious as a girl, Charley said, and she sent me some of the cake and a bottle of champagne, which, of course, I didn't touch. It is a pity she is so loud, for there isn't a kinder heart in the world. Florrie and Algernon are going to New York on their wedding trip. Isn't it exactly like Florrie to want to go to all the theatres? They send you word, by the way, that they are certainly coming to see you and the baby. 

 And now that I have told all my news, I must write a little about myself, though I am afraid you will be upset by what I am obliged to tell you. I put it off as long as I could--for I do hate to worry you--but the doctor has just been to see me and he says I must go to Florida immediately to stay until the bad weather is over. I told him I couldn't possibly afford it--the trip would take a great deal of money--but he insisted that I should write and tell you exactly what he said. He said my lungs were very weak and that he ordered the change--you know they never seem to consider expense--and when he was leaving, he stopped in the hall to speak to Jane about it. Poor Jane, she is so worried that she has almost gone deranged over my health, but as far as I am concerned I feel that I would rather pass away than cause so much trouble and upset everybody. Jane, as you know, hasn't a cent to her name, and it is out of the question her asking Charley, because he has had a very bad winter financially. Even Cousin Jimmy stopped sending me the rent of the house since I moved to Jane's, and as for Uncle Meriweather, he has been obliged to give up his business and go to live with his niece in the country. So, much as I hate to ask you, my dear child, I feel that you would rather I did so--and that I ought to be perfectly frank about the situation, particularly since poor Jane feels so deeply her inability to help me. I am afraid I should need about four hundred dollars, as I have bought nothing to wear for years. Bessie Spencer has told me of a very reasonable place where I could board, and it is just possible that she will be going herself by the time I am ready. If for any reason you are unable to let me have the money, just destroy this letter and don't think about it again. I wouldn't cause you a moment's worry for anything in the world. 

 With love to George and a dozen kisses for my precious little grandchild, Your devoted mother, FANNY CARR. 

 Did I remember to tell you that Miss Polly Hatch has gone to New York to look after her nephew's children? He lost his wife a few months ago, and was left with four little children, the youngest only a year old. 

So her punishment had come! As Gabriella dropped the letter into herlap, and looked at little Frances, so good and happy in her crib, shefelt that she was punished not only for her reckless marriage, but forall the subterfuge, all the deceit which had followed it. She had nottold her mother the truth, for she, also, had been chiefly concernedwith "keeping up an appearance. " For the purpose of shielding George, who was blandly indifferent to her shielding, she had lied to hermother, if not in words, yet in an evasion of the truth, and the resultwas that her lies and her evasions had recoiled not on George's head, but on her own. For George wouldn't care. So little value did he placeupon Mrs. Carr's good opinion, that he would not care even if Gabriellawere to tell her the truth. And if she had only been honest! If she hadonly refused to lie because custom exacted that a wife should be willingto lie in defense of her husband. Some obscure strain of dogmatic pietystruggled in the convulsed depths of her being, as if she had beensuddenly brought up against the vein of iron in her soul--against themoral law, stripped bare of clustering delusions, which her ancestorshad known and fought for as "the Berkeley conscience. " The Berkeleyconscience, bred for centuries on a militant faith, told her now thatshe was punished because she had lied to her mother. 

Then, as if this reversion to primitive theology had been merely anautomatic reaction of certain nerve cells, she saw and condemned thechildlike superstition. No, she was not punished so quickly; but she hadbeen a fool, and she was paying the price of her incredible folly. Howlittle, how pitifully little she knew of the world, after all! A yearago, on that horrible night, she had thought that her lesson wasfinished, but it was only beginning. Her immense, confiding ignorancewould lead her into other abysses. And again, as on the morning afterthat night of revelation, she resolved passionately that she would notstay a fool always--that she would not become a victim of life. 

The empty bottle had slipped to one side of the crib, and little Franceslay smiling at the friendly universe, with her wet mouth wide open andher blue eyes, so like George's, sparkling with laughter. The down onher head, as fine and soft as spun silk, made tiny rings over her pinkskull, which was as clear and delicate as an eggshell; and these goldenrings filled Gabriella with a tenderness so poignant that it broughttears to her eyes. Whatever her mother may have thought about the world, it was perfectly obvious that Frances Evelyn considered her part in itremarkably jolly. To be a well baby in an amiable universe was her idealof felicity. 

When George came up to luncheon, which he did sometimes now, he wentstraight to the nursery for a glimpse of his daughter. Ever sincelittle Frances had lost her first hair and gained her golden down, hehad taken an interest in the rapid stages of her development; and, though he never "wasted time, " as he said, in the nursery, he liked tolook in once a day and see whether or not she had changed in the night. On her side the baby treated her father as if he were an inexhaustiblefamily joke, to be enjoyed not too seriously, but with a politerecognition of its humorous points. If she were sucking her bottle whenhe entered, she immediately stopped and laughed at him while the rubbernipple dropped from her toothless gums; if she awoke and discovered himat the side of her crib, she greeted him with subdued but inappeasablemerriment; if he lifted her in his arms, her crocheted shoes couldbarely contain the kicks of her ecstatic feet. And because she was ajolly little beggar, George grew, after a time, to cherish a certainfondness for her. There was some use in a laughing baby, but he hatedanything, child, woman, or animal, that cried. 

On this particular day the baby happened to be asleep when he entered, so, without stopping, he went into Gabriella's bedroom, where theperfume of roses mingled with the scent of the burning logs on theandirons. 

"That's a good fire, " he observed, stopping on the hearth-rug. "I don'twonder you hate to go out. "

"Yes, the room was a little chilly, so I lit the fire for the baby'sbath. I don't usually have one, " replied Gabriella, explaining herapparent extravagance. 

"Has she been well?"

"She is always well. I haven't had a day's anxiety about her since shewas born. "

"But she isn't very old yet. " Already little Frances was supplyingconversational material to her parents. 

"I wish you would sit down, George, " said Gabriella, with a change oftone. "I want to read you a part of a letter from mother. "

"Can't you tell me instead?"

"If you'd rather. You know I never told mother why we couldn't have herto live with us. I never told her anything. I simply made excuses. "

"That was all right, wasn't it?" He was plainly nervous. 

"At the time I thought I couldn't do differently, but now--"

She gave him the letter, and while he unfolded it awkwardly, she watchedhim anxiously and yet without interrupting his reading. Beyond thesimple facts, she had told him nothing, and it was characteristic of herthat she did not embellish these facts with picturesque phrases. Sheherself was so insensible to the appeal of rhetoric that she hardlythought of it as likely to influence anybody. Then, too, in moments ofintense feeling she had always a sensation of dumbness. 

"I'm awfully sorry about her illness, " he said, "but when you think ofit, the best thing that could have happened to her was not to come toNew York. This climate would have been the end of her. "

"Will you let me have the money, George? I will try to save in every waythat I can. I've made all the baby's clothes, as it is, and I can easilymake the few things I need, also. Since the baby came I have stoppedcalling with your mother. "

A flush rose to his face. "I know you've been a regular brick aboutmoney, Gabriella. I never saw a woman buy as little as you do, and youalways manage to look well dressed. "

She smiled with faint irony. Her clothes were dowdy, for she had turnedthe broadcloth dress she had had at her marriage and was wearing it inthe street; but if he thought her well dressed, it seemed hardly fair toundeceive him. Had she been any other woman, she reflected, he wouldprobably have looked at her long enough to discover that she had growndecidedly shabby. 

Since the baby's birth, as she told him, she had stopped calling withher mother-in-law, and a black net dress, given her by Mrs. Fowlerbecause it had grown too small in the waist, was still presentableenough for the family dinners. But she never worried about herappearance, and it was a relief to find that George was quite asindifferent on the subject as she was. In the days of their honeymoon hehad been so particular that she had spent hours each day before themirror. 

"Will you let me have the money, George?" she asked again. The form ofthe request had not changed, but there was a deeper note in her voice:the irony, which had been at first only a glancing edge to her smile, asubdued flash in her eyes, had passed now into her speech. George, looking sideways at the slightly austere charm of her profile, thoughtsuddenly, "Gabriella is growing hard. " He noticed, too, for the firsttime, that she looked older since the birth of the baby, that her bosomwas fuller and that her figure, which had always been good, was nowlovely in its long flowing lines. She was handsomer than she had beenbefore her marriage, for her complexion had become clearer since shehad lived in the North, and though she was still pale, her skin waslosing its sallow tone. 

Yet, though he thought her more attractive than she had been as a girl, she had ceased to make the faintest appeal to his senses. There weretimes even when he wondered how she had ever appealed to him, for shehad not been beautiful, and beauty had always seemed to him to beessential in the women with whom one fell in love. But, however it hadhappened, still it had happened, and she was now his wife and the motherof the adorable Frances Evelyn. 

"I'm awfully cut up about it, Gabriella, " he said, "but honestly I amout of the money. I couldn't lay my hands on it just now to save mylife. "

His excuses convinced him while he uttered them, but he had barelypaused before Gabriella demolished them with a single blow of hermerciless logic. 

"You were talking last night about buying a horse, " she replied. 

He frowned resentfully, and she immediately regretted her words. Byspeaking the truth she had defeated her purpose. 

"It isn't as if I were buying a horse for pleasure, " he answereddoggedly; "I am dependent on exercise--you can see for yourself how I'vegone off in the last two or three months. Of course if the horse weresimply for enjoyment, like a carriage, it would be different. But motherhas given up her carriage, " he concluded triumphantly. 

He was a spendthrift, she realized, but he was a spendthrift with astreak of stinginess in his nature. Though he enjoyed gratifying his owndesires, which were many, it pained him inexpressibly to witnessextravagance on the part of others, and by a curious twist of theimagination, all money spent by Gabriella appeared to him to be anextravagance. To be sure, he had just told her that she was a brickabout money, but that had been intended as a warning to virtue ratherthan as an encouragement to weakness. There was, to be sure, a vagueunderstanding that she might make bills when they were unavoidable; butso in want of spending money had she been since her marriage, thatseveral times she had been obliged to borrow car fare from hermother-in-law. When she had asked George for an allowance, howeversmall, he had put her off with the permission to charge whatever shebought in the shops. As the bills apparently never lessened, and herconscience revolted from debt, she had gone without things she neededrather than accept the barren generosity of his promises. At Christmasher father-in-law had given her fifty dollars in gold, and with this shehad bought presents for her mother and Jane and the servants. 

In the old days in Hill Street she had had little enough, but at leastthat little had really belonged to her; and since her marriage she hadlearned that when one is poor, it is better to live surrounded by want. To be poor in the midst of wealth--to be obliged to support a fictitiousaffluence on one's secret poverty--this was after all to know thesupreme mortification of spirit. There were days when she almost prayedthat the brooding suspense would assume a definite shape, that the blowwould fall, the crash come, and ruin envelop them all. Any visible factwould be better than this impending horror of the imagination--thissilent dread so much worse than any reality of failure--whichencompassed them with the impalpable thickness and darkness of a cloud. 

"Then I can't help my mother even if it's a matter of life and death?"she asked. 

"I don't believe it's as bad as that, Gabriella. Ten chances to one therest of the winter will be mild, and she would find Florida toodepressing. You never can tell about doctors, you know. It's theirbusiness to make trouble. Now you mustn't let yourself worry--there'sanxiety enough without that, heaven knows. Why, just look at father! Hehas lost almost all he ever had--he is simply staving off failure for Idon't know how long, and yet from mother's manner who on earth wouldsuspect that there is anything wrong? Now that's what I call pluck. ByJove--"

Again her impetuous spirit--dangerous gift!--flashed out recklessly indefence of the truth. 

"Then why don't you try to help your father, George?" she asked. "Hetells me that you rarely go down to the office. " Her voice vibrated, butthe stern lines of her mouth, which had lost its rich softness under thestress of her anger, hardly quivered. 

His frown darkened to a scowl. The calm disdain in her manner made himfeel that he hated her, and he told himself stubbornly that if she hadbeen gentler, if she had been more womanly, he would have done what sheasked of him, forgetting in his rage that, if she had been these things, he would have found even less difficulty in refusing her. 

"You know as well as I do that I can't stand office work when I'm notfit, " he returned sullenly. "It plays the devil with my nerves. "

Her case was hopeless. If it had not been so in the beginning, she hadruined it by her irrefutable arguments, and while he rambled on moodily, making excuses for his neglect of business, she sat silently planningways by which she might get the money for her mother. To ask herfather-in-law was, of course, out of the question; and Mrs. Fowler, beyond a miraculously extended credit, due probably to the shiningbubble of her husband's financial security, was as penniless asGabriella. Unless she could find something to sell there seemed littlelikelihood of securing four hundred dollars in a day. It was imperative, then, that she should find something to sell; and remembering hermother's tragic visits to old Mr. Camberwell, she ran hastily over herfew personal possessions. As her wedding gifts had been entirely in theform of clothes--the donors doubtless surmising that the wife of a richman's son would have other gifts in abundance--there remained only thetrinkets George and George's parents had given her. All throughluncheon, while Mrs. Fowler, with an assumed frivolity which Gabriellafound more than usually depressing, rippled on over the warmed-oversalmon, the girl mentally arranged and sorted in their cases a diamondbrooch, an amethyst necklace, a bracelet set with pearls, and a topazheart she occasionally wore on a gold chain, which she valued because ithad belonged to her grandmother. Once she stopped, and lifting her hand, looked appraisingly at her engagement ring for an instant, while Mrs. Fowler, observing her long gaze, remarked caressingly:

"I always thought it an unusually pretty stone, my dear. George knows agood deal about stones. " Then, as if inspired by an impulse, she addedquickly:

"Wasn't George upstairs before lunch? I thought I heard his voice. "

"Yes, but he said he had an engagement at the club. "

"I wonder if he knows I have asked the Capertons to dinner to-night? Youknow I got Florrie's card the other day. She is here on her weddingjourney, but even then she doesn't like to be quiet, for she is hermother all over again. I used to know Bessie very well. Kind hearted, but a little vulgar. "

"I didn't tell George. Perhaps you had better telephone him. "

"Oh, well, he usually comes up to dinner because of the baby. I've askedone or two people to meet Florrie, for I remember that Bessie's one ideaof enjoyment was to be in a crowd. The Crowboroughs are coming and theThorntons and the Blantons. "

"I'll be dressed in time, " responded Gabriella, but she was thinkingrapidly, "I can sell the diamond brooch and the bracelet and, if it isnecessary, the amethyst necklace. The brooch must have cost at leastthree hundred dollars. "

The meal was finished in silence, for even Mrs. Fowler's cheerfulnesswould flag now and then without a spur; and Gabriella made no effort tokeep up the strained conversation. As soon as they had risen from thetable, she ran upstairs to dress for the street, and then, before goingout, she sat down at her desk, and wrapped up the brooch and thebracelet in tissue paper. For a minute she gazed, undecided, at theamethyst necklace. Mr. Fowler had given it to her, and she hated to partwith it. George's gifts meant nothing to her now, but she felt asingular fondness for the amethyst necklace. 

"I'd better take it with me, " she thought; and wrapping it with theothers, she put the package into her little bag, and went out of theroom. It was her habit to stop for a last look at little Frances beforeshe left the house, but to-day she hurried past the nursery, and randownstairs and out of doors, where Mrs. Fowler was getting into a hansomwith the assistance of Burrows, the English butler. 

"May I drop you somewhere, Gabriella?" inquired Mrs. Fowler, whileBurrows arranged the parcels on the seat of the hansom. In the strongsunshine all the little lines which were imperceptible in the shadow ofthe house--lines of sleeplessness, of anxiety, of prolonged achingsuspense--appeared to start out as if by magic in her face. And overthis underlying network of anxious thoughts there dropped suddenly, likea veil, that look of artificial pleasantness. She would have died soonerthan lift it before one of the servants. 

"No, thank you. I need the walk, " answered Gabriella, stopping besidethe hansom. "You will be tired if you do all those errands. May I helpyou?"

"No, no, dear, take your walk. I am so glad the storm is over. It willbe a lovely afternoon. "

Then the hansom drove off; Burrows, after a longing glance at the bluesky, slowly ascended the brownstone steps; and Gabriella, closing herfurs at the throat, for the wind was high, hurried in the direction ofFifth Avenue. 

The streets were still white after the storm; piles of new-fallen snowlay in the gutters; and when Gabriella crossed Madison Avenue, the windwas so strong that it almost lifted her from the ground. Above theshining whiteness of the streets there was a sky of spring; and springwas blossoming in the little cart of a flower vendor, which had stoppedto let the traffic pass at the corner. There were few people out ofdoors, and these few appeared remote and strangely unreal between thewintry earth and the April sky. Beside the gutters, where the streetcleaners were already at work, wagons drawn by large, heavy horses movedslowly from crossing to crossing. At Forty-second Street the traffic wasblocked by one of these wagons; and from the windows of the stage, whichhad stopped by the sidewalk, the eyes of the passengers stared withmoody resignation at the hurrying pedestrians. And it seemed toGabriella that these faces wore, one and all, the look of secretanxiety, the faint network of lines which she had seen in the face ofher mother-in-law. "I wonder if I have it, too, " she thought, pausingbefore a shop window. But her reflection flashed back at her from theglass, smooth, stern, unsmiling, as if her features had been sculpturedin marble. 

Below Fortieth Street there was the shop of a jeweller she sometimeswent to with Mrs. Fowler in that lady's despairing quest for suitablewedding presents at moderate prices; and something in the kindly, sympathetic face of the clerk who waited on them made Gabriella decidesuddenly to trust him. As she unwrapped the tissue paper rathernervously, and keeping back the necklace, laid the brooch and thebracelet on the square of purple velvet he spread out on the counter, she raised her eyes to his with a look that was childlike in its appeal. Again she thought of the morning on which they had surreptitiously takenher silver mug, hidden in Mrs. Carr's gray and black shawl, to the shopof old Mr. Camberwell. 

"How much might I get for these? I have worn them only a few times. Theydo not suit me, " she said. 

For a minute the clerk looked at her reflectively, but withoutcuriosity; then lifting the trinkets from the square of velvet, hepassed behind a green curtain into an adjoining room. After a shortabsence, in which she nervously examined an assortment of travellingclocks, he came back and told her that they would give her four hundredand fifty dollars for the two pieces. 

"The stones alone are worth that, " he added, "and, of course, they willhave to be reset before we can sell them. "

"May I have the check now?"

"Shall we send it to you by mail?"

"No, I must have it now. I want it this afternoon--immediately. "

He yielded, still with his reflective but incurious manner; and when sheleft the shop a quarter of an hour later the check was in her little bagbeside the amethyst necklace. "I am glad I didn't have to sell thenecklace, " she thought. "Now I'll find a hotel and write to mother, andit will all be settled. It will all be settled, " she repeated in ajoyous tone; and this joyousness, overflowing her breast, showed in hereyes, in the little quivering smile on her lips, and in her light andbuoyant step over the snow. A weight had been lifted from her heart, andshe felt at peace with the world, at peace with the shiveringpassers-by, at peace even with George. The wind, hastening her walk, stung her face till it flushed through its pallor, and sent the warmblood bounding with happiness through her veins. Under the stainlessblue of the sky, it seemed to her that the winter's earth was suddenlyquickening with the seeds of the spring. 

In the Waldorf she found a corner which was deserted, except for anelderly man with a dried face and a girl in a green hat, who appeared tobe writing to her lover; and sitting down at a little desk behind alamp, she wrote to her mother without mentioning George, withoutexplaining anything, without even making excuses for her failure to keepher promise. She knew now that George had never meant that her mothershould live with them, that he had never meant that they should take anapartment, that he had lied to her, without compunction, from thebeginning. She knew this as surely as she knew that he was faithless andselfish, as surely as she knew that he had ceased to love her and wouldnever love her again. And this knowledge, which had once caused her suchpoignant agony, seemed now as detached and remote as any tragedy inancient history. She was barely twenty-two, and her love story hadalready dwindled to an impersonal biographical interest in her mind. 

When she had finished her letter, she placed the check inside of it, andthen sat for a minute pensively watching the girl in the green hat, whose face paled and reddened while she wrote to her lover. 

"It seems a hundred years ago since I felt like that, " she thought, "andnow it is all over. " Then because melancholy had no part in her nature, and she was too practical to waste time in useless regrets, she rosequickly from the desk, and went out, while the exhilaration of her moodwas still proof against the dangerous weakness of self-pity. "It's lifeI'm living, not a fairy tale, " she told herself sternly as she postedthe letter and left the hotel. "It's life I'm living, and life is hard, however you take it. " For a few blocks she walked on briskly, thinkingof the shop windows and of the brightness and gaiety of the crowd inFifth Avenue; but in spite of her efforts, her thoughts fluttered backpresently to herself and her own problems. "After all, you can't becomea victim unless you give in, " she said grimly; "and I'll die rather thanbecome a victim. "

Her walk kept her out until five o'clock, and when she entered the houseat that hour she found her mother-in-law in the front hall givingdirections to Burrows. At sight of Gabriella she paused breathlessly, and said with undisguised nervousness:

"A very queer-looking person who says she was sent by your mother hasjust come to see you, dear--a seamstress of some kind, I fancy. As shelooked quite clean, I let her go upstairs to the nursery to wait foryou. I hope you don't mind. She was so eager to see the baby. "

"Oh, it's Miss Polly!" cried Gabriella; and without stopping to explain, she ran upstairs and into the nursery, where little Frances was cooingwith delight in Miss Polly's arms. 

The seamstress' small birdlike face, framed by the silk quilling of herold lady's bonnet, broke into a hundred cheerful wrinkles at the sightof Gabriella. Even the grotesqueness of her appearance--of her fantasticmantle trimmed with bugles, made from her best wrap in the 'seventies, of her full alpaca skirt, with its wide hem stiffened by buckram, of herblack cotton gloves, and her enormous black broadcloth bag--even thesethings could not extinguish the pleasure Gabriella felt in the meeting. If Miss Polly was ridiculous at home, she was twice as ridiculous in NewYork, but somehow it did not seem to matter. The sight of her broughthappy tears to the girl's eyes, and in the attempt to hide them, sheburied her face in the warm, flower-scented neck of little Frances. 

"She's the peartest baby I ever saw, " remarked Miss Polly with pride. "Wouldn't yo' ma dote on her?"

"Wouldn't she? But how did you leave mother and Jane and the children?The baby must be a big boy now. "

"He's runnin' around all the time, and never out of mischief. I neversaw such a child for mischief. I was tellin' yo' ma so last week. There's another baby on the way with Jane, you know. "

"How in the world will she take care of it? I suppose Charley is justthe same?"

"Well, if you ask me, Gabriella, I never was so dead set against Mr. Charley as the rest of you. I helped raise Jane from the time she was nohigher than that--and I ain't sayin' nothin' against her except that Mr. Charley ain't half as bad to my mind as she makes him out. Some menrespond to naggin' and some don't--that's what I said to her one daywhen she broke down and cried on my shoulder--and you've got to bemighty particular when you begin to nag that you're naggin' the rightsort. But she won't listen, not she. 'If I don't tell Charley of hisfaults, who's goin' to?' she asks. You know Jane always did talk prettyfree to me ever since she was a little girl. Well, there are some peoplethat simply can't stand bein' told of their faults, and Mr. Charley isone of 'em. It ain't the kind of treatment that agrees with him, and ifI'd been in Jane's place, I reckon I'd have found it out long ago. Butit ain't her way to learn anything--you know that as well as I do. She'sobliged to make the world over even if it drops to pieces in her hands. "

"She doesn't seem to have done much with Charley. "

"Well, you mark my words, Mr. Charley ain't bad, but he's full ofnatur', and Jane, is the kind of woman that's never happy unless she'sgettin' the better of natur'. Whatever's natural is plum wrong, that'sthe way she looks at it; but mind you, I ain't sayin' she's all in theright. Naggin' ain't a virtue to my mind any mo' than drink is, butJane, she can't see it that way, and there ain't a bit of use tryin' tomake her. She's soft, but she's mulish, and the hardest thing on earthto push is a mule that looks soft. "

"It's such a pity, but I suppose nothing will change her. Tell me aboutmother. "

"Yo' ma looks downright po'ly. What with her sickness and her botherabout Jane and the bad weather, she ain't managin' to keep as spry asI'd like to see her. From the stitch in her back she has most of thetime it wouldn't surprise me any day to hear that she'd come down withkidney trouble, and she breathes so short that consumption has crossedmy mind mo' than once when I was talkin' to her. "

Miss Polly, having, as she expressed it, "an eye for symptoms, "possessed an artistic rather than a scientific interest in disease; andthe vivid realism of her descriptions had often, on her "sewing days" athome, reduced Gabriella to faintness, though Mrs. Carr, with her moredelicate sensibilities, was able to listen with apparent enjoyment tothe ghastly recitals. Not only had Miss Polly achieved in her youth alocal fame as a "sick nurse, " but, in the days when nursing was neithersanitary nor professional, she was often summoned hastily from hersewing machine to assist at a birth or a burial in one of the familiesfor whom she worked. And happy always, as befits one whose life, stripped bare of ephemeral blessings, is centred upon the basicrealities, she was never happier than when she put down her sewing, tookoff her spectacles, exchanged her apron for a mantle, and aftercarefully tying her bonnet strings, departed for a triumphant encounterwith the Eternal Issues. 

"I am so anxious about mother, " said Gabriella. "Did she tell you shewas going to Florida?"

"She cert'ny did. She was real full of it, and she talked a lot aboutyou all up here--the baby and you and Mr. George. You know I ain't laidmy eyes on Mr. George mo' than three times in my life. Well, I reckonI'd better be gettin' along back, or the children will miss me. I've gotfour children to do for now, and one of 'em ain't any bigger thanFrances. It does seem funny--don't it, for an old maid to have her handsfull of children? But, you know, I always did dote on children. Therewouldn't be half so much fun in this world if it wan't for children andmen, and there ain't a mite of difference between them under theirskins. Yes, I can find my way back real easy. I always was good atfinding my way about, and all I've got to do is to set out and walk inthat direction till I come to a car over yonder by that high building, and as soon as I get on I'll ask the conductor to put me off right at mydo'. "

When she had gone, Gabriella went back into the nursery, and stoodlooking down at little Frances, who had fallen asleep, with the smile ofan angel on her face. "I wonder if I can be the least bit like Jane?"she said aloud while she watched the sleeping child. 

George did not come home to dinner; and the wonder was still inGabriella's mind when she dressed herself in her black net gown, andwent downstairs to meet Florrie, who looked younger and more brilliantthan ever in a dress of white and silver brocade. Florrie's husband, adreamy, quiet man, --the safe kind of man, Gabriella reflected, whoinevitably marries a dangerous woman--regarded his noisy wife with aguileless admiration which was triumphantly surviving a completesubmergence in the sparkling shallows of Florrie's personality. He was aman of sense and of breeding. He possessed the ordinary culture of agentleman as well as the trained mind of a lawyer, yet he appearedimpervious alike to the cheapness of Florrie's wit and the vulgarity ofher taste. Her beauty had not only blinded him to her mentaldeficiencies; it had actually deluded him into a belief in herintelligence. He treated her slangy sallies as if they were an originalspecies of humour; he accepted the sweeping comment of her ignorance asif it had been an inspired criticism of life. While she chattered, parrotlike, to the judge, who was obviously impressed by her appearance, Algernon listened to her ejaculatory conversation with a mixture ofadmiration and awe. 

"How do you think Florrie is looking?" he asked in a low tone ofGabriella, while his wife's laugh, high, shrill, penetrating in its drysoprano quality, fluted loudly on the opposite side of the table. BesidePatty's patrician loveliness, as serene and flawless as that of amarble goddess, Florrie appeared cheap, common, and merely pretty toGabriella. The hard brilliancy of her surface was like a shining polishwhich would wear off with sleep and have to be replenished each morning;and while she watched her, Gabriella saw, in imagination, a vaguelyominous outline surrounding her which might have been the uncertain edgeof her mother's shadow. In twenty-five years Florrie would be the imageof her mother--protuberant hips, pinched waist, mottled complexion, andhopelessly tarnished hair; yet, with this awful prospect before him, Algernon could appear not only tolerant, but positively adoring. He hadseen Bessie--he had known her for years--and he could marry herdaughter!

"I never saw her look handsomer, " said Gabriella, "that white and silvergown is very becoming. "

"That's what I told her, but she wouldn't believe me. She thought it wastoo plain for her style. Your sister-in-law is something of Florrie'stype, isn't she? Not quite so striking a figure, perhaps, but the samesort of colouring. "

Was it possible that for the first time in his life the simple Algernonwas speaking in irony? Turning in her chair, she looked questioninglyinto his kind, grave face, so empty of humour, into his serious grayeyes, which followed each movement of his wife's with admiringattention. No, he was not ironic; he was perfectly solemn. It was amiracle--a miracle not of piety, but of passion--that she waswitnessing. 

"Yes, Patty is lovely, " she answered, thinking, as she reflected uponthe eccentricities of love, how much too good he was for his wife. 

Across the table Florrie's voice was heard exclaiming: "Now, you don'tmean it! Well, I'm just as flattered as I can be!" and Gabriellasurmised that she was completing her conquest of the judge. 

"It's wonderful how well she gets on with everybody, " observed Algernon. "She's never at a loss for a word, and I tell her if I had her readywit, I'd be the greatest lawyer in Virginia to-day. Have you noticed theway she is managing Judge Crowborough?"

"She always gets on well with men, " acquiesced Gabriella, though withoutthe enthusiasm of Algernon. "Do you remember what a belle she always wasat the germans?" Though she was willing to admit that love was theruling principle of life, it occurred to her that Algernon would be moreamusing if he were less abundantly supplied with that virtue. 

They talked of nothing but Florrie until the women went into thedrawing-room; and there, from the safe haven of a window, Gabriellalistened to Florrie's ceaseless prattle about herself. She was asegotistical, as effervescent, as she had been as a schoolgirl; and itseemed to Gabriella that she was hardly a day older. Her eyes, of agrayish blue, like pale periwinkles, were as bold, as careless, asconquering in their glances; her hair was still as dazzling; her face, with its curious resemblance in shape to the face of a pretty cat, wasstill as frank, as naïve, as confiding in its innocence. If she hadchanged at all, it was that, since her marriage to the silent Algernon, she had become even more talkative than she had been in her girlhood. Her vivacity was as disturbing as the incessant buzzing of a Junebeetle. 

"Well, you need never tell me again that you wouldn't rather live in NewYork, Gabriella, " she fluted at parting, "because I shan't believe asingle word of it. Why, we've been to the theatre every night for afortnight, and we haven't seen half the good plays that are going on. Algy wanted to stay at Niagara Falls--you know we went to Niagara Fallsfirst--but it was so deadly quiet I couldn't stand it. 'I don't care ifI am married, ' I said to Algy, 'what I want is the theatre. '"

After she had gone, adoringly wrapped up by Algernon, Patty turned toher mother with a little malicious grimace:

"I know it's horrid to say she's dreadful, mamma, but she really is. "

"Don't, Patty, it isn't kind, and, besides, she's a friend ofGabriella's. What I can't understand, " she added, "is how Bessie evercame out of Virginia, yet there were always a few like her. You don'tremember Pussy Prime, do you? Of course you don't, she died long beforeyour day, but she was just that loud, boisterous kind, and all the menwere in love with her. "

"Well, if I'm ever born again, " remarked Gabriella, as she kissed Pattygood-night, "I hope I'll be born a fat blonde. They always get takencare of. "

She ascended the stairs wearily to her room. Yes, she was barelytwenty-two and love was over forever. "I couldn't hold a man sixmonths, " she thought dejectedly, "and yet Florrie, who is a fool andvulgar, will be adored all her life. "

BOOK SECOND

THE AGE OF KNOWLEDGE

CHAPTER I

DISENCHANTMENT

In July Gabriella joined her mother in the mountains of Virginia, andwhen she returned in the autumn, she found that the character of herhome had changed perceptibly during her absence. Brightness had followedgloom; the fog of suspense had dissolved, and the hazy sunshine of anambiguous optimism flooded the house. What the change implied she couldnot immediately discover; but before the first day was over she surmisedthat the financial prospects of her father-in-law had improved since thespring. If she had had any doubt of his rising fortunes, the sight ofthe diminished pile of bills on Mrs. Fowler's desk would have quicklydispelled it. 

And even George had apparently altered for the better. His improvedfinances had sweetened his temper and cast the shining gloss ofprosperity over his appearance; and, in a measure at least, time hadrevived in him the ardent, if fluctuating, emotions of the lover. Forthree months after her return, he evinced a fervent sentiment forGabriella, which she, who was staunchly paying the price of her folly, received with an inner shrinking but an outward complaisance. Herfeeling for George was quite dead--so dead that it was impossible forany artificial stimulus to revive it--but she had learned that marriageis founded upon a more substantial basis than the romantic emotions ofeither a wife or a husband. Though she had ceased to love George, shecould still be amiable to him; and it occurred to her at times that ifone had to choose between the two not necessarily inseparable qualitiesof love and amiability, George was not losing greatly by the exchange. When, however, at the end of three months, George's capricious symptomsdisappeared as suddenly as they had come, and his attentions lapsed intocasual expressions of a nonchalant kindness, she drew a breath ofrelief, and devoted her happiest days to the nursery. There at least shehad found a stable refuge amid the turmoil of selfish human desires. 

In the house, which like George, began presently to show the gloss ofprosperity, the winter brought a continuous flashing stream of gaiety, in which Mrs. Fowler darted joyously about like some bright hungryminnow beneath the iridescent ripples of a brook. There were new rugs, new curtains, new gowns, new bonnets; and Gabriella was led compliantlyfrom dressmaker to milliner, until she lost in the process her look ofshabbiness and developed into the fashionable curving figure of theperiod. She had always liked clothes; her taste was naturally good; andas she followed eagerly from shop to shop, she recalled the three monthsshe had spent in Brandywine's millinery department, and the rudiments ofa trade she had learned there. "I'd rather design my next gown myself, "she said one day to Mrs. Fowler, while they were looking at Frenchmodels in the establishment of Madame Dinard, who had been born anO'Grady. "I know I can do better than these, and besides I shan't meetduplicates of myself every time I go out. " That night she dreamed ofhats and gowns, and the next morning she drew pictures of them incoloured chalk. "It's the only talent I ever had, " she remarked gaily toher mother-in-law, "and it is running to waste. "

Madame, who regarded the sketches with uncompromising disdain, showedgreat interest in the practical application of Gabriella's ideas to thedressing of Mrs. Fowler. 

"Yes, you have undoubtedly ideas, " she said, discarding in herenthusiasm the accent she had spent twenty years in acquiring, "andthere is nothing so rare in any department--in any walk of life--asideas. You have style, too, " she pursued admiringly, turning her eyes onGabriella's figure in one of her Parisian models. "It is very rare--suchchic. You wear your clothes with a grace. "

"That, also, is a marketable asset in a dressmaker, " laughed Gabriella. "Do you know I ought to have been a dressmaker, Madame. Only I hate thevery sight of a needle. "

"But I never sew! I haven't had a needle in my hand for twentyyears--no, not for thirty, " protested Madame. 

"Then I mustn't give up hope. If I ever have to earn my living, I'llcome to you, Madame. "

Then Madame bowed and smiled and shrugged as if at a gracious jest, andMrs. Fowler observed in her crisp, matter-of-fact manner: "Yes, mydaughter has a genuine instinct for dress, and, as you say, that is veryrare. She carries her clothes well, doesn't she? It's such a blessing tobe tall--though my husband insists that the women who have ruled theworld have always been small ones. But I do love a fine figure, and shelooks so distinguished in that cherry-coloured cloth, doesn't she?"

To all of which Madame agreed, as she bowed them out, with heringratiating professional manner. 

"It's so lovely to have clothes, " said Gabriella, sinking back in thevictoria, "money is one of the best gifts of the gods, isn't it?"

"It's hard to do without it, " replied Mrs. Fowler, brisk and perfectlybusinesslike even in her generalizations. "I expect the worst sufferingin the world comes from poverty. "

Then, after a thoughtful pause, she added with the practical air of onewho scorns to be abstract: "But do you know I sometimes think Archibaldand I'd both be happier if we had never made any money at all--I mean, of course, except just enough to live simply somewhere in the South. When once you begin, you can't stop, and I wish sometimes we had neverbegun. " Above the narrow black velvet strings of her bonnet, her roundflorid face, from which the fine tracery of lines had vanished, assumedthe intent and preoccupied expression which Gabriella associated withthe pile of unpaid bills on the little French desk. "I believe Archibaldfeels that way, too, " she concluded after a minute, while her firm andunemotional lips closed together over the words. 

"But you enjoy it so much when you have it. "

"That's just the trouble. You have to enjoy it as quickly as you canbecause you never know when you are going to lose every bit of itwithout warning. It's been that way ever since I married--rich one year, poor the next, or poor for two years and then rich for three. Life hasbeen a seesaw with prosperity at one end of the plank and poverty atthe other. Of course I know, " she pursued, with characteristic lucidity, "that you think me dreadfully extravagant, but we'd just as well spendit as lose it, and it's sure to be one thing or the other. "

"But couldn't you save something? Couldn't you put by something for thefuture?" Saving for the future was one of the habits of Gabriella'sfrugal past which still clung to her. 

"That would go, too. If we ever come to ruin--and heaven knows we'vebeen on the brink of it before this--Archibald would not keep back apenny. That's his way, and that's one of the reasons I spend all wehave--up to the very margin of his income. "

The logic of this was so confusing that Gabriella was obliged to stopand puzzle it out. At the end she could only admit that Mrs. Fowler'sreasoning processes, which were by nature singularly lucid and exact, showed at times a remarkable subtlety--as if some extraneous hybridfaculty had been grafted on the simple parent stock of her mind. 

"I can't help feeling, though, " resumed the practical little lady beforeGabriella had reached the end of her analysis, "that I'd be a great dealhappier at this minute if we'd been poor all our lives. "

"It wouldn't have suited George, " observed George's wife with aninflection of irony. 

"He mightn't have liked it, but I believe it would have been a greatdeal better for him, " replied Mrs. Fowler, while she bowed gravely to awoman in a passing victoria. "There are many things George can't beblamed for, and the way he was brought up is one of them. Of course, he's no good whatever as a business man--his father hardly ever seeshim in the office--but it's useless to scold him about it, for it onlyexasperates him. But he might have been a sensible, steady boy, if hehad been brought up in some small place in the South where there wasnothing to tempt him. "

That there was any place in the South small enough not to affordtemptation to George seemed improbable to Gabriella; but she felt thatMrs. Fowler's earnest belief, supported as it was by the unshakable propof maternal feeling, hardly justified the effort she must make to dispelit; and she had still no answer ready when the carriage turned intoFifty-seventh Street, and stopped beside the pavement where littleFrances--they had already begun to call her Fanny--sat in aperambulator. Flushed and smiling, with her red mouth gurglingdelightedly, and a white wool lamb clasped in her arms, the adorablechild was certainly worth any seesaw of destiny, any disillusioningexperience of marriage. 

Before the beginning of the next winter Gabriella's second child wasborn--a brown, sturdy boy, who came into the world with a frowningforehead and crying lustily from rage (so the nurse said) not fromfright. He was named Archibald after his grandfather, who developedimmediately a passionate fondness for him. His eyes were brown like theeyes of the Carrs, though by the time he was two years old, he wasdiscovered to be painfully near-sighted, a weakness which Mrs. Carr, when she heard of it, insisted he must have inherited from his father'sside of the family. He was not nearly so beautiful a baby as littleFanny had been; but he was from the very beginning a child of muchcharacter, strong, mutinous, utterly uncompromising in his attitudetoward life. When he was first put into shoes he fought withdesperation, and surrendered at last, neither to persuasion nor topunishment, but to an exhaustion so profound that he slept for hourswith his small protesting feet doubled under him and sobs of fury stillbursting from his swollen lips. The next day the struggle began again, and Mrs. Fowler remarked sympathetically:

"You'll never be able to break his will, Gabriella. He is unmanageable. "

"I don't want to break his will, mamma, " replied Gabriella, for shebelonged to a less Scriptural generation, "but he must be disciplined, if it kills me. " Pale, gentle, resolute, she waited for Archibald tosurrender. In the end she carried her point and won the adoringobedience of Archibald. There was a magnanimous strain in him even atthat age, Gabriella used to say, and though he fought to the bitter end, he bore no malice after he was once soundly defeated. 

Long afterwards, when Gabriella looked back on the next few years of herlife, she could remember nothing of them except the tremendousdifference that the children had made. All the rest was blotted out, adrab blur of what Mrs. Fowler described with dignity as "social duties, "moving always against the variable atmosphere of the house, which wasgay or sombre, light or gloomy, according to the fluctuating financialconditions in Wall Street. There were extravagant winters and frugalwinters; winters of large entertainments and winters of "women'sluncheons"; but always the summers shimmered green and peaceful againstthe blue background of the Virginia mountains. The summers she lovedeven in memory; but of the winters she could recall but one glowingvision, and that was of Patty. Though she had lost George, she hadgained Patty, and it was impossible to deny that Patty might becompensation for almost any lack. 

For the rest she made few friends, partly from reserve, partly from theshyness she always felt in the presence of strangers. It was difficultto establish fundamental relations at dinners or even at women'sluncheons; social reforms were scarcely beginning to be fashionable; andapart from the reading which she did in order, as she said, "to keep hermind open, " her life narrowed down gradually to a single vivid centre ofactivity. She lived in her children and in the few books she obtainedfrom the library--(since the purchase of books, even in extravagantyears, represented gross prodigality to Mrs. Fowler)--in Patty'sfriendship, and in the weekly gossiping letters she received from hermother. 

Mrs. Carr had long ago given up her plan to live with Gabriella andGeorge; and a failure of circumstances, which fitted so perfectly intothe general scheme of her philosophy, had done much to fortify thenatural melancholy of her soul. Since even so gentle a pessimist was notdevoid of a saving trace of spiritual arrogance, she found consolingbalm in the thought that she had refrained from reminding Gabriella howvery badly the Carrs had all married. There was, for example, poorGabriel's brother Tom, whose wife had "gone deranged" six months afterher wedding, and poor Gabriel's sister Johanna, who had died (it wascommon gossip) of a broken heart; and besides these instances, nobodycould possibly maintain that Jane had not made a disastrous choice whenshe had persisted, against the urgent advice of her mother, in marryingCharley. Yes, the Carrs had all married badly, reflected Mrs. Carr, withthe grief of a mother and the pride of a philosopher whose favouritetheory has been substantially verified--every one of them, with, ofcourse, the solitary exception of poor Gabriel himself. 

Her weekly letters, pious, gossipy, flowing, reached Gabriella regularlyevery Monday morning, and were read at breakfast while Mr. Fowlerstudied the financial columns of the newspaper, and his wife opened herinvitations in the intervals between pouring out cups of coffee andinquiring solicitously if any one wanted cream and sugar. 

"What's the news?" George would sometimes ask carelessly; and Gabriellawould glance down the pages covered with the formless characters of Mrs. Carr's fine Italian handwriting (the ladylike hand of the 'sixties), andread out carefully selected bits of provincial gossip, to which acosmopolitan dash was usually contributed by the adventures, matrimonialor merely amorous, of Florrie Caperton. Hard, dashing, brilliant on thesurface at least, a frank hedonist by inclination, if not by philosophy, Florrie had triumphantly smashed her way through the conventions and thetraditions of centuries. 

"It's really dreadfully sad about Florrie, " wrote Mrs. Carr. "I am sosorry for poor Bessie, who must feel it more than she lets any one see. While Algernon was alive we always hoped he would keep Florrie straight(you remember how everybody used to talk about her when she was a girl), but now he has been, dead only a year and a half, and she has alreadymarried again and gotten a divorce from her second husband. You knowshe ran away with a man named Tom Westcott--nobody ever heard of him, but she met him at the White Sulphur Springs, where he had something todo with the horses, I believe--and the marriage turned out very badly, though for my part I don't believe he was the least bit to blame. Florrie is so reckless that she would make any man unhappy, and twoweeks after the wedding she was separated from him and was back herewith Bessie, looking as well and pretty as I ever saw her. You knowblack was so becoming to her that she didn't take it off even when sheeloped, and now after her divorce she always wears it, just as if shewere still in mourning for poor Algernon. Nobody would believe, unlessthey had seen her in it, how very loud black can be. I used to thinkwidows ought to wear it because it kept them from being noticed, but onFlorrie it is the most conspicuous thing you ever imagined--as CousinJimmy says it simply makes her blaze, and you know how striking shealways was anyway. I am sure I should think it would be embarrassing forher to go in the street in New York where nobody knows that she isreally a lady--or at least that she was born a lady on her father'sside--and this reminds me--(I declare I ramble on so I can neverremember what I started to say)--but this reminds me that she has justbeen in to tell Jane that she is going to New York to take an apartmentsomewhere downtown; she told me the street and the number, but I haveforgotten both of them. Jane says she looks more beautiful than everafter her last tragic experience (though she doesn't seem to think ittragic at all), but I was brought up to believe that a divorced woman, even if she is in the right, ought to live in a retired way and showthat she feels her position. Now, I saw Florrie for a minute as she wasgoing out and she ran on like a girl of sixteen--you would think fromher talk that she is not a bit sensitive about the unfortunate situationshe is in. She had on a huge bunch of violets, and Cousin Pussy tells meanother man is paying her the most devoted attention. Please don'tmention this to a soul--I hate so to spread gossip--but I felt that youought to be prepared, for Florrie will certainly come to see you, andyou must be kind and polite to her, though I do not think you ought everto be intimate again. It is not as if she were merely unfortunate--manydivorced women are that, and we sympathize with them because they showthat they realize their position--but I cannot believe that Florrie isunfortunate if she allows another man to pay her such marked attention, and even accepts handsome presents from him. So do be careful, my child, and if you find yourself in an embarrassing situation, consult Mrs. Fowler and be guided by her advice. "

"Florrie Spencer is coming to New York, " said Gabriella on the morningshe received Mrs. Carr's letter. "You know she has just been divorcedfrom her second husband--somebody she met at the White Sulphur Springs. "

George looked up interested, from his breakfast. 

"Florrie coming, is she?" he remarked. "Well, she's great fun. I wonderif she has her eye on anybody now?"

"Not on you, I hope, " observed his father, who joked mildly on themornings when the news was good; "but she's a beautiful woman, andshe'll doubtless be able to get whatever she has set either her heart orher eye on. "

"She'll marry again within six months, " prophesied Mrs. Fowler, with ananxious glance in the direction of her husband's coffee cup. "Poor Algy, I always thought he was a hundred times too good for her, " she added, while she abstractedly buttered her toast. It was one of theirextravagant years, and the butter was delicious. 

"He adored her, " said Gabriella. "I shall never forget the evening theyspent here. He couldn't keep his eyes away from her. If she had been themost admirable character on earth he couldn't have loved her better. "

"As if a man ever loved a woman because of her character!" remarked Mrs. Fowler, from the security of her experience. 

Several months later Florrie arrived, gay, brilliant, and beautiful, with her waxlike complexion as unlined by care as if it had been on theface of a doll. Though she had lightened her mourning since Mrs. Carrhad described her to Gabriella, she still wore black, and her flaringskirt, her inflexible collar, and her lace sleeves, narrow at theshoulder and full at the wrists, resembled a fashion plate. Perched at adaring angle above her wheaten-red pompadour, with its exaggeratedMarcel wave, she wore a curiously distorted hat of black velvet, lavishly overtrimmed with ostrich feathers; and before this miracle ofstyle, Gabriella became at once oppressively aware of her own lack ofthe quality which Florrie would have described as "dash. " AlreadyFlorrie's figure was becoming slightly too protuberant for the style ofthe new century, and after kissing Gabriella effusively, she stood for aminute struggling for breath, in the attitude of her mother, with herhands pressed to the palpitating sides of her waist. 

"I told mother I was certainly coming to see you right straight, " beganFlorrie, while, with her recovered breath, her figure curved as suddenlyas if it were moved by a spring into the fashionable bend of the period. "I've been perfectly crazy to come, but between dressmakers and theatresand I don't know what else, I simply haven't had a minute in which Icould sit down and breathe. Mother says I ought to be downright ashamedof myself for being so frivolous when I've just got out of such ascrape--did you ever hear before of anybody getting married for twoweeks, Gabriella? But I know you never did--you needn't trouble to tellme so. Well, mother says I oughtn't to look so pleased, and I tell herthere might be some sense in that if I'd stayed in the scrape, but if Ihaven't a right to look pleased at getting out, I'd like to know whohas. It was all too funny for words, now, wasn't it? Of course, Ishouldn't dream of talking to everybody like this--even if I am a bigtalker, I reckon I know when to hold my tongue and when not to--but I'vealways told you everything, Gabriella, and I don't mind the least bit inthe world telling you about this. It always relieves my mind to talk tosomebody I can trust, and I know I can trust you. Don't you remember theway I used to run in on rainy afternoons when you lived way over in HillStreet, and tell you all about Fred Dudley and Barbour Willis? And thenI used to come and talk about poor Algy by the hour. Wasn't it toodistressing about poor Algy? I don't believe I'll ever get over it if Ilive to be a hundred, and even if I do run on like this, it doesn't meanthat my heart isn't broken--simply broken--because it is. Mother usedto say, after father died, that you couldn't measure a widow's grief bythe length of her veil; and that's just exactly the way I feel aboutAlgy. I know you'll understand, Gabriella, because you always understandeverything--"

"He was so deeply in love with you, " observed Gabriella sympathetically, while Florrie, diving amid the foam of her laces, brought out a tinyhandkerchief, and delicately pecked at the corner of her eye, not nearenough to redden the lid and not far enough away to disturb the ricepowder on the side of her nose. 

"He was crazy about me to the very last, you never saw anything like it. Of course we weren't a bit alike, I don't mind telling you so, Gabriella, because I know you'll never repeat it. We weren't reallycongenial, for Algy was just wrapped up in his law books, and there werewhole days together when he wouldn't open his mouth, but that didn'tseem to make any difference because, as he used to say, one of us had tolisten sometimes. But, you know, mother says a pair of opposites makesthe happiest marriage, and after being married to Algy, I feel how truethat is. I got into the habit of talking so much when I used to run onabout nothing to cheer him up--he was always so grave and glum even as aboy, you remember--and during his last illness--you know he died ofBright's disease, poor darling, and it came on just like that!--he usedto make me talk to him for hours and hours just to keep him fromthinking. Well, well, that's all over now, and I don't care what anybodysays, my heart's buried with Algy. I don't believe you were ever in lovebut once either, were you, Gabriella?" she inquired cheerfully. 

"Well, what about Mr. Westcott? Is that his name?" asked Gabriella, without malice. As a study Florrie had always interested her, for sheregarded her less as an individual than as an awful example of the utterfutility of moral maxims. Florrie was without intelligence, withoutfeeling, without imagination, virtue, breeding, or good taste, yetpossessing none of these qualities, she had by sheer beauty and "dash"achieved all the ends for which these qualities usually strive. Goodhumour she had as long as one did not get in her way; but, beyond thissingle redeeming grace, she was as empty of substance as a tinted shellfilled with sea foam. If power and efficiency are the two supremeattributes of success, then by all the laws and principles of logic, Florrie ought to have been a failure. But she was not a failure. She wasa fool whose incomparable foolishness had conferred not only prosperity, but happiness upon her. She shone, she scintillated, she diffused theglow of success. Though she was undeserving of admiration, she had beensurfeited on it from her childhood; though she was devoid of the moralexcellence which should command love, by a flashing glance or a wavingcurl, she could bring the most exalted love down from the heavens. Therewas no question that Algernon had really loved her to distraction, andAlgernon was a man of sense, of breeding, of distinction. As forFlorrie, she had, of course, as little capacity for loving as she hadfor thinking. 

"Tom Westcott! I declare, Gabriella, I am almost ashamed to tell youabout him. You've never been to a Virginia summer resort, so youcouldn't understand that there is something about a Virginia summerresort that just seems to make any man better than none at all. You getso bored, you know, that you'd flirt with a lamp-post if there wasn'tanything human around; and when you haven't laid eyes on a real sureenough man for several months, it's surprising how easy it is to take upwith the imitation ones. Of course, I don't mean that Tom wasn't allright as far as family and all that goes; but he was simply no earthlyaccount--he was just mean all through, and as soon as I found it out, Ipacked right straight up and left him. After Algy I couldn't have stoodone of that sort, and there was no sense in my trying to. Life is tooshort, I always say, for experiments. There's no use sticking to a badjob when you can get away from it. That's the trouble with so manywomen, you know; they try and try to stand the wrong man when they knowall the time that it isn't a particle of use, and that they are justbringing wrinkles into their faces; and then by the time they give up, they're all worn out and it's too late to look about for another chance. Now, I've seen too much of that kind of thing, and so I thought twoweeks weren't long enough to bring wrinkles in my face, but they wereplenty long for me to find out whether or not I could stand any man onearth. So here I am in little old New York instead of being stuck awayin some God-forsaken Virginia town, where there isn't even a theatre, darning stockings for a family of children. But there's no use talkingabout that--" And Florrie, who had been born a lady on her father'sside, adjusted her pompadour under the high bandeau of her hat, and rosewith a dashing air from the sofa. 

"I'd love to see the babies, darling, " she said; "I'm just crazy aboutbabies. "

"They are out in the Park. I'm so sorry. Perhaps they are coming in now, I hear the door-bell. "

But it was George instead of the children; and he entered presently witha moody look, which vanished quickly before the brilliant vision ofFlorrie. 

"I thought I heard you, " he observed with the casual intimacy of an oldplaymate, "so I came in. Have you got fixed yet? What about theapartment? You'd better let me help you hunt for it?"

"Oh, I'm not sure about the apartment. I may take a house--a teeny weenyone, you know, " said Florrie, as she bent softly toward him, scented andblooming. If one didn't know there wasn't really a bit of harm in her, one would be puzzled just what to think of her, Gabriella reflected. Amid the perfect order of Gabriella's inner life, the controlledemotion, the serene efficiency, the balanced power, Florrie's noisybeauty produced a disturbing effect. She liked her because she had knownher from childhood, and it was impossible to think any harm of a girlone had played with at school; but she could not deny that Florrie wasvulgar. As a matter of fact, Florrie's mother had been vulgar beforeher, and the thin strain of refinement inherited from her father's stockhad obviously been overborne by the torrential vulgarity of the maternalblood. 

"A house? Well, that's even better, " replied George. "I've no use forapartments, have I, Gabriella?"

His effrontery was incredible! That he should joke about his brokenpromise before Florrie amazed Gabriella even after her disillusioningexperience with him. 

"Then I'll get you to help me. Will you lend him to me, darling?"trilled Florrie piercingly from the door, where she stood in a strikingpose which revealed her "fine figure" to the best advantage. The requestwas directed to Gabriella, but her blue eyes mocked a challenge toGeorge while she spoke. 

"Oh, I'll give him, " answered Gabriella pleasantly. There was no harm init, she told herself innocently again; but it was a pity that Florrie, with her remarkable beauty, should be quite so ill bred. 

Five minutes later when George came back from putting Florrie into herhansom, he remarked carelessly:

"She's got a figure all right. "

"Yes, she looks beautiful in black. No wonder she won't leave it off. "

"By Jove, to think it's little Florrie! Why, I don't believe there's afiner figure in New York. When she passed by the club yesterday the menwere breaking their necks to look out of the window. " Then, as if struckby a sudden suspicion, he added quickly: "Where did she get her moneyfrom? I thought Algy died rather hard up. "

"I never heard much about it. Mrs. Spencer must give her something. "

"I don't believe the old lady has a penny over three thousand a year, and that won't do in New York. This Westcott didn't have anything, didhe?"

"It never occurred to me to ask, " replied Gabriella indifferently. Whatdid it matter to George where Florrie got her money? But, then, Georgewas always like that, and though he never made a penny himself, he waspossessed of an insatiable curiosity about the amount and the sources ofother people's incomes. 

"Well, it looks queer, " he observed with intense interest after aprolonged pause. "That short pearl necklace she had on couldn't havecost a cent under ten thousand dollars. "

"It was lovely. I noticed how well the pearls matched, " replied hiswife. She was not in the least excited about the methods by whichFlorrie had obtained the necklace--all that was a part of the miraculousway she got everything she wanted in life--but she liked the pearls andshe had envied Florrie while she looked at them. 

A deep furrow had appeared between George's eyebrows, and his mouthsagged suddenly at the corners, giving his face the ugly look Gabrielladistrusted and dreaded. While she watched him she recalled vaguely thatshe had once thought the latent brutality in his face an expression ofpower. How young she had been when she married him! How inconceivablyignorant! Yet at twenty years she had imagined herself wise enough tojudge a man. She had deluded herself with the sanctified fallacy thatmere instinct would guide her aright--that her marriage would beprotected from disaster by the infallible impulse which she had mistakenfor love. 

"I wonder, " said George with a suddenness that startled her out of hermusing--"I wonder if it can be Winston Camp!"

And Gabriella, who had forgotten Florrie, looked up to remarkabsentmindedly: "Winston Camp? You mean the man who dined here lastwinter and couldn't eat anything but nuts?"

In the months that followed George did not mention Florrie again, and ifhe pursued his investigations into the obscure sources of herlivelihood, his researches did not lead him back in the direction ofGabriella. But, from the day of Florrie's visit, it seemed to Gabriella, when she thought of it afterwards, his casual indifference began todevelop into brutal neglect. Not that she regretted his affection, oreven his politeness, not that she cared in the least what his mannerwas--this she made quite plain to herself--but her passion to see lifeclearly, to test experience, to weigh events, brought her almostbreathlessly round again to the question, "What does it mean? Is theresomething hidden? Am I still the poor abject fool that Jane was or am Ibeginning really to be myself?"

"You aren't looking well, Gabriella, " said Mrs. Fowler at breakfast onemorning when George, as she confided afterwards to Patty, had behavedunspeakably to his wife before his father came down. "I want you to goabout with me more, as you used to do before the children took up allyour time. "

Gabriella had just crossed George's will about something--a mere trifle, something about calling on Florrie--and he had turned to her with a lookof hatred in his eyes, a kind of nervous, excitable hatred which she hadnever seen until then. "Why does he look at me like that?" she hadthought quite coldly; "and why should he have begun all of a sudden tohate me? Why should my words, my voice, my gestures even, exasperate himso profoundly? Of course he has stopped loving me, but why should thatmake him hate me? I stopped loving him, too, long ago, yet there is onlyindifference, not hate, in my heart. "

"You must go about with me more, dear, " repeated Mrs. Fowler, inobedience to a vague but amiable instinct, which prompted her to shieldGeorge, to deceive Gabriella, to deny the truth of facts, to do anythingon earth except acknowledge the actual situation in which she foundherself. "Don't you think she ought to go about more, George?"

"I don't care what she does, " returned George brutally, while his blueeyes squinted in the old charming way from which all charm had departed. "I don't care--I don't care--" He checked himself, snapping his words intwo with a virulent outburst of temper, and then, rising hurriedly, ashis father entered the room, he left the table with his breakfastuneaten. 

"He's so nervous. I can't imagine what's the matter. I hope Burrowswasn't in the pantry. Did you say anything to hurt his feelings beforeyou came down, Gabriella?" asked Mrs. Fowler, distractedly, with one eyeon her daughter-in-law and the other on the pantry door, through whichthe discreet Burrows had disappeared at the opportune instant. 

"No, I haven't said anything that I can remember, " answered Gabriellawith calmness. It occurred to her that George's behaviour was hardlythat of a man whose "feelings" had been wounded, but she made no audiblerecord of her reflection; "and of course I'll go out with you if youwant me to, " she added, for she felt sincerely sorry for hermother-in-law, even though she had ruined George in his infancy. "I amgoing to the library to return a book, and we might pay some callsafterwards. "

"That's just what I was thinking, " responded Mrs. Fowler, embarrassed, bewildered. Was it possible, she asked herself, that Gabriella had notnoticed George's outrageous behaviour?

But Gabriella did not "go about" with her mother-in-law that season, fora higher will than Mrs. Fowler's frustrated that lady's benevolentintentions. To a casual glance it would have seemed the merest accidentwhich disturbed these felicitous plans, but such accidents, whenGabriella looked back on them afterwards, appeared to her to be woveninto the very web and pattern of life. It was plainly incredible thather whole existence should be changed merely because Archibald wasnaughty, as incredible as the idea that Destiny should have used sosmall a medium for the accomplishment of its tragic designs. 

But Archibald had hardly reached the Park before he was brought home, resisting with all his strength, because he had given his shoes andstockings away; and the next ten minutes, while Gabriella gentlyreasoned with him on the pavement, were pregnant with consequences. 

"He's fierce, that's what he is, " declared the nurse, who was Irish andmilitant. "He kicked me so I'm black and blue, ma'am, all over theshins, and every bit because I wouldn't let him pull off his shoes andsocks and give 'em to a barefooted boy in the Park. You tell her, darlin'"--to Frances, who stood, bright-eyed and indignant, in her whitefur coat and little fur cap which she wore drawn down tight over hercurls--"you tell your mamma, darlin', you tell her how fierce and boldhe was, and how he kicked me about the shins because I wouldn't let himtake off his shoes and socks. "

"The poor boy wanted 'em! I won't wear 'em! I will give 'em to the poorboy!" screamed Archibald, furious, scowling, struggling in therestraining hold of his nurse. He was a robust, thick-set child of fouryears, with a thatch of dark-brown hair, and strange near-sighted browneyes, behind spectacles which he had worn from the time he could walk. 

"What is it, Archibald? Tell me about it. Tell mother, " pleadedGabriella while he struggled desperately to escape from her tendergrasp. "Who was the poor boy and where did you see him?"

"He oughtn't to have been in the Park, ought he, mamma?" inquiredFrances, who was guiltless of democratic tendencies. "Ragged people haveno right to be in the Park, have they?"

"Hush, darling, I want to hear what Archibald has to say. Tell me abouthim, Archibald. Shall you and I go out to look for him?"

"If you do, he'll pull his shoes and socks right off again, " insistedFrances emphatically. "He had got one quite off and had given it to theboy before we saw him, and Nanny was obliged to go and take it back, andI had to hold Archibald while she put it on him. He screamed very loudand everybody stopped to ask what was the matter, and one old gentlemanwith a long beard, like Moses in the Bible, gave Archibald a little boxof candy--he took it out of his pocket--but Archibald threw it away, andkept on hollerin' louder than ever--"

"That's right, darlin', you tell her, " urged nurse, a stout woman with ared face and three gold teeth in the front of her mouth. 

"I understand now. Don't tell any more, Fanny, " said Gabriella. "Now, Archibald dear, will you stop crying and be good?"

"Am, " replied Archibald sullenly, twisting out of her hands. 

"Am what, darling?"

"Am good. "

"Well, will you stop crying?"

"Have. "

"Then what do you want? Shall we go back and look for the poor boy?"

"Hadn't any shoes. Feet were red. Wanted to give him shoes, 'cause I hadplenty more at home. Nanny jerked him back. Hated Nanny. Hoped she woulddie. Hoped bears would eat her. Hoped tigers would eat her. Hoped lionswould eat her. Hoped robins would cover her with leaves in the Park--"

While he sobbed out his accusations against nurse, Gabriella, holdinghis hand tightly in hers, turned toward Fifth Avenue, and by the time hewas pacified, they had walked several blocks together, with nurse andFanny sedately bringing up the rear. Then, at last, having reasoned himalike out of his temper and his generosity, Gabriella retraced hersteps, and entering the house with her latchkey, ran quickly up thestairs to the closed door of Mrs. Fowler's room. As she raised her handto knock the sound of her own name reached her, and almost involuntarilyshe hesitated for an instant. 

"Yes, Gabriella is out. I saw her a minute ago on her way to the Parkwith the children. "

"Well, somebody ought to tell her, mother. I think it is perfectlyoutrageous to keep her in ignorance. Everybody is talking about it. "

"Oh, Patty, you couldn't! How on earth could you tell her a thing likethat?" wailed George's mother, and she went on with a plaintive sigh asGabriella opened the door: "George was always so mad about beauty, andthough Gabriella has a fine face, she isn't exactly--"

Then, at the startling apparition of Gabriella, with her face palingslowly above her black furs and her large indignant eyes fixed on themboth, Mrs. Fowler wavered and broke off with a pathetic clutch at thepleasantness which had entirely departed from her manner. "Why, Gabriella, I didn't know you had come in! I was just saying to Patty--"It was, as she said afterwards to her husband, exactly as if her mindhad become suddenly blank. She couldn't to save her life think of asingle word to add to her sentence, and all the time Gabriella wasstanding there, as white as a ghost, with her accusing eyes turningslowly from one to the other of them. "Somehow I just couldn't lie toher when she looked like that, and the truth seemed too dreadful, " Mrs. Fowler added that night to Archibald. "Damn George!" was Mr. Fowler'sfervent retort. "And it took me so by surprise I almost fainted, for I'dnever in my life heard him swear before, " his wife had commented later. "But aren't men strange? To think he knew how all the time and kept itto himself! I declare they are entirely too secretive for anything!"

"I heard what you were saying when I knocked, " began Gabriella, withperfect composure. "I don't quite know what it was about, but I think--Ithink--"

"It was nothing, dear; Patty and I were gossiping, " replied Mrs. Fowler, with an eagerness that was almost violent. "Oh, Patty, youwouldn't!"--for Patty had broken in, conquering and merciless, with thedeclaration: "If you don't tell Gabriella, mamma, I'm going to. It'soutrageous, anyhow, I've always said so, the way people keep things fromwomen. Gabriella has a right to know what everybody is saying. "

"Of course I've a right to know, " rejoined Gabriella, with a firmnessbefore which Mrs. Fowler felt herself gradually dissolving--"meltingaway" was the description she gave of her feeling. "If anybody has aright to know, I suppose I have. Of course, it's about George. I knowthat much, anyhow, " she added quietly. 

"I don't believe it's half so bad as they say, " protested Mrs. Fowlerfeverishly. "I don't believe he really keeps her. His father says hecouldn't possibly do it on the allowance he gives him, and, you know, George doesn't make a cent himself--not a cent. He never supportedhimself in his life--"

She paused breathlessly, with a bright and confident glance as if shehad made a point--a minor one perhaps, but still a point--in George'sfavour. The jet fringe on her bosom, which had rattled furiously withher excited palpitations, became gradually quiet, and as she pressed herlips firmly with her handkerchief, which she had rolled into a ball, sheappeared to be pressing her customary smile back into place. 

"It won't last, Gabriella, " she began again very suddenly with renewedassurance. "These things never last, and I think Patty is quite wrong toinsist upon telling you. Of course it is humiliating for a time, but--but"--she hesitated, and then brought out triumphantly--"he marriedvery young, you know, and men aren't like women--there's no usepretending they are. Now when a woman loves a man--"

"But, you see, I don't love George, " answered Gabriella, and her awfulwords seemed to reverberate through the horrified silence thatsurrounded her. 

"Not love him? O Gabriella! Of course, it's natural that you should feelangry and wounded, and that your pride should resent what looks like anaffront to you; but you can't mean in your heart that you've got overcaring. Women don't change so easily. Why, you're his wife--poor foolishboy that he is--and Florrie--"

"So it's Florrie?" observed Gabriella, with a strangely dispassionateinterest. It was queer, she reflected afterwards, that she had not feltthe faintest curiosity about the woman. 

"I always suspected that there was something wrong about her, " pursuedMrs. Fowler, reassured by the knowledge that she was placing the blamewhere it belonged according to all the laws of custom and tradition. "Imust say I never liked her manner and her way of dressing, and she madeeyes at every man she was introduced to--even at Archibald--"

"Well, I didn't believe there was any real harm in her, " said Gabriella, in a tone she might have used at one of her mother-in-law's luncheons. She was still standing near the door, in the very spot where she hadpaused at her entrance, with her head held high above the black fur ather throat, and one gloved hand playing with a bit of cord on the end ofher muff. She could not possibly have taken it better. Bad as thesituation was, it might have been a hundred times worse except forGabriella's composure, thought Mrs. Fowler discreetly, adding with aninexplicable regret, that in her youth women were different. Yes, theyhad shown more feeling then, though they had behaved perhaps less wellin a crisis. In spite of her gratitude--and she was sincerely gratefulto her daughter-in-law for not making a scene--she became consciouspresently that she was beginning to cherish an emotion not unlikeresentment on George's account. That the discovery of George'sfaithlessness should be received so coolly by George's wife appearedalmost an affront to him. Mrs. Fowler liked Gabriella, she was fond ofher--and nobody could look in the girl's face and not see that she was afine woman--but there were times, and this was one of them, when shethought her a little hard. Had Gabriella wept, had she raged, had shethreatened Florrie's life or happiness, it might have been painful, butat least it would have been human; and above all things Mrs. Fowler feltthat she liked women to be human. 

"Nothing that anybody says or does can excuse George, " said Pattysternly. "He has behaved abominably, and if I were Gabriella, I'd simplywash my hands of him. I don't care if he is my brother, that doesn'tmake me blind, does it? If he were my husband, " she concludedpassionately, "I'd feel just the same way about it. "

"Oh, you mustn't! Oh, Patty, hush, it's wicked! It's sinful!" moanedMrs. Fowler, shutting her eyes, as if the sight of Patty's indignantloveliness gave her a headache. "Don't try to harden Gabriella's heartagainst him. Don't try to make her think she's really stopped lovinghim. "

Gabriella's answer to this outburst was a look which, as poor Mrs. Fowler said afterwards, "cut her to the heart. " Backing weakly to achair, the valiant little lady sat down suddenly, because she felt thather legs were giving way beneath the weight of her body. And, though shewas unaware of its significance, her action was deeply symbolical of thefailure of the old order to withstand the devastating advance of thenew spirit. She felt vaguely that she wished women and things were bothwhat they used to be; but this, since she had little imagination, was asfar as she penetrated into the psychology of Gabriella's behaviour. 

"But, you see, you're making the mistake of thinking that I loveGeorge, " said Gabriella, with a reasonableness which made Mrs. Fowlerfeel that she wanted to scream, "and I don't love him--I don't love himat all. I haven't loved him for a long time--not since the night I sawhim drunk. How could I love a man I've seen drunk--disgustingly drunk--aman I couldn't respect? I'm not made that way, and I can't help it. Somewomen may be like that, but I'm not. I couldn't, even if I wanted to, love a man who has treated me as George has done. I don't see how anywoman could--any woman with a particle of pride and self-respect. Ofcourse I had to live with him after I married him, " she finishedabruptly. "Marriage isn't made for love. I used to think it was--but itisn't--"

"But, Gabriella, you don't mean--you can't--" Mrs. Fowler was reallypitiable, for, after all, George was her son, and the ties of bloodwould not break so easily as the ties of marriage. In the depths of herhumiliation she had almost convinced herself that she had neverrespected George, that she had never believed in him, forgetting thepride and adoration of her young motherhood. Whatever George did shecould not change his relation to her--she could not shatter the oneindissoluble bond that holds mankind together. 

"Gabriella, you don't--you can't--" she repeated wildly. 

Then, as Gabriella turned quickly and left the room, a scene--shebecame conscious presently that she was beginning to cherish an emotionnot unlike resentment on George's account. That the discovery ofGeorge's faithlessness should be received so coolly by George's wifeappeared almost an affront to him. Mrs. Fowler liked Gabriella, she wasfond of her--and nobody could look in the girl's face and not see thatshe was a fine woman--but there were times, and this was one of them, when she thought her a little hard. Had Gabriella wept, had she raged, had she threatened Florrie's life or happiness, it might have beenpainful, but at least it would have been human; and above all thingsMrs. Fowler felt that she liked women to be human. 

"Nothing that anybody says or does can excuse George, " said Pattysternly. "He has behaved abominably, and if I were Gabriella, I'd simplywash my hands of him. I don't care if he is my brother, that doesn'tmake me blind, does it? If he were my husband, " she concludedpassionately, "I'd feel just the same way about it. "

"Oh, you mustn't! Oh, Patty, hush, it's wicked! It's sinful!" moanedMrs. Fowler, shutting her eyes, as if the sight of Patty's indignantloveliness gave her a headache. "Don't try to harden Gabriella's heartagainst him. Don't try to make her think she's really stopped lovinghim. "

Gabriella's answer to this outburst was a look which, as poor Mrs. Fowler said afterwards, "cut her to the heart. " Backing weakly to achair, the valiant little lady sat down suddenly, because she felt thather legs were giving way beneath the weight of her body. And, though shewas unaware of its significance, her action was deeply symbolical of thefailure of the old order to withstand the devastating advance of thenew spirit. She felt vaguely that she wished women and things were bothwhat they used to be; but this, since she had little imagination, was asfar as she penetrated into the psychology of Gabriella's behaviour. 

"But, you see, you're making the mistake of thinking that I loveGeorge, " said Gabriella, with a reasonableness which made Mrs. Fowlerfeel that she wanted to scream, "and I don't love him--I don't love himat all. I haven't loved him for a long time--not since the night I sawhim drunk. How could I love a man I've seen drunk--disgustingly drunk--aman I couldn't respect? I'm not made that way, and I can't help it. Somewomen may be like that, but I'm not. I couldn't, even if I wanted to, love a man who has treated me as George has done. I don't see how anywoman could--any woman with a particle of pride and self-respect. Ofcourse I had to live with him after I married him, " she finishedabruptly. "Marriage isn't made for love. I used to think it was--but itisn't--"

"But, Gabriella, you don't mean--you can't--" Mrs. Fowler was reallypitiable, for, after all, George was her son, and the ties of bloodwould not break so easily as the ties of marriage. In the depths of herhumiliation she had almost convinced herself that she had neverrespected George, that she had never believed in him, forgetting thepride and adoration of her young motherhood. Whatever George did shecould not change his relation to her--she could not shatter the oneindissoluble bond that holds mankind together. 

"Gabriella, you don't--you can't--" she repeated wildly. 

Then, as Gabriella turned quickly and left the room, Mrs. Fowler rosestoically to her feet, adjusted her belt with a tremulous movement ofher hands, and smiled bravely as she went to the mirror to put on herhat. Heartbroken and distraught of mind though she was, she submittedinstinctively to the lifelong tyranny of appearances. 

CHAPTER II

A SECOND START IN LIFE

With deliberation Gabriella walked the length of the hall to her room, turned and locked the door after she had entered, and took off her hatand wraps and put them away in the closet. Her head was still carriedhigh and her eyes were defiant and dark in the marble-like pallor of herface. Except for her burning eyes and the scarlet line of her tightlyclosed lips, she looked as still and as cold as a statue. 

"I'd rather die than have them know that it made any difference, " shethought. "I'd rather die than have them know that I cared. " Then sinkinginto a chair by the dressing-table, she laid her head on her arm andwept tears, not of wounded love, but of deep and passionate anger. 

She had spoiled her life! Because of her mad and headstrong folly, shehad spoiled her life, and she was barely twenty-seven! Had she been theveriest fool she couldn't have done worse--she who had thought herselfso sensible, so strong, so efficient! Jane couldn't have done worse, andyet she had always despised Jane for her weakness. But she had been asweak as Jane, she had been as unreasonable, she had been as incrediblysentimental and silly. And even in her folly she had irretrievablyfailed. She had made her choice, and yet she had not been able to keepthe thing she had chosen. George had tired of her--here was thesharpest sting--a man had tired of her after a few months--had tired ofher while she was still deeply in love with him. Her humiliation, whileshe sat there strangling her sobs, was so intense that it ran in littleflames over her body. At the moment she was not angry with George, shewas not even angry with Florrie. It was as if all the slumberingviolence of her nature was aroused to a burning and relentless hatred ofher own weakness. This emotion, which was so profound, so torrential, inits force that it seemed to shake the depths of her being, left room forno other feeling--for no other thought in her consciousness. She had butone life to live, and by her own fault, she had ruined it in itsbeginning. 

Then her mood changed, and she sat up, straight and stern, while shewiped her reddened eyelids with an impetuous and resolute gesture. No, she was not crushed; she would not allow herself even to be hurt. Herlot might be as sordid as Jane's, but she would make it different by thestrength and the effectiveness of her resistance. She would never submitas Jane submitted; she would never become, through sheer inertia, a partof the ugliness that enveloped her. Thanks to the vein of iron in hersoul she would never--no, not if she died fighting--become one of thevictims of life. 

Going into the dressing-room, she bathed her eyes with cold water; andshe was still drying them before the mirror when the children came in, flushed and blooming, with their hands in Miss Polly Hatch's. Whatsplendid children they were, she thought, looking wistfully at theireager faces. Any father, any mother in the world, might be proud ofthem. Fanny, the elder, was like an angel in her white fur coat andpert little cap, with her short golden curls like bunches of yellow silkon her shoulders, and her blue eyes, as grave as a philosopher's, beaming softly under her thick jet-black lashes. She was notparticularly bright; she was, for her age, an unconscionable snob; butno one could deny that she was as beautiful as an angel to look at. 

"Miss Polly wanted to kiss me, mamma, but I wouldn't, " she said coollyas she examined a little bundle of sewing the seamstress had put down onthe table. "I needn't kiss people if I don't want to, need I? Archibalddoesn't like to kiss either. He's naughty about it sometimes when ladiesask him to. He doesn't like scratchin'. Isn't it funny to call kissing, 'scratchin'? He told me Miss Polly scratched him and he didn't like it. He is afraid of her because she is so ugly. Why are you ugly, MissPolly? Couldn't you help it? Did God make you ugly just for fun? Whydoesn't he make everybody pretty? I would if I were God. What is God'slast name? Archibald says it is Walker. Is it Walker, mamma, and howdoes Archibald know? Who told him--"

When at last she was suppressed and sent out of the room with the nurse, she went at a dancing step, turning to make faces at Archibald, whostood stolidly at his mother's knee, biting deep bites into a red appleMiss Polly had given him. He was not a handsome child, even Gabriellaadmitted that his spectacles spoiled his appearance; but he wasremarkably intelligent for his four years, and he was so strong andsturdy that he had never had a day's illness in his life. His face wasunusually thoughtful and expressive, and his eyes, in spite of thedisfiguring glasses, were large, brown, and beautiful, with something ofthe luminous softness of Cousin Jimmy's. Though she could not rememberher father, it pleased Gabriella to think that Archibald was like him, and Miss Polly declared, with conviction, that he was "already hisliving image. " Of the two children, for some obscure reason which shecould not define and which was probably rooted in instinct, Gabriellahad the greater tenderness for her son; and though she denied thispreference to herself, Mrs. Fowler and Miss Polly had both commentedupon it. Even his temper, which was uncontrollable at times, endearedhim to her, and the streak of savage in his nature seemed to awaken somedim ancestral memories in her brain. 

"Thank Miss Polly for the apple and run away to Fanny, " said his mother, after she had held him pressed closely to her breast for a minute. Whileshe did so, she felt, with profound sadness, that her whole universe haddwindled down to her children. Of all her happiness only her childrenremained to her. 

"Don't want to run, " replied Archibald with beaming good humour. In hispassion for brevity he eliminated pronouns whenever it was possible. 

"But Fanny is waiting for you. "

"Would rather stay with mother than go with Fanny and Mutton. " That wasanother of his eccentricities. Just as he had insisted that God's "lastname was Walker, " so he had begun of his own accord, and for no visiblereason, to call nurse "Mutton. " He was always fitting names of his owninvention to persons; and in his selection he was guided by a principleso obscure that Gabriella had never been able to discover its origin. Thus his grandmother from the first had been "Budd, " and he hadimmediately started to call Miss Polly "Pang. "

"Don't you want to go back to the Park, Archibald? You must finish yourwalk. "

"Will the poor boy be there?" He never forgot anything. It was quiteprobable that he would inquire for "the poor boy" a year hence. 

"Perhaps. You might take him an apple and a penny. "

He stood gravely considering the plan, with one hand in his mother's andone on Miss Polly's knee. 

"I'll take Pang to nurse him, " he said when he had decided against thesuggestion of the apple and the penny. "He hasn't any nurse, and Fannywouldn't like him to have hers. I'll take Pang. "

"But Pang isn't a nurse, dear. There, now, run to Fanny. Miss Pollylives so far away she can't stay very long. "

He went obediently, for he was usually amenable to his mother'scommands, stopping only once at the door to ask if "Pang lived as faraway as God and could she manage to get a message to Him about the poorboy needing shoes?"

"I declare I can't make out that child to save my soul, " remarked MissPolly as he shut the door carefully and ran down the hall to thenursery. "The more I study him the curiouser he seems to me. If he wan'tso quick about some things you might think his wits were sort ofaddled--but they ain't, are they? Now, whatever do you reckon put thenotion in his head to call me 'Pang?"

All the smiling, circular wrinkles in her face were working withamusement while her little black eyes twinkled like jet beads above theruddy creases in her cheeks. 

"I can't imagine, for he must have made up the word for himself. Butdon't you think he is like father, Miss Polly? I love to hear you sayso. "

"That child? Why, he's the very spit of yo' pa, Gabriella, and thereain't any two ideas about it. I thought so the very first time I eversaw him, and now that I come to think of it, it is exactly like yo' pato be makin' up all kinds of foolish names out of nothin'. Yo' pa usedto call me Poll Parrot, that he did. "

"Mother thinks Archibald is going to be very much like him. She saw himin the mountains last summer. "

"So she told me when I was down home. You ain't looking a bit well, Gabriella. You've got exactly the look Miss Letty Marshall had beforeshe came down with heart complaint. The doctors were fussin' over herfor weeks before they could find out what the trouble was, but I saidall along it wan't nothin' in the world but a bruised heart, and sureenough that was just what they found out was the matter. You ain't had afeelin' of heart burn after you eat, have you? Sometimes it don't takeyou that way, though; you just begin to have palpitations when you go upand down stairs and then you start to wakin' up in the night withshortness of breath. That's the way my Aunt Lydy had it. You know Inursed her till she died, and I've seen her get right black in the facewhen she stooped to pick up a pin. It's her daughter Lydy that's waitingon old Mrs. Peyton now. You know Mrs. Peyton was feelin' kind of rundown so her son Arthur--I call him Arthur to his face because I used tosew there when he wan't more'n knee high--well, Arthur said she'd haveto have somebody to wait on her every minute and she thought she'drather have Lydy than anybody else because Lydy was always so handy in asickroom. That was six months ago, and Lydy's been stayin' on there eversince. She says there ain't anybody on earth like Mr. Arthur, and shenever could make out why you didn't marry him. He ain't ever had an eyefor anybody but you, and he's got yo' picture--the one in the whitedress--on his bureau and he keeps a rose in a vase before it all thetime. That ain't much like a man, but then there always was a heap of agirl in Arthur in little ways, wan't there?"

"I wonder why I didn't marry him?" said Gabriella softly; and not untilMiss Polly answered her, was she aware that she had spoken aloud. In herspiritual reaction from the grosser reality of passion, the delicacy andremoteness of Arthur's love borrowed the pious and mystic qualities ofreligious worship. She had seen the sordid and ugly sides of sex; andshe felt now a profound disgust for the emotion which drew men and womentogether--for the light in the eyes, the touch of the lips, the clingingof the hands. Once she had idealized these things into love itself; nowthe very memory of them filled her with repulsion. She still wantedlove, but a love so pure, so disembodied, so ethereal that it wasliberated from the dominion of flesh. In the beginning, as a girl, shehad accepted love as the supreme good, as the essential reality; now, utterly disillusioned, she asked herself: "What is there left in life?What is the thing that really counts, after all? What is the possessionthat makes all the striving worth while in the end? At twenty-seven loveis over for me, and if love is over, what remains to fill the rest ofmy life? There must be something else--there must be a reality somewherewhich is truer, which is profounder, than love. " This, she knew, was thequestion which neither tradition nor custom could answer. Religion, perhaps, might have helped her; but it was characteristic of hergeneration that she should give religion hardly a thought as a possiblesolution of the problem of life. She wanted substance, facts, experience; she wanted to examine, to analyze, to discover; and it wasjust here that religion hopelessly failed her as a guide. Faith she hadhad in her cradle--faith in life, faith in love, faith in herself; andit was faith that had brought her to this bleak disenchantment ofspirit. No, she wanted knowledge now, not faith; she wanted truth, notillusion. 

"Well, you never can tell about a thing like that, " Miss Polly wassaying in her sprightly way, quite as if she were discussing the patternof a dress or the stitching of a seam. "It was feelin', I reckon, andfeelin' is one of the things nobody can count on. But you did mightywell, even if you didn't marry Arthur. I saw Mr. George downtownyesterday, when I went around to Stern's to match the edging for a babydress, and I thought to myself I'd seldom seen a handsomer piece offlesh than he was. He was walkin' along up Fifth Avenue with FlorrieSpencer--I'll always call her Florrie Spencer I don't care how manytimes she marries--and everybody in the street turned right plumb roundto look at 'em. She's prettier than she ever was, ain't she? And such afit as her dress was! One of them trailin' black things that fit astight as wax over the hips and flares out all round the feet. She washoldin' up her skirts to show her feet, I reckon, and her collar was sohigh behind her ears, she could hardly turn her head to look at Mr. George. But I never saw anybody with more style--no, not if it was thatMrs. Pletheridge who is everlastingly in the Sunday papers. I declareFlorrie's waist didn't look much bigger round than the leg of thattable--honestly it didn't--and her hat was perched on a bandeau so highthat you could see the new sort of way she'd gone and had her haircrimped--they call it Marcellin' up here, don't they?"

"Was she with George?" asked Gabriella indifferently. 

"They were goin' to some restaurant or another for tea, I reckon, andthey certainly were a fine-lookin' pair. I wish you could have seen 'em. Not that you wouldn't have been a match for 'em, " she added consolingly. "You and Mr. George look mighty well when you're together. You're juston a level, and if you could manage to tighten yo' corset a little miteat the waist, and hold yo'self with that bend out at the back the wayFlorrie does, you'd have pretty near as fine a figure as she has. Ain'tit funny, " she added irrelevantly, "but I was just studyin' last nightabout the way yo' ma used to say that all yo' folks married badly. Ireckon she got that idea along of yo' pa's kin. You don't recollect muchabout 'em, but one of yo' pa's brothers married a woman who went cleanderanged inside of a year and tried to kill him. Then there was yo'Cousin Nelly Harrison--she married badly, or only middlin' well anyway. There certainly was a lot of 'em when you come to think--not countin'Jane and Mr. Charley, and I can't help what happens, " she concludedsentimentally, "I ain't ever goin' back on Mr. Charley--not after theway he sent me two loads of coal the winter I was laid up withrheumatism and couldn't work. Well, it's about time for me to be goin', Gabriella. If you want me for anything, you just drop me a line to sayso. William's children are gettin' so big, I can come out for the day'most any time now, and if William's courtin' goes on all right, Ireckon he won't be wantin' me much longer. He's been waitin' on a youngwoman right steady for more'n six months, and it wouldn't surprise me abit if something was to come of it befo' summer. "

"Then you'd go South again, wouldn't you?" There was a wistful sound inGabriella's voice as she put the question. Miss Polly was a tiresomeperson, but at least she was faithful, and long habit had established abond of tolerance, if not of affection, between them. In the last fewmonths Gabriella had grown to look upon her as the one livingassociation with her childhood, and she was so lonely that she dreadedto sever the single tie with the past that still remained to her. "Ibelieve she'd work her fingers to the bone for me, and, of course, shecan't help being so garrulous, " she thought. 

"I reckon I will, if it comes to that, but I'd hate like anything toleave you and the children, " answered Miss Polly. "I feel somehow as ifI belonged up here with you all, and I've grown real fond of Archibald. "

"Yes, I'd hate to give you up, " said Gabriella, as she let her go andturned back again into the room. Her brain had worked quickly while MissPolly was talking, and the undercurrent of gossip had helped, ratherthan retarded, the clearness and rapidity of her thoughts. All herweakness, all her anger had passed. She saw the situation withoutexaggeration and without illusion, for she had made her decision in thefew minutes between the entrance and the departure of the seamstress. The embittering memories of her life with George were submerged in theinvigorating waves of energy that flooded her being. Her inert bodyresponded to the miraculous restoration of her spirit; and, while shewalked swiftly from the door to the window, she had a sensation oflightness and ease as if she had just awakened from a refreshing sleep. For seven years all the strength of her character had been drained bythe supreme function of motherhood; but now her children had ceased toneed the whole of her life, and she was free to belong at least in partto herself--free to enter unrestricted into the broader humanactivities. And, above all, she was free from George. She had escapedfrom the humiliating bondage of her marriage; for, since he had brokenthe tie between them, she realized with a strange, an almost unnatural, exhilaration, how little except duty--how little except the bare legalhusk of the marriage contract--still held her to him. She had loved himonce, but she loved him no longer, and she resolved passionately thatshe would not allow her life to be spoiled because of a single mistake. Seven years were lost out of her youth, it was true, but those years hadgiven her her children, and so they were not wasted in spite of themistakes she had made, of the shame she had suffered. Judged simply as amachine she was of greater value at twenty-seven than she had been attwenty, and a part of this value lay in her deeper knowledge of life. She had had her adventure, and she was cured forever of adventurousdesires. Her imagination, as well as her body, was firmer, harder, moredisciplined than it had been in her girlhood; and if her vision of theuniverse was less sympathetic, it was also less sentimental. The bluesteyes in the world, she told herself sternly, could not trouble her fancyto-day, nor could the wildest romance quicken her pulses. 

A wagon, filled with blue and white hyacinths, passed by in the street, and while she watched it, there flashed into her mind, with theswiftness of light, a memory of the evening when she had broken herengagement to Arthur. All her life he had loved her, and, but for anaccident, she might have married him. If she had not seen George atFlorrie's party--if she had not seen him under a yellow lantern, withthe glow in his eyes, and a dreamy waltz floating from the arbour ofroses at the end of the garden--if this had not happened, she would havemarried Arthur instead of George, and her whole life would have beendifferent. Because of a single instant, because of a chance meeting, shehad wrecked the happiness of three lives. Now, when the bloom haddropped from her love, it was impossible for her to gather the witheredleaves and bare stems in her hands and find any fragrance about them; itwas impossible for her to understand how or why she had followed sofleeting an impulse. People had told her that love lasted forever, yetshe knew that her emotion for George was so utterly dead that there wasno warmth left in the ashes. It had all been so vivid once, and now itwas as dull and colourless as the dust drifting after the blue and whitehyacinths. 

From the trail of dust and the fragrance of the hyacinths, Arthur's facefloated up to her, grave, gentle, and thin-featured, with its look ofdetached culture, of nameless distinction. She recalled the colour ofhis eyes, as clear and cool as running water, his sensitive lips underthe thin, brown moustache, and his slender, aristocratic hands, withtheir touch as soft and as tender as a woman's. "He had intellect--hehad culture--I suppose these are the things that really matter, " shethought, for George, she knew, possessed neither of these qualities. And, as she remembered Arthur, she was stirred, not by tenderness, butby a passionate gratitude. He had loved her, and by loving her, he hadsaved her pride from defeat. In the hour of her deepest humiliation, shefound comfort in the knowledge of his bleeding heart, of his tragic andbeautiful loyalty; for though she was strong enough to live withoutlove, she was not strong enough to live with the thought that no man hadever loved her. 

For a few minutes she allowed her fancy to play with the comfortingmemory of Arthur's devotion--with the image of her photograph on hisbureau and the single rose in the vase he kept always before it. "Butfor an accident I might have loved him, " she said, and the thought ofthis love which might have been sent a wave of sweetness to her heart. "I might have loved him and been happy. " The vision was so dangerouslybeautiful that she put it resolutely away from her, and told herself, with an effort to be philosophical, that there was no use whatever inregretting the past, and since love was over for her, she must set hermind to solve the problem of work. "I've got my life to live, " she saidwith stoical calmness, "and however bad it is I've nobody to blame forit but myself. "

Then, because she had only one talent, however small, she changed herdress, and went out to ask for a position as designer, saleswoman, ormilliner in the house of Dinard. 

The Irish woman, voluble, painted, powdered, bewigged, and with theremains of her handsome figure laced into a black satin gown, nodded herfalse golden locks and smiled an ambiguous smile when she heard theexplanation of young Mrs. Fowler's afternoon call. 

"But, no, it ees impossible, " she protested, forgetting her foreignshrug and preserving with difficulty the trace of an accent. Then, becoming suddenly natural as she realized that no immediate profit wasto be derived from affectation, she added decisively, "you have notraining, and I have quite as many salesladies as I need at this season. Not that you are not chic, " she hastened to conclude, "not that youwould not in appearance be an adornment to any establishment. "

"I am willing to do anything, " said Gabriella, pressing her point withcharacteristic tenacity. "I want to learn, you know, I want to learneverything I possibly can. You yourself told me that I had a naturalgift for designing, and I am anxious to turn it to some account. Ibelieve I can make a very good milliner, and I want to try. "

"But what would Madame Fowler, your mother-in-law, say to this? Surelyno one would want to earn her living unless she was obliged to. "

For Madame had known life, as she often remarked, and the knowledge sopatiently acquired had gone far to confirm her natural suspicion ofhuman nature. She had got on, as she observed in confidential moments, by believing in nobody; and this skepticism, which was fundamental androoted in principle, had inspired her behaviour not only to her patrons, but to her husband, her children, her domestic servants, hertradespeople, and the policeman at the corner. Thirty years ago she hadsuspected the entire masculine world of amorous designs upon her person;to-day, secretly numbering her years at sixty-two, and publiclyacknowledging forty-five of them, she suspected the same world ofequally active, if less romantic, intentions regarding her purse. And ifshe distrusted men, she both distrusted and despised women. Shedistrusted and despised them because they were poor workers, becausethey were idlers by nature, because they allowed themselves to becheated, slighted, underpaid, underfed, and oppressed, and, most of all, she despised them because they were the victims of their own emotions. Love was all very well, she was accustomed to observe, as a pleasurablepursuit, but, as with any other pursuit, when it began to impair theappetite and to affect the quality and the quantity of one's work, thena serious person would at once contrive to get rid of the passion. AndMadame prided herself with reason upon being a strictly serious person. She had been through the experience of love innumerable times; she hadlost four husbands, and, as she pointed out with complacency, she wasstill living. 

In the dubious splendour of her showrooms, which were curtained andcarpeted in velvet, and decorated with artificial rose-bushes floweringmagnificently from white and gold jardinières, six arrogant young women, in marvellously fitting gowns of black satin, strolled back and forthall day long, or stood gracefully, with the exaggerated curve of theperiod, awaiting possible customers. Though they were as human within asMadame Dinard--and beneath her make-up she was very humanindeed--nothing so variable as an expression ever crossed the waxlikeimmobility of their faces; and while they trailed their black satintrains over the rich carpets, amid the lustrous piles of silks andvelvets which covered the white and gold tables, they appeared to floatthrough an atmosphere of eternal enchantment. Watching them, Gabriellawondered idly if they could ever unbend at the waist, if they could everlet down those elaborate and intricate piles of hair. Then she overheardthe tallest and most arrogant of them remark, "I'm just crazy about him, but he's dead broke, " and she realized that they also belonged to theunsatisfied world of humanity. 

Madame, who had slipped away to answer the telephone, came rustlingback, and sank, wheezing, into a white and gilt chair, which was toosmall to contain the whole of her ample person. Though she had spokenquite sharply at the telephone, her voice was mellifluous when sheattuned it to Gabriella. 

"That gown is perfect on you, " she remarked in honied accents. "It wasone of my best models last season, and as I said before, Madame, you areso fortunate as to wear your clothes with a grace. " She was urbane, butshe was anxious to be rid of her, this young Mrs. Fowler could see at aglance. "Your head is well set on your shoulders, and that is rare--veryrare! It would surprise you to know how few women have heads that arewell set on their shoulders. Yes, I understand. You wish to learn, butnot to make a living. That is very good, for the only comfortable wayfor a woman to make her living is to marry one--a man is the onlyperfectly satisfactory means of livelihood. I tell this to my daughter, who wishes to go on the stage. If you are looking for pleasure, that isdifferent, but when you talk of a living--well, there is but one way toinsure it, and that is to marry a man who is able to provide it--eitheras allowance or as alimony. The best that a woman can do gives her onlybread and meat--an existence, not a living. Only a man can provide onewith the essential things--with clothes and jewels and carriages andtrips to Europe. These are the important things in life, and what womanwas ever able to procure these except from a man?"

Her face, so thickly covered with rouge and liquid powder that it was asexpressionless as a mask, turned its hollow eyes on a funeral which wasslowly passing in the street; and though her creed was hardly the kindto fortify one's spiritual part against the contemplation of death, shesurveyed the solemn procession as tranquilly as any devoted adherent ofeither religion or philosophy could have done. Not a shadow passed overher fantastic mockery of youth as she glanced back at her visitor. 

"But you have worked--you have supported yourself, " insisted Gabriellawith firmness. 

"Myself and six children, to say nothing of three husbands. Yes, Isupported three of my four husbands, but what did I get out of it?"replied Madame, shrugging her ample shoulders. "What was there in it forme? Since we are talking freely, I may say that I have worked hard allmy life, and I got nothing out of it that I couldn't have got with muchless trouble by a suitable marriage. Of course this is not for my girlsto hear. I don't tell them this, but it is true nevertheless. Men shoulddo the work of the world, and they should support women; that is how Godintended it, that is according to both nature and religion; any priestwill say as much to you. " And she, who had defied both God and Nature, wagged her false golden head toward the funeral procession. 

"Yet you have been successful. You have built up a good business. Thework has repaid you. "

"A woman's work!" She snapped her gouty fingers with a playful gesture. "Does a woman's work ever repay her? Think of the pleasures I havemissed in my life--the excursions, the theatres, the shows. All these Imight have had if I hadn't shut myself up every day until dark. And nowyou wish to do this! You with your youth, with your style, with yourhusband!"

She protested, she pleaded, she reasoned, but in the end Gabriella wonher point by the stubborn force of her will. Madame would take her for afew weeks, a few months, a few years, as long as she cared to stay andgave satisfaction. Madame would have her taught what she could learn, would discover by degrees the natural gifts and the amount of trainingalready possessed by young Mrs. Fowler. Young Mrs. Fowler, on the otherhand, must "stand around" when required in the showrooms (it was justhere that Gabriella won her victory); she must assist at the ordering ofgowns, at the selections, and while Madame's patrons were fitted, youngMrs. Fowler must be prepared to assume graceful attitudes in thebackground and to offer her suggestions with a persuasive air. Suggestions, even futile ones, offered in a charming voice from adistinguished figure in black satin had borne wonderful results inMadame's experience. 

"I began that way myself, Mrs. Fowler. You may not believe it, but I wasonce slenderer than you are--my waist measured only nineteen inches andmy bust thirty-six--just the figure a man most admires. The result was, you see, that I have had four husbands, though it is true that Isupported three of them, and it is always easy to marry if one providesthe support. Men are like that. It is their nature. Yes, I began thatway with little training, but much natural talent, and a head full ofideas. If one has ideas it is always possible to become a success, butthey are rarer even than waists measuring nineteen inches. And I hadcharm, though you might not believe it now, for charm does not wear. ButI made my way up from the bottom, first as errand girl, at the age often, and I made it, not by work, for I could never handle a needle, butby ideas. They were once plentiful, and now they are so scarce, " shebroke off with a sigh of resignation which seemed to accept every factof experience except the fact of age. "It was a hard life, but it waslife, after all. One is not put here to be contented, or one would dreaddeath too much for the purpose of God. " In spite of her uncompromisingmaterialism, she was not without an ineradicable streak of superstitionwhich she would probably have called piety. 

"I am ready to begin at once--to-morrow, " said Gabriella, and she addedwithout explanation, obeying, perhaps, an intuitive feeling that toexplain a statement is to weaken it, "and I should like to be called bymy maiden name while I am here--just Mrs. Carr, if you don't mind. "

To this request Madame agreed with effusion, if not with sincerity. Forher own part she would have preferred to speak of her saleswoman asyoung Mrs. Fowler; but she reflected comfortably that many of herpatrons would know young Mrs. Fowler by sight at least, and to theothers she might conveniently drop a word or two in due season. To dropa word or two would provide entertainment throughout the length of afitting; and, for the rest, the mystery of the situation had its charmfor the romantic Irish strain in her blood. The prospect of securingboth entertainment and mystery at the modest expenditure of fifteendollars a week impressed her as very good business, for she combined inthe superlative degree the opposite qualities of romance and economy. Tobe sure, except for the advertisement she afforded and the gossip sheprovided, young Mrs. Fowler might not prove to be worth even her modestsalary; but there was, on the other hand, a remote possibility that shemight turn out to be gifted, and Madame would then be able to use herinventiveness to some purpose before the gifted one discovered hervalue. In any case, Madame was at liberty to discharge her with a day'snotice, and her salary would hardly be increased for three months evenshould she persist in her eccentricity and develop a positive talent fordressmaking. And if young Mrs. Fowler could do nothing else, Madamereflected as they parted, she could at least receive customers anddisplay models with an imposing, even an aristocratic, demeanour. 

To receive Madame's customers and display Madame's models were the lastoccupations Gabriella would have chosen had she been able to penetrateMadame's frivolous wig to her busy brain and detect her prudent schemesfor the future; but the girl was sick of her dependence on George'sfather, and, in the revolt of her pride, she would have accepted anyhonest work which would have enabled her to escape from the insecurityof her position. Of her competence to earn a living, of her ability toexcel in any work that she undertook, of the sufficiency and soundnessof her resources, she was as absolutely assured as she had been when sheentered the millinery department of Brandywine & Plummer. If Madame, starting penniless, had nevertheless contrived, through her nativeabilities, to support three husbands and six children, surely thecapable and industrious Gabriella might assume smaller burdens with thecertainty of moderate success. It was not, when one considered it, thelife which one would have chosen, but who, since the world began, hadever lived exactly the life of his choice? Many women, she reflectedstoically, were far worse off than she, since she started not only witha modicum of business experience (for surely the three months withBrandywine & Plummer might weigh as that) but with a knowledge of theworld and a social position which she had found to be fairly marketable. That Madame Dinard would have accepted an unknown and undistinguishedapplicant for work at a salary of fifteen dollars a week she did not foran instant imagine. This inadequate sum, she concluded with a touch ofironic humour, represented the exact value in open market of hermarriage to George. 

In the front room, where a sparse mid-winter collection of hatsornamented the scattered stands, she stopped for a few minutes toinspect, with a critical eye, the dingy array. "I wonder what makes thembuy so many they can't sell?" she said half aloud to the model at whichshe was gazing. "Nobody would wear these hats--certainly nobody whocould afford to buy Parisian models. I could design far better hatsthan these, I myself, and if I were the head of the house I should neverhave accepted any of them, no matter who bought them. I suppose, afterall, it's the fault of the buyer, but it's a waste--it's not economy. "

Lifting a green velvet toque trimmed with a skinny white ostrich featherfrom the peg before which she was standing, she surveyed the augustFrench name emblazoned in gold on the lining. "Everything isn't goodthat comes from Paris, " she thought, with a shrug which was worthy ofMadame at her best. "Why, I wonder, can't Americans produce 'ideas'themselves? Why do we always have to depend on the things the Frenchsend over to us? Half the hats and gowns Madame has aren't really good, and yet she makes people pay tremendous prices for things she knows arebad and undistinguished. All that ought to be changed, and if I eversucceed, if I ever catch on, I am going to change it. " An idea, a wholeflock of ideas, came to her while she stood there with her rapt gaze onthe green velvet toque, which nobody had bought, and which she knewwould shortly be "marked down, " august French name included, from fortyto fifteen and from fifteen to five dollars. Her constructiveimagination was at work recreating the business, and she saw it in fancymade over and made right from the bottom--she saw Madame's duplicitysucceeded by something of Brandywine & Plummer's inflexible honesty, andthe flimsy base of the structure supplanted by a solid foundation ofcredit. For she had come often enough to Dinard's to discern theslipshod and unsystematic methods beneath the ornate and extravagantsurface. Her naturally quick powers of observation had detected at aglance conditions of which the elder Mrs. Fowler was never aware. Tosell gowns and hats at treble their actual value, to cajole hercustomers into buying what they did not want and what did not suit them, to give inferior goods, inferior workmanship, inferior style whereverthey would be accepted, and to get always the most money for the leastpossible expenditure of ability, industry, and honesty--these were thefundamental principles, Gabriella had already discovered, beneathMadame's flourishing, but shallow-rooted, prosperity. Brandywine &Plummer did not carry Parisian models; their shop was not fashionable inthe way that the establishment of a New York dressmaker and millinermust be fashionable; but the standard of excellence in all thingsexcepting style was far higher in the old Broad Street house in themiddle 'nineties than it was at Madame Dinard's during the early yearsof the new century. Quality had been essential in every hat that wentfrom Brandywine & Plummer's millinery department; and Gabriella, deriving from a mother who worked only in fine linen, rejectedinstinctively the cheap, the tawdry, and the inferior. She had heard acustomer complain one day of the quality of the velvet on a hat Madamehad made to order; and pausing to look at the material as she went out, she had decided that the most prosperous house in New York could notsurvive many incidents of that deplorable sort. To be sure, suchmaterial would not have been supplied to Mrs. Pletheridge, or even tothe elder Mrs. Fowler, who, though Southern, was always particular andvery often severe; but here again, since this cheap hat had been sold ata high price, was a vital weakness in Madame's business philosophy. 

On the whole, there were many of Madame's methods which might beimproved; and when Gabriella passed through the ivory and gold doorwayinto the street, she had convinced herself that she was preëminentlydesigned by Nature to undertake the necessary work of improvement. Thetawdriness she particularly disliked--the trashy gold and ivory of thedecorations, the artificial rose-bushes from which the dust was neverremoved, the sumptuous velvet carpets which were not taken up in thesummer. 

While she was crossing the street a man joined her; and glancing up assoon as she was clear of the traffic, she saw that it was JudgeCrowborough. In the last seven years her dislike for him had graduallydisappeared, and though she had never found him attractive, she hadgrown to accept the general estimate of his character and ability. A manso gifted ought not to be judged as severely as poorer or less activelyintelligent mortals; and as long as other men did not judge him, shefelt no inclination to usurp so unfeminine a prerogative. He had alwaysbeen kind to her, and she understood now from his manner that he meantto be still kinder. It occurred to her at once that he knew of George'sinfatuation for Florrie, and that he was chivalrously extending toGeorge's wife a sympathy which he would probably have withheld in suchcircumstances from his own. Had it been possible she would have liked toexplain to him that in her case his sympathy was not needed; but sherealized, with resentment, that one of her most galling burdens would bethe wasted pity which her unfortunate situation would inspire in thefriends of the family. Social conventions made it impossible for her totell the world, including Judge Crowborough, that George's infidelitywas a matter of slight importance to her, since it struck only at herpride, not at her heart. Her pride, it is true, had suffered sharply foran hour; but so superficial was the wound that the distraction ofseeking work had been almost sufficient to heal it. 

"A most extraordinary day for January, " remarked the judge as theyreached a corner. "You hardly need your furs, the air is so mild. "

Overhead small, birdlike clouds drifted in flocks across a sky ofchangeable brightness, and the wind, blowing past the tray of a flowervendor at the corner, was faintly scented with violets. It was one ofthose rare days when happiness seems as natural as the wind or thesunlight, when the wildest dreams appear not too wild to come true inreality, when one hopes by instinct and believes, not with the reason, but with the blood. To Gabriella, forgetting her humiliation, it was aday when life for the sake of the mere act of living--when life, inspite of disappointment and loss and treachery and shame, was enough toset the heart bounding with happiness. For she was one of those wholoved life, not for what it brought to her of pleasure, but for what itwas in itself. 

"Yes, it is a lovely afternoon, " she answered, and added impulsively:"It is good to be alive, isn't it?" She had forgotten George, but evenif she had remembered him, it would have made little difference. For sixyears, not for a few hours, George had been lost to her; and in sixyears one has time to forget almost anything. 

The judge's answer to this was a look which penetrated like a flash oflight into her brain. By this light she read all that he thought ofher, and she saw that he was divided between admiration of her spiritand an uneasy suspicion of its perfect propriety. Tier offence, sheknew, was that, being by all the logic of facts an unhappy wife, sheshould persist so stubbornly in denying the visible evidence of herunhappiness. Had her denial been merely a pretence, it would, accordingto his code, have appeared both natural and womanly; but the convictionthat she was sincere, that she was not lying, that she was not eventragically "keeping up an appearance, " increased the amazement andsuspicion with which he had begun to regard her. He walked onthoughtfully at her side, fingering the end of his long yellowish-graymoustache, and bending his sleepy gaze on the pavement. When he wasthinking, he always looked as if he were falling asleep, and he seldommade a remark, even to a woman, without thinking it over. Into his smallsteel-gray eyes, surrounded by purplish and wrinkled puffs of skin, there crept the cautious and secretive look he wore at directors'meetings, while a furtive smile flickered for an instant across hisloose mouth under the drooping ends of his moustache. His ungainly body, with its curious suggestion of over-ripeness, of waning power, straightened suddenly as if in reaction from certain destructiveprocesses within his soul. Though he was only just passing his prime, hehad lived so rapidly that he bore already the marks of age in his faceand figure. 

"Yes, it's good to be alive, " he assented, for there was nothing ineither his philosophy or his experience to contradict this simplestatement. "I've always maintained, by the way, that happiness is thechief of the virtues. "

For an instant Gabriella looked at the sky; then turning her candid eyesto his, she answered: "Happiness and courage. I put couragefirst--before everything. "

Her gaze dropped, but not until she had seen his look change and theslightly cynical smile--the smile of one who has examined everything andbelieves in nothing--fade from his lips. She had touched some chord deepdown within him of which he had long ago forgotten even theexistence--some echoed harmony of what had been perhaps the living faithof his youth. 

"You're a gallant soul, " he said briefly, and she wondered what it wasthat he knew, what it was that he was keeping back. 

At the corner where they parted, he stood for a few moments, holding herhand in his big, soft grasp while he looked down on her. The suspicionand the cynicism had gone from his face, and she understood all at oncewhy people still trusted him, still liked him, notwithstanding hisreputation, notwithstanding even his repulsiveness. He was all that--hewas immoral, he was repulsive--but he was something else also--he washuman. 

When she entered the house her first feeling was that the old atmospherehad returned, the old suspense, the old waiting, the old horror ofimpending calamity. A nervous dread made her hesitate to mount thesteps, to go to her room, to inquire in a natural voice for thechildren. It was imaginary, of course, she assured herself, but it wasvery vivid as long as it lasted. Then she noticed that the usual orderof the hall was disturbed, and when she rang, Burrows came, with ahurried, apologetic manner, after keeping her waiting. Mrs. Fowler'sfur scarf hung on the massive oak post of the staircase; the cards inthe little tray on the hail table were scattered about; and the petalsof a yellow chrysanthemum were strewn over the carpet. 

Burrows, instead of explaining the confusion, appeared embarrassed whenshe questioned him, and spurred by a sharp foreboding, she ran up thestairs to her mother-in-law's sitting-room. At her entrance a tremblingvoice wailed in a tone of remonstrance:

"Oh, Gabriella, have you been out?"

"Yes, I've been out. Mamma, what is the matter?"

"I looked for you everywhere. Archibald has been here, but he has justgone out again. I have never seen him so deeply moved--so--soindignant--" Mrs. Fowler broke off, bit her lip nervously, and pausedwhile she tried to swallow her sobs. Her hat lay on a chair at her side, and in her hands she held a pair of half-soiled white gloves, which shesmoothed out on her knee, as if she were hardly aware of what she wasdoing. In her blue eyes, so like George's, there was an agonizing terrorand suspense. Her usually florid face was pale to the lips; and thispallor appeared to accentuate the dark, faintly lined shadows beneathher eyes and the grayness of her rigidly waved hair. 

"Courage!" said Gabriella in a whisper to herself, and aloud she askedgently: "Dear mamma, what is it? Don't be afraid. I can bear it. "

"Archibald has ordered George out of the house. He--George, I mean--hadgiven him his promise not to see Florrie again, and it seems that he--hebroke it. There has been a dreadful scene. I never imagined thatArchibald could be so angry. He was terrible--and he is ill anyway andin great trouble about his financial affairs. I have been worried todeath about him for weeks. He says things are going so badly downtownthat he can't stave off the crash any longer, and now--this--this--" Shebroke down utterly, burying her convulsed face in her hands, which evenin the instant of horror and tragedy, Gabriella noticed, had beenmanicured since the morning. "George has gone--we think he has gone offwith Florrie, " she cried, "and he--he will never come back as long asArchibald lives. "

She was not thinking of Gabriella. True to the deepest instincts of hernature, she thought first of her son, then of her husband. It was notthat she did not care for her daughter-in-law, did not sympathize; butthe fact remained that Gabriella was only George's wife to her, whileGeorge was flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone, soul of her soul. Though her choice was not deliberate, though it was unconscious andinstinctive--nevertheless, she had chosen. At the crucial momentinstinct had risen superior to reason, and she had chosen, not with herjudgment, but with every quivering nerve and fibre of her being. Gabriella was right, but George was her son; and had it been possible tosecure George's happiness by sacrificing the right to the wrong, shewould have made that sacrifice without hesitation, without scruple, andwithout regret. 

"There's his father now, " she whispered, lifting her disfigured face. "Oh, Gabriella, I believe it will kill me!"

While Gabriella stood there waiting for George's father to enter, andlistening to his slow, deliberate tread on the stairs, the heavy, laborious tread of a man who is uncertain of his strength, sheremembered vividly, as if she were living it over again, the night shehad waited by her fire to tell George that his first child was to beborn. Many thoughts passed through her mind, and at last these thoughtsresolved themselves into a multitude of crowding images--all distinctand vivid images of George's face. She saw his face as she had firstseen and loved it, with its rich colouring, its blue-gray eyes, likewells of romance she had once thought, its look of poetry and emotionwhich had covered so much that was merely commonplace and gross. She sawhim as he had looked at their marriage, as he had looked, bending overher after her first child was born, and then she saw him as he hadparted from her that morning--flushed, sneering, a little coarsened, butstill boyish, still charming. Well, it was all over now. It had beenover so long that she had even ceased to regret it--for she was not bynature one of the women who could wear mourning for a lifetime. 

The door opened: Archibald Fowler came in very slowly; and the firstsight of his face brought home to her with a shock the discovery that hewas the one of them who had suffered most. He looked an old man; hisgentle scholar's face had taken an ashen hue; and his eyes were the eyesof one who has only partially recovered from the blow that hasprostrated him. 

"My dear child, " he said; "my dear daughter, " and laid his hand on hershoulder. 

She clung to him, feeling a passionate pity, not for herself, but forhim. "You have too much to bear, " she murmured caressingly. "You mustn'ttake it like this. You must try to get over it. For all our sakes youmust try to get over it. " The irony of it all--that she should beconsoling her husband's father for her husband's desertion of her--didnot appear to her until long afterwards. At the time she thought onlythat she--that somebody--must make the tragedy easier for him to bear. 

"Come and sit down, Archibald, " said Mrs. Fowler pleadingly. "Let megive you a glass of sherry and a biscuit; you are too tired to talk. "

There was the old devotion in her manner, but there was also a newdeference. For the first time in thirty years of marriage he had shownhis strength to her, not his gentleness; for the first time he hadopposed his will to hers in the cause of justice, and he had conqueredher. In spite of her anguish, something of the romantic expectancy ofher first love had returned to her heart and it showed in her softenedvoice, in her timid caresses, in her wistful eyes, which held a patheticand startled brightness. He had triumphed in honour; and if her defeathad not involved George, she could almost have gloried in thecompleteness of her surrender. 

He sat down with the air of a man who is not entirely awake to hissurroundings; and his wife, after ordering the sherry, hovered over himwith the touching solicitude of one who is living for the moment in theshadow of memory. While he sipped the wine, he waited until Burrows'footsteps had passed down the staircase, and then said with his usualquietness:

"There is something else, Evelyn, that I kept back. I couldn't tell youwhile you were so worried about George, but there is something else--"

She caught the words from him eagerly, with a gesture almost of relief. 

"You mean it has come at last. I suspected it, and, oh, Archibald, Idon't care--I don't care!"

"There were several failures to-day in Wall Street, and--" He broke offas if he were too tired to go on, and added slowly after a moment: "I amtoo old to begin again. I'd like to go back home--to go back to theSouth for my old age. Yes, I'm old. "

But his wife was on her knees beside him, with her arms about his neckand her face hidden on his breast. "I don't care, I never cared, " shesaid in a voice that was almost exultant. "We can be happy on solittle--happier than we've ever been in our lives--just you and I togrow old together. We can go home to Virginia--to some small place andbe happy. Happiness costs so little. "

Slipping away, Gabriella went into the hail, and passing her room, noiselessly pushed open the door of the nursery, where the children weresleeping. A night lamp was burning in one corner under a dark shade, andthe nurse's knitting, a pile of white yarn, was lying on the table inthe circle of green light, which was as soft as the glimmer of aglow-worm in a thicket. In their two little beds, separated by a stripof white rug, the children were sleeping quietly, with a wonderfulfreshness, like the dew of innocence, on their faces. Frances lay on herback, very straight and prim even in sleep, with the sheet folded neatlyunder her dimpled chin, her hands clasped on her breast, and her goldencurls spread in perfect order over the lace-trimmed pillow. Herminiature features, framed in the dim gold of her hair, had the triteprettiness of an angel on a Christmas card; and beside her etherealloveliness there was something gnome-like in the dark sturdiness ofArchibald, who slept on his side, with his fists pressed tightly underthe pillow, and the frown produced by near-sightedness still wrinklinghis forehead. Though he was not beautiful, he showed already the promiseof character in his face, and his personality, which was remarkablydeveloped for a child of his age, possessed a singular charm. He was thekind of child people describe as "unlike other children. " Histemperament was made up of surprises, and this quality of unexpectednessinspired in his mother a devotion that was almost tragic in itsintensity. Never had she loved the normal Frances Evelyn as she lovedArchibald. 

As she looked down on them, sleeping so peacefully in the green light, awave of sadness swept over her, and she thought of them suddenly asfatherless, impoverished, and unprotected, dependent on her untriedlabour for their lives and their happiness. Then, before the anxietycould take possession of her mind, she put it from her, and whispered, "Courage!" as she turned away and went out of the room. 

CHAPTER III

WORK

They had planned the future so carefully that there was a pitiless ironyin the next turn of the screw--for when they tried to awaken ArchibaldFowler in the morning, he did not stir, and they realized presently, with the rebellious shock such tragedies always bring, that he had diedin the night--that all that he had stood for, the more than thirty yearsof work and struggle, had collapsed in an hour. When the first grief, the first excitement, was over, and life began to flow quietly again inits familiar currents, it was discovered that the crash of his fortunehad occurred on the day of his son's flight and disgrace, and that thetwo shocks, coming together, had killed him. While they sat in thedarkened house, surrounded by the funereal smell of crape, the practicaldetails of living seemed to matter so little that they scarcely gavethem a thought. Not until weeks afterwards, when Patty and Billy hadsailed for France, and Mrs. Fowler, shrouded in widow's weeds, had goneSouth to her old home, did Gabriella find strength to tear aside theveil of mourning and confront the sordid actuality. Then she found thatthe crash had buried everything under the ruins of Archibald Fowler'sprosperity--that nothing remained except a bare pittance which wouldinsure his widow only a scant living on the impoverished family acres. For the rest there was nothing, and she herself was as poor as she hadbeen in Hill Street before her marriage. 

Walking back from the station after bidding her mother-in-law a tearfuland tender good-bye, she tried despairingly to gather her scatteredthoughts and summon all her failing resources; but in front of her plansthere floated always the pathetic brightness of Mrs. Fowler's eyesgazing up at her from the heavy shadow of the crape veil she had lifted. So that was the end--a little love, a little hope, a little happiness, and then separation and death. Effort appeared not only futile, butfantastic, and yet effort, she knew, must be made if she were to wardoff destitution. She must recover her cheerfulness, she must be strong, she must be confident. Alone, penniless, with two children to support, she could not afford to waste her time and her energy in useless regret. Whatever it cost her, she must keep alive her fighting courage and herbelief in life. She had youth, health, strength, intelligence, resourcefulness on her side; and she told herself again that there werethousands of women living and fighting around her who were far worse offthan she. "What others have done, I can do also, and do better, " shemurmured aloud as she walked rapidly back to Dinard's. 

In the long front room the crowded mid-winter sale was in progress, andthe six arrogant young women, goaded into a fleeting semblance ofactivity, were displaying dilapidated "left over" millinery to a throngof unfashionable casual customers. Madame, herself, scorned these casualcustomers, but her scorn was as water unto wine compared with theburning disdain of the six arrogant young women. They sauntered to andfro with their satin trains trailing elegantly over the carpet, withtheir fashionable curves accentuated as much as it was possible forpride to accentuate them, with their condescending heads turninghaughtily above the high points of their collars. As Gabriella enteredshe saw the tallest and the most scornful of them, whose name wasMurphy, insolently posing in the green velvet toque before a jadedhunter of reduced millinery, who shook her plain, sensible head at thehat as if she wished it to understand that she heartily disapproved ofit. 

Madame was not visible, but Gabriella found her a little later in theworkroom, where she was volubly elucidating obscure points in businessmorality to the forewoman. Of all the women employed in the house, thisparticular forewoman was the only one who appeared to Gabriella to bewithout pretence or affectation. She was an honest, blunt, capablecreature, with a face and figure which permanently debarred her from theshowrooms, and a painstaking method of work. There was no haughtiness, no condescension, about her. She had the manner of one who, beingwithout fortuitous aids to happiness, is willing to give good measure ofability and industry in return for the bare necessaries of existence. "She is the only genuine thing in the whole establishment, " thoughtGabriella while she watched her. 

If Miss Smith, the forewoman, had been in ignorance of the failure anddeath of Archibald Fowler, she would probably have read the announcementin Madame's face as she watched her welcome the wife of his son. Therewas nothing offensive, nothing unkind, nothing curt; but, in some subtleway, the difference was emphasized between the eccentric daughter-in-lawof a millionaire and an inexperienced young woman who must work for herliving. For the welcome revealed at once to the observant eyes of MissSmith the significant detail that Madame's role had changed from thebenefited to the benefactor. And, as if this were not enough for onemorning's developments, it revealed also that Gabriella's fictitiousvalue as a saleswoman was beginning to decline; for Madame was disposedto scorn the sort of sensational advertisement which the newspapers haddevoted of late to the unfortunate Fowlers. At one moment there had beengrave doubt in Madame's mind as to whether or not she should employyoung Mrs. Fowler in her respectable house; then, after a briefhesitation, she had shrewdly decided that ideas were worth somethingeven when lacking the support of social position and financial security. There were undoubtedly possibilities in Gabriella; and disgrace, Madameconcluded cheerfully, could not take away either one's natural talent orone's aristocratic appearance. That the girl had distinction, even raredistinction, Madame admitted while she nodded approvingly at the severeblack cloth gown with its collar and cuffs of fine white crape. Thesimple arrangement of her hair, which would have ruined many a prettyface, suited the ivory pallor of Gabriella's features. Mourning wasbecoming to her, Madame decided, and though she was not beautiful, shewas unusually charming. 

"She has few good points except her figure, and yet the whole isdecidedly picturesque, " thought Madame as impersonally as if she werecriticising a fashion plate. "Very young men would hardly care forher--for very young men demand fine complexions and straight noses--butwith older men who like an air, who admire grace, she would be taking, and women, yes, women would undoubtedly find her imposing. But she isnot the sort to have followers, " she concluded complacently. 

"Shall I go to the workroom?" asked Gabriella in a businesslike voicewhen she had taken off her hat, "or do you wish me at the sale?"

Her soul shrank from the showrooms, but she had determined courageouslythat she would not allow her soul to interfere with her materialpurpose, and her purpose was to learn all that she could and to makeherself indispensable to Madame. Only by acquiring a thorough knowledgeof the business and making herself indispensable could she hope tosucceed. And success was not merely desirable to her; it was vital. Itmeant the difference between food and hunger for her children. 

"Miss Smith will find something for you to do this morning, " repliedMadame, politely, but without enthusiasm. "If there is a rush later onin the millinery, I will send for you to help out. "

In the old days, when Dinard's was a small and exclusive house in one ofthe blocks just off Fifth Avenue, Madame would have scorned to combinethe making of gowns and hats in a single establishment; but as sheadvanced in years and in worldly experience, she discovered thatmillinery drew the unwary passer-by even more successfully thandressmaking did. Then, too, hats were easy to handle; they sold for atleast four or five times as much as they actually cost; and so, gradually, while she was still unaware of the disintegrating processeswithin, Madame's principles had crumbled before the temptation ofincreasing profits. A lapse of virtue, perhaps, but Madame, who had beenborn an O'Grady, was not the first to discover that one's virtuousprinciples are apt to modify with one's years. The time was when she haddespised false hair, having a natural wealth of her own, and now, with afew thin gray strands hidden under her golden wig, she had becomemorally reconciled to necessity. "It is a hard world, and one lives asone must, " was her favourite maxim. 

On the whole, however, having a philosophic bent of mind, sheendeavoured to preserve, with rosy cheeks and golden hair, several othercheerful fictions of her youth. The chief of these, the artless delusionthat, in spite of her obesity, her wig and her rouge, she still hadpower to charm the masculine eye, offered to her lively nature a moreeffective support than any virtuous principle could have supplied. Aperennial, if ridiculous, coquetry sweetened her days and addedsprightliness to the gay decline of her life. Being frankly material, she had confined her energies to the two unending pursuits of men andmoney, and having captured four husbands and acquired a comfortable bankaccount, she might have been content, had she been as discreet as shewas provident, to rest on her substantial achievements. But the troublewith both men and money, when considered solely as rewards toenterprise, is that the quest of them is inexhaustible. One's income, however large, may reasonably become larger, and there is no limit tothe number of husbands a prudent and fortunate woman may collect. And soage, which is, after all, a state of mind, not a term of years, wasrendered harmless to Madame by her simple plan of refusing toacknowledge that it existed. This came of keeping one's head, shesometimes thought, though she never put her thought into words--this andall things else, including financial security and the perpetual pursuitof the elusive and lawless male. For at sixty-two she still felt youngand she believed herself to be fascinating. 

But Gabriella, patiently stitching bias velvet bands on the brim of astraw hat for the early spring trade, felt that she was sustainedneither by the pleasures of vanity nor by the sounder consolations ofvirtue. Her philosophy was quite as simple, if not so material, asMadame's. Human nature was divided between the victors and the victims, and the chief thing was not to let oneself become a victim. Her theory, like those of greater philosophers, was rooted not in reason, but incharacter, and she believed in life with all the sanguine richness ofher blood. Of course it was a struggle, but she was one of those vitalwomen who enjoy a struggle--who choose any aspect of life in preferenceto the condition of vegetative serenity. Unhappiness, which is solargely a point of view, an attitude of mind, had passed over her at atime when many women would have been consecrated to inconsolable misery. She was penniless, she was unloved, she was deserted by her husband, shehad lost, in a few weeks, her friends, her home, and her family, and shefaced the future alone, except for her dependent and helplesschildren--yet in spite of these things, though she was thoughtful, worried, and often anxious, she realized that deep down in her theessential core of her being was not unhappy. When she had tried andfailed, and lost her health and her children--if such sorrows ever cameto her, then there would be time enough for unhappiness. Now, she wasonly twenty-seven; the rich, wonderful world surrounded her; and thisworld, even if she put love out of her life, was brimming over withbeauty. It was good to be alive; it was good to watch the crowd in thestreet, to see the sunlight on the pavement, to taste the air, to feelthe murmurous currents of the city flow around her as she walked home inthe twilight. It was good to earn her bread and to go back in theevening to the joyful shouts of two well and happy children. She saw itall as an adventure--the whole of life--and the imperative necessity wasto keep to the last the ardent heart of the true adventurer. While shestitched with flying fingers, there passed before her the pale sad lineof the victims--of those who had resigned themselves to unhappiness. Shesaw her mother, anxious, pensive, ineffectual, with her widow's veil, her drooping eyelids, and her look of mournful acquiescence, as of onewho had grown old expecting the worst of life; she saw poor Jane, tragic, martyred, with the feeble virtue and the cloying sweetness ofall the poor Janes of this world; and she saw Uncle Meriweather wearinghis expression of worried and resentful helplessness, as if he had beenswept onward against his will by forces which he did not understand. Allthese people were victims, and from these people she had sprung. Theirblood was her blood; their traditions were her traditions; theirreligion was her religion; even their memories were her memories. Butsomething else, which was not theirs, was in her nature, and thissomething else had been born in the instant when she revolted againstthem. Perhaps the fighting spirit of her father--of that father who hadgone out like a flame in his youth had battled on her side when she hadturned against the inertia and decay which had walled in her girlhood. 

In the afternoon Madame summoned her into the showrooms, and sheassisted the exhausted young women at the sale of slightly damagedFrench hats to the unfashionable purchasers who preferred to payreasonable prices. While she served them, which she did with acheerfulness, an interest, and an amiability that distinguished her fromthe other saleswomen, she wondered how they could have so little commonsense as to allow themselves to be deluded by the French labels on thesoiled linings? She could have made a better hat in two hours than anyone of those she sold at the reduced price of ten dollars; yet even thedingiest of them at last found a purchaser, and she saw the green velvettoque, which had been rejected by the sensible middle-aged woman in themorning, finally pass into the possession of a hard-featured spinster. What amazed her, for she had a natural talent for dress, was theinfallible instinct which guided the vast majority of these customers tothe selection of the inappropriate. A few of them had taste, or hadlearned from experience what they could not wear; but by far the largernumber displayed an ignorance of the most elementary principles of dresswhich shocked and astonished Gabriella. The obese and middle-aged wingedstraight as a bird toward the coquettish in millinery; the lean andhaggard intuitively yearned for the picturesque; the harsh and simpleaspired to the severely smart. Yet beneath the vain misdirection ofimpulses there was some obscure principle of attraction which ruled theabsurdity of the decisions. Each woman, Gabriella discovered after anattentive hour at the sale, was dressing not her actual substance, butsome passionately cherished ideal of herself which she had stored in aremote and inaccessible chamber of her brain. 

In all of the tedious selections Gabriella assisted with the pleasantvoice, the ready sympathy, and the quick understanding which had madeher so popular when she had worked for the old shop in Broad Street. Thetruth was that human nature interested her even in its errors, and herpleasant manners were simply the outward manifestation of an unaffectedbenevolence. 

"I shouldn't mind going there if they were all like that one, " remarkeda customer, who had bought three hats, in the hearing of Madame as shewent out; "but some of them are so disagreeable you feel like slappingtheir faces. Once last winter I had that tall girl with red hair--thehandsome, stuck-up one, you know--and I declare she was so downrightimpertinent that I got straight up and walked out without buying athing. Then I was so angry that I went down to Paula's and paidseventy-five dollars for this hat I've got on. It was a dreadful price, of course, but you'll do anything when you're in a rage. "

"Do you know the name of this one? I'd like to remember it. "

"Yes, it's Carr. I asked for her card. C-a-r-r. I think she's a widow. "

From her retreat behind one of the velvet curtains Madame overheard thisconversation, and a few minutes later she stopped Gabriella on her wayout, and said amiably that it would not be necessary for her to leavethe showroom to-morrow. 

"I believe you can do better there than in the workroom, " she added, "and, after all, that is really very important--to tell people what theywant. It is astounding how few of them have the slightest idea whatthey are looking for. "

"But I want to get that hat right. I left it unfinished, and I don'tlike to give up while it is wrong, " replied Gabriella, not whollypleased by the command. 

But Madame, of a flightier substance notwithstanding her businesstalents, waved aside the remark as insignificant and without bearingupon her immediate purpose. 

"I am going to try you with the gowns, " she said resolutely; "I want tosee if you catch on there as quickly as you did with the hats--I meanwith the sale, of course, for your work, I'm sorry to say, has beenrather poor so far. But I'll try you with the next customer who comes toplace a large order. They are always so eager for new suggestions, andyou have suggestions of a sort to make, I am sure. I can't quite tell, "she concluded uncertainly, "whether or not your ideas have any practicalvalue, but they sound well as you describe them, and to talkattractively helps; there is no doubt of that. "

It was closing time, and Miss Fisher, one of the skirt fitters, came up, in her black alpaca apron with a pair of scissors suspended by red tapefrom her waist, to ask Madame a question. As Mrs. Bydington had not kepther appointment, was it not impossible to send her gown home as they hadpromised?

"Oh, it makes no difference, " replied Madame blandly, for she was in agood humour. "She'll come back when she is ready. The next time she ishere, by the way, I want her to see Mrs. Fowler--I mean Mrs. Carr. Shehas worn out every one else in the place, and yet she is neversatisfied; but I'd like her to take that pink velvet from Gautier, because nobody else is likely to give the price. " The day was over andMadame's blandness was convincing evidence of her satisfaction. 

As Gabriella passed through the last showroom, where the disorder of thesale was still visible, she saw Miss Murphy, the handsomest and thehaughtiest of the young women, wearily returning the few rejected hatsto the ivory-tinted cases. 

"You are glad it is over, I know, " she remarked sympathetically, lessfrom any active interest in Miss Murphy's state of feeling than from animpulsive desire to establish human relations with her fellowsaleswoman. If Miss Murphy would have it so, she preferred to befriendly. 

"I am so tired I can hardly stand on my feet, " replied Miss Murphy, piteously. Her pretty rose-leaf skin had faded to a dull pallor; therewere heavy shadows under her eyes; her helmet of wheaten-red hair hadslipped down over her forehead, and even her firmly corseted figureappeared to have grown limp and yielding. Without her offensive eleganceshe was merely a pathetic and rather silly young thing. 

"I'll help you, " said Gabriella, taking up several hats from a chair. "The others have gone, haven't they?"

"They got out before I'd finished waiting on that middle-aged frump whodoesn't know what she wants any more than the policeman out there at thecorner does. She's made me show her all we've got left, and after she'dtried them all on, she said they're too high, and she's going to thinkover them before she decides. She's still waiting for something, and myhead's splitting so I can hardly see what I'm doing. " With a finalsurrender of her arrogance, she grew suddenly confidential andchildish. "I'm sick enough to die, " she finished despairingly, "and I'vegot a friend coming to take me to the theatre at eight o'clock. "

"Well, run away. I'll attend to this. But I'd try to rest before I wentout if I were you. "

"You're a perfect peach, " responded Miss Murphy gratefully. "I said allalong I didn't believe you were stuck up and snobbish. "

Then she ran out, and Gabriella, after surveying the customer for aminute, selected the most unpromising hat in the case, and presented itwith a winning smile for the woman's inspection. 

"Perhaps something like this is what you are looking for?" she remarkedpolitely, but firmly. 

The customer, an acidulous, sharp-featured, showily dressed person--thesort, Gabriella decided, who would enjoy haggling over abargain--regarded the offered hat with a supercilious and guardedmanner, the true manner of the haggler. 

"No, that is not bad, " she observed dryly, "but I don't care to givemore than ten dollars. "

"It was marked down from thirty, " replied Gabriella, and her manner wasas supercilious and as guarded as the other's. There were women, she hadfound, who were impressed only by insolence, and, when the need arose, she could be quite as insolent as Miss Murphy. Unlike Miss Murphy, however, she was able to distinguish between those you must encourageand those you must crush; and this ability to draw reasonabledistinctions was, perhaps, her most valuable quality as a woman ofbusiness. 

"I don't care to pay more than ten dollars, " reiterated the customer ina scolding voice. Rising from her chair, she fastened her furs, whichwere cheap and showy, with a defiant and jerky movement, and flouncedout of the shop. 

That disposed of, Gabriella put on her coat, which she had taken offagain for the occasion, and went out into the street, where the nighthad already fallen. After her long hours in the overheated air of theshowrooms, she felt refreshed and invigorated by the cold wind, whichstung her face as it blew singing over the crossings. Straight aheadthrough the grayish-violet mist the lights were blooming like flowers, and above them a few stars shone faintly over the obscure frowningoutlines of the buildings. Fifth Avenue was thronged, and to her anxiousmind there seemed to be hollowness and insincerity in the laughter ofthe crowd. 

At the house in East Fifty-seventh Street, from which she would bemoving the next day, she found Judge Crowborough awaiting her in thedismantled drawing-room, where packing-cases of furniture and pictureslay scattered about in confusion. In the dreadful days after ArchibaldFowler's death, the judge had been very kind, and she had turned to himinstinctively as the one man in New York who was both able and willingto be of use to her. Though he had never attracted her, she had beenobliged to admit that he possessed a power superior to superficialattractions. 

"I dropped in to ask what I might do for you now?" he remarked with thedignity of one who possesses an income of half a million dollars a year. "It's a pity you have to leave this house. I remember when Archibaldbought it--somewhere back in the 'seventies--but I suppose there's nohelp for it, is there?"

"No, there's no help. " She sat down on a packing-case, and he stoodgazing benevolently down on her with his big, soft hands clasped on thehead of his walking-stick and his overcoat on his arm. "I've rentedthree rooms in one of the apartments of the old Carolina over on theWest Side near Columbus Avenue. The rest of the apartment is rented toart students, I believe, and we must all use the same kitchen and thesame bath-tub, " she added with a laugh. "Of course it isn't luxury, butwe shan't mind very much as soon as we get used to it. I couldn't bemuch poorer than I was before my marriage. "

"But the children? You've got to have the children looked after. "

"I've been so fortunate about that, " her voice was quite cheerful again. "There's a seamstress from my old home--Miss Polly Hatch--who has knownme all my life, and she is coming to sleep in a little bed in my roomuntil we can afford to rent an extra bedroom. As long as she has to workat home anyhow, she can very easily look after the children while I amaway. They are good children, and as soon as they are big enough I'llhave to send them to school--to the public school, I'm afraid. " This, because of Fanny's violent opposition, was a delicate point with her. She felt that she should like to start the children at a private school, but it was clearly impossible. 

"The boy won't be big enough for a year or two, will he?" He wasinterested, she saw, and this unaffected interest in her small affairsmoved her almost to tears. 

"I wanted him to go to kindergarten, but, of course, I cannot afford it. He is only four and a half, and I'm teaching him myself in theevenings. Already he can read very well in the first reader, " shefinished proudly. 

For a minute the judge stared moodily down on her. His sagging cheekstook a pale purplish flush, and he bit his lower lip with his largeyellow teeth, which reminded Gabriella of the tusks of a beast of prey. Then he laid his overcoat and his stick carefully down on apacking-case, and held out his hand. 

"I'm going now, and there's one thing I want to ask you--have you anymoney?"

It was out at last, and she looked up composedly, smiling a littleroguishly at his embarrassment. 

"I have six hundred dollars in bank for a rainy day, and I am makingexactly fifteen dollars a week. "

"But you can't live on it. Nobody could live on it even without twochildren to bring up. "

She shook her head. "Oh, Judge Crowborough, how little you rich menreally know! I've got to live on it until I can do better, and I hopethat will be very soon. If I am worth anything now, in three months Iought to be worth certainly as much as twenty-five dollars a week. In alittle while--as soon as I've caught on to the business--I'm going toask for a larger salary, and I think I shall get it. Twenty-five dollarsa week won't go very far, but you don't know how little some people canlive on even in New York. "

"As soon as the six hundred dollars go you'll be headed straight forstarvation, " he protested, sincerely worried. 

"Perhaps, but I doubt it. "

"How much do you have to pay for your rooms?"

"Twenty-five dollars a month. It isn't much of a place, you see, as faras appearances go. Fortunately, I have a little furniture of my ownwhich Mrs. Fowler had given me. "

His embarrassment had passed away, and he was smiling now at therecollection of it. 

"Well, you're a brick, little girl, " he said, "and I like your spirit, but, after all, why can't you put your pride in your pocket, and let melend you a few thousands? You needn't borrow much--not enough to keep acarriage--but you might at least take a little just to show you aren'tproud--just to show you'll be friends. It seems a downright shame that Ishould have money to throw away, and you should be starting out to pinchand scrape on fifteen dollars a week. Fifteen dollars a week! Good Lord, what are we coming to?"

She was not proud, and she wanted to be friends, but she shook her headobstinately, though she was still smiling. "Not now--not while I canhelp it--but if I ever get in trouble--in real trouble--I'll rememberyour offer. If the children fall ill or I lose my place, I'll come toyou in a minute. "

"Honour bright? It's a promise?"

"It's a promise. "

"And you'll let me keep an eye on you?"

She laughed with the natural gaiety which he found so delightful. "Youmay keep two eyes on me if you will!"

He had already reached the door when, turning suddenly, he said withheavy gravity: "You don't mind my asking what you're going to do aboutGeorge, do you?

"No, I don't mind. As soon as I can afford it, I shall get my freedom, but everything costs, you know, even justice. "

"I could help you there, couldn't I?"

From the gratitude in her eyes he read her horror of the marriage whichstill bound her. "You could--and, oh, if you would, I'd never, neverforget it, " she answered. 

Then they parted, and he went out into the cold, with a strange warmthlike the fire of youth at his heart, while she ran eagerly up theuncarpeted stairs to the nursery. 

The trunks were packed, the boxes were nailed down, and the two childrenwere playing shipwreck while they ate a supper of bread and milk at atable made from the bare top of a packing-case. Several days before thenurse had left without warning, and Miss Polly sat now, in hat andmantle, on one of the little beds which would be taken down the next dayand sent over to the apartment on the West Side. 

"I've been to the Carolina and unpacked the things that had come, " shesaid at Gabriella's entrance. "Those rooms ain't so bad as New Yorkrooms go; but it does seem funny, don't it, to cook in the same kitchenwith a lot of strangers you never laid eyes on befo'? I br'iled somechops for the children right alongside of an old maid who had come allthe way up from New Orleans to study music--imagine, at her age! Why, she couldn't be a day under fifty! And on the other side there was themother of a girl who's at the art school, or whatever you call it, wherethey teach you paintin'. They are from somewhere up yonder in NewEngland and their home folks had sent 'em a pumpkin pie. She gave me aslice of it, but I never did think much of pumpkin. It can't hold acandle to sweet potato pudding, and I wouldn't let the children touchit for fear it might set too heavy in the night. I ain't got much usefor Yankee food, nohow. "

"I hope the place is perfectly sanitary, " was Gabriella's anxiousrejoinder. "The front room gets some sunshine in the afternoon, doesn'tit?"

"It's a horrid street. I don't want to live there, " wailed Fanny, whohad rebelled from the beginning against her fallen fortunes. "I got mywhite shoes dirty, and there were banana peels all about. A man has afruit-stand in the bottom of our house. Don't let's go there to live, mother. "

"You'll have to wear black shoes now, darling, and you mustn't mind thefruit-stand. It will be a good place to buy oranges. "

"I like it, " said Archibald stoutly. "I like to slide on banana peels, and I like the man. He has black eyes and a red handkerchief in hispocket. Will you buy me a red handkerchief, mamma? He has a boy, too. Isaw him. He can skate on roller skates, and the boy has a dog and thedog has a black ear. May I have roller skates for my birthday, and adog--a small one--and may I ask the boy up to play with me?"

"But the boy is ugly and so is the dog. I hate ugly people, " complainedFanny. 

"I like ugly people, " retorted Archibald, glowering, not from anger, butfrom earnestness. "Ugly people are nicer than pretty ones, aren't they, mamma? Pang is nicer than Fanny. "

He was always like that even as a baby, always on the side of theunfortunate, always fighting valiantly for the under dog. With his largehead, his grotesque spectacles, and his pouting lips, he bore a curiousresemblance to a brownie, yet when one observed him closely, one sawthat there was a remarkable blending of strength and sweetness in hisexpression. 

The next day Miss Polly finished the moving, and at six o'clockGabriella went home in the Harlem elevated train to the grim, weather-beaten apartment house on the upper West Side. The pavements, asFanny had scornfully observed, were not particularly clean; the air, inspite of the sharp wind which blew from the river, had a curiouslystagnant quality; and the rumble of the elevated road, at the oppositeside of the house, reached her in a vibrating undercurrent which waspunctuated now and then by the staccato cries of the street. The house, which had been built in a benighted and spacious period, stood now as anenduring refuge for the poor in purse but proud in spirit. A few studioson the roof were still occupied by artists, while the hospitablebasement sheltered a vegetable market, a corner drug-store, afruit-stand, and an Italian bootblack. Within the bleak walls, fromwhich the stucco had peeled in splotches, the life of the city had ebbedand flowed for almost half a century, like some deep wreck-strewncurrent which bore the seeds of the future as well as the driftwood ofthe past on its bosom. One might never have set foot outside thosegloomy doors and yet have seen the whole of life pass as in a vividdream through the dim halls, lighted by flickering gas and carpeted inworn strips of brown carpet. And once inside the apartments one mighthave found, sometimes, cheerfulness, beauty of line and colour, and acertain spaciousness which the modern apartment house, with its roomslike closets, its startling electricity, and its more hygienicconditions of living, could not provide. It was because she could findspace there that Gabriella, guided by Miss Polly, had rented the rooms. 

She passed the drug-store and the fruit-stand, entered the narrow hail, where a single gas-jet flickered dimly beside the door of the elevator, and after touching the bell, stood patiently waiting. After a time sherang again, and presently, with deliberate ease and geniality, the negrowho worked the elevator descended slowly, with a newspaper in his hand, and opened the door for her. 

"Good evening, Robert, " she said pleasantly, for he also was fromVirginia, and the discovery of the bond between them had given Gabriellaa feeling of confidence. Like Miss Folly, she had never become entirelyaccustomed to white servants. 

The ropes moved again, the elevator ascended perilously to the fifthfloor, and Gabriella walked quickly along the hall, and slipped herlatchkey into the keyhole of the last apartment. As the door opened, awoman in worn black came out and spoke to her in passing. She was theold maid of Miss Folly's narrative, and her face, ardent, haggard, withthe famished look which comes from a starved soul, gazed back atGabriella with a touching expression of admiration and envy. There werespots of vivid colour in her cheeks, and this brightness, combined withher gray hair, gave her a theatrical and artificial appearance. 

"I have been playing to your little boy, Mrs. Carr, " she said with themanner which Miss Polly had described as "flighty. " "He came into myroom when he heard the piano, and it was a real pleasure to play forhim. "

"You are very good, " returned Gabriella, wondering vaguely who she was, for she was obviously the kind of woman people wondered about. "I hopeArchibald didn't make himself troublesome. "

"Oh, no, I enjoyed him. My name is Danton. I am Miss Danton, " she addedeffusively, "and I'm so glad you have come into this apartment. My roomis the one next to yours. "

Then she fluttered off, with her look of spiritual hunger, and Gabriellaclosed the door and went on to her rooms, which were at the opposite endof the hail from the kitchen. On the way she passed the pretty artstudent, who was coming from the bathroom, with a freshly powdered faceand a pitcher of water in her hand, and again she was obliged to stop tohear news of the children. 

"I'm so glad to have your little girl here. I want to paint her. I'mjust crazy about her face, " said the girl, whose name she learnedafterwards was Rosy Plover. Though she was undeniably pretty, and hadjust powdered her face with scented powder, she had a slovenly, unkemptappearance which Gabriella, from that moment, associated with artstudents. "If she'd only dress herself properly, she'd be a beauty, " shethought, with the aversion of one who is an artist in clothes. Sheherself, after her long, hard day, was as neat and trim as she had beenin the morning. Her severe black suit was worn with grace, and hungperfectly; her crape collar was immaculately fresh; her mourning veilfell in charming folds over her hat brim. "It's a pity some one can'ttell her, " she mused, as she smiled and hurried on to the doubtfulseclusion of her own end of the apartment. 

With the opening of the door, the children fell rapturously into herarms, and while she took off her hat and coat, Miss Polly laid thetable for supper in front of the ruddy glow of the fire. On the fender aplate of buttered toast was keeping warm, a delicious aroma of coffeescented the air, and a handful of red carnations made a cheerful bit ofcolour in the centre of the white tablecloth. It was a pleasant picturefor a tired woman to gaze on, and the ruddy glow of the fire wasreflected in Gabriella's heart while she enfolded her children. After aday in Madame's hothouse atmosphere, it was delightful to return to thislittle centre of peace and love, and to feel that its very existencedepended upon the work of her brain and hands. The children, sherealized, had never loved her so dearly. In better days, when she wasrarely separated from them for more than a few hours at a time, they hadseemed rather to take her care and her presence for granted; but now, after an absence of nine hours, she had become a delight and anenchantment, something to be looked forward to and longingly talkedabout through the whole afternoon. 

"Mother, you've been away forever, " said Fanny, folding her veil for herand putting away her furs. 

"Are you going every day just like this for ever and ever?

"Every day, darling, but I'm here every night. Shall I run back to thekitchen and broil the chops, Miss Polly?"

But the chops were already broiled, for Miss Polly had finished hersewing early, and she had beaten up two tiny cups of custard for thechildren. 

"It's nicer than nursery suppers, isn't it, Fanny?" asked Archibald alittle later while he ate his bread and milk from a blue bowl. "Mother, I like being poor. Let's stay poor always. "

A phrase of Mrs. Fowler's, "happiness costs so little, " floated throughGabriella's mind as she poured Miss Folly's coffee out of the tin coffeepot. She was so tired that her body ached; her feet were smarting andthrobbing from the long standing; and her eyes stung from the cold windand the glare of the elevated train; but she knew that in spite of thesediscomforts she was not unhappy--that she was, indeed, far happier thanshe had been for the past six years in the hushed suspense of herfather-in-law's house. When she had carried the supper things back tothe sink in the kitchen, had taught the children their lessons, heardtheir prayers, and put them to bed, she repeated the words to herselfwhile she sat sewing beside the lamp in front of the comforting glow ofthe fire, "After all, happiness costs so little. "

The next morning, and on every morning throughout the winter, she was upby six o'clock, and had taken in the baker's rolls and the bottle ofmilk from the outer door before Miss Polly or the children werestirring. Then, having dressed quickly, she ran back to the kitchen andmade the coffee and boiled the eggs while the other lodgers were stillsleeping. Sometimes the mother of one of the art students would join herover the gas range, but usually her neighbours slept late and thendarted through the hall in kimonos, with tumbled hair, to a hurriedbreakfast at the kitchen table. 

Her life was so busy that there was little time for anxiety, and lessfor futile and painful dwelling upon the past. To get through the day asbest she could, to start the children well and in a good humour, to makeherself useful, if not indispensable, to Madame, to return with a mindclear and fresh enough to give Fanny and Archibald intelligent lessons, to sew on their clothes or her own until midnight, and then to drop intobed, with aching limbs and a peaceful brain, too tired even todream--these things made the life that she looked forward to, week afterweek, month after month, year after year. It was a hard life, as MissPolly often remarked, but hard or soft, her strength was equal to it, her health was good, her interest in her work and in her children neverflagged for a minute. Only on soft spring days, coming home in the dusk, she would sometimes pass carts filled with hyacinths, and in a wave thememory of Arthur and of her first love would rush over her. Then shewould see Arthur's face, gentle, protective, tender, as it had looked onthat last evening, and for an instant her lost girlhood and hergirlhood's dream would envelop her like the fragrance of flowers. Atsuch moments she thought of this love as tenderly as a mother might havethought of the exquisite dead face of an infant who had lived only anhour. Though it was over, though it bore no part, with its elusiveloveliness, in her practical plans for the future, this dream becamegradually, as the years passed, the most radiant and vital thing in herlife. Though it was so vague as to be without warmth, it was as vividand as real as light. The knowledge that in the past she had knownperfect love, even though in her blindness she had thrust it aside, wasa balm which healed her wounds and gave her courage to go on, friendlessand alone, into the loveless stretch of the future. There was hardly aminute of her day for the next three years which was not sweetened bythis hyacinth-scented dream of the past, there was hardly an hour of herdrudgery which was not ennobled and irradiated by the splendour of thislove that she had lost. 

Of George--even of George as the father of her children--she rarelythought. He had dropped out of her life like any other mistake, like anyother illusion, and she was too sanguine by nature, too buoyant, toofull of happiness and of energy, to waste herself on either mistakes orillusions. During the months when she had waited for her freedom she hadresolutely put the thought of him out of her mind, and when at last herdivorce was granted, she dismissed the fact as completely as if it hadnot changed the entire course of her life. The past was over, and onlythat part of it should live which contributed sweetness and beauty tothe present--only that part of it which she could use in the better andstronger structure of the future. Whatever living meant in the end, shetold herself each morning as she started out to her work, it must mean, not resignation, not inertia, but endeavour, enterprise, and courage. 

CHAPTER IV

THE DREAM AND THE YEARS

In one of the small fitting-rooms, divided by red velvet curtains ongilt rods from the long showrooms of Madame Dinard, a nervous group, comprising the head skirt fitter, the head waist fitter, Miss Bellman, the head saleswoman, and Madame herself, stood disconsolately around theindignant figure of Mrs. Weederman Pletheridge, who, attired in one ofMadame's costliest French models, was gesticulating excitedly in thecentre of four standing mirrors. For three years Mrs. Pletheridge hadlived in Paris, and her return to New York, and to the dressmakingestablishments of Fifth Avenue, was an event which had shaken Dinard's, if not the fashionable street in which it stood, to its foundations. 

"I don't know what is the matter with it, " she said fussily, "but itdoesn't suit me, and yet it looked so well in the hand. I wonder if Icould wear it if you were to take out some of this fulness, and changethe set of the sleeves? The fashions this spring are perfectlyhopeless. "

"Why, it suits you to perfection, Madame. Just a stitch or two likethis--and this--and it will look as if it were designed for you byWorth. Is it not so, Miss Bellman? Don't you think it is wonderful onMadame?"

Miss Bellman, having learned her part, agreed effusively, and then eachof the fitters, as she was appealed to in turn, contributed anenraptured assent to the discussion. The price of the gown was athousand dollars, and Mrs. Pletheridge's favourable decision was worthexactly that much in terms of money to Dinard's. As the season had beenscarcely a brisk one, Madame was particularly anxious to have her moreextreme models taken off her hands. "It was unpacked only yesterday, "she lied suavely, "and no one else has had so much as a glimpse of it. "

"I can't imagine what is the matter with it, " Mrs. Pletheridge sigheddejectedly, while she regarded her ample form with a resentful andcritical gaze. As long as one had nothing else to worry about, Madamereflected without sympathy, one might find cause for positive distressin the fact that a gown appeared to better advantage in the hand than onone's person. The truth--and the truth, as sometimes happens, was thelast thing Mrs. Pletheridge cared to admit--was that she had grown toostout to wear pronounced fashions. 

"Nothing could be more charming, " insisted Madame with increasedeffusion, "but if you are in doubt, let us ask the opinion of Mrs. Carr. She has the true eye of the artist--a wonderful eye. I don't knowwhether you remember Mrs. Archibald Fowler or not?" she added as theskirt fitter sped in search of Gabriella; "this is her daughter-in-law. Her husband ran away with another woman about three years ago. It made agreat sensation at the time, and his wife got a divorce from himafterwards. Ever since then she has been in my establishment. "

No, Mrs. Pletheridge did not remember Mrs. Fowler; but, having had anotorious amount of trouble with her own husbands, she was amiablydisposed toward the unfortunate daughter-in-law of the lady she couldn'tremember. Thirty years ago, as a pretty, vulgar, kind-hearted girl, shehad captured with a glance the eldest son of the newly rich Pletheridge, who had, perhaps, inherited his grandfather's genial admiration forchambermaids; but, to-day, after a generation of self-indulgence, herprettiness had coarsened, her vulgarity had hardened, and her kind hearthad withered, through lack of cultivation, to the size of a cherry. And, from having had everything she wanted for so long, she had at lastreached that melancholy state of mind when she could think of nothingmore to want. 

A brisk step crossed the room outside, the curtains were parted with acommanding movement, and Gabriella joined the anxious group surroundedby the four mirrors. 

"Did you send for me, Madame?" she asked, and waited, grave, attentive, and perfectly composed, with her hand, the small, strong hand of theCarrs, on the curtain. Her hair was brushed severely back from hercandid forehead, and though her figure had grown somewhat heavier andless girlish in line, she still wore her plain black dress and whitecollar with an incomparable distinction. Through all the hardship andsuffering of the last three years she had kept her look of brightintelligence, of radiant energy. In dress and manner she was thesuccessful woman of business, but she was the woman of business withsomething added. Though she spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, her voicehad a vibrating quality; though she wore only the plainest clothes, hergrace, her good-breeding, her indefinable charm, softened the severity. 

"Mrs. Pletheridge is uncertain about this gown, " explained Madame, "butI tell her that it suits her to perfection, as well as if it had beendesigned for her by Worth. Do you not agree with me, Mrs. Carr? Youhave, as I said to her, the true eye of the artist. "

Without changing her position or moving a step into the room, Gabriellaattentively regarded the gown and the wearer. From the mirror Mrs. Pletheridge stared back at her ill-humouredly, with a spiteful gleam inher small black eyes between the carefully darkened lids. 

"I can't imagine what is the matter with it, " she reiterated, as if shewere repeating a sad refrain, and her manner was as insolent as MissMurphy's had been to the casual customer. 

For an instant Gabriella returned her look with the steady gaze of onewho, having achieved the full courage of living, has attained also acalm insensibility to the shafts of arrogance. Three years ago she wouldhave flinched before Mrs. Pletheridge's disdain, but in those threeyears she had passed beyond the variegated tissue of appearances to thebare structure of life--she had worked and wept and starved andsuffered--and to-day her soul was invulnerable against even moredestructive weapons than the contempt of a plutocrat. Perhaps, too, though she assured herself that she was without snobbishness, there wasa secret satisfaction in the knowledge that one of her ancestors hadbeen a general under Washington while the early Pletheridges wereplanting potatoes in a peasant's patch in Ireland. Her dignity was moreassured than Madame's; for she was perfectly aware of a fact to whichMadame was blind, and this was, that, in spite of her position in thesocial columns of the newspapers and her multitudinous possessions, Mrs. Pletheridge was not, and could never be, a lady. While Gabriella stoodthere these thoughts flashed recklessly through her mind; yet sheanswered Madame's question as frankly and honestly as if the woman theywere staring at with such intentness had not been the tragic vulgarianshe was. 

"I think the gown doesn't suit her at all, " she said quietly to Madame, who made a horrified face at her over the sumptuous shoulder of Mrs. Pletheridge. "There is too much of it, too much billowy laceeverywhere. " She did not add that the coral and silver brocade gave Mrs. Pletheridge a curious resemblance to an overblown prize hollyhock. 

Madame's horrified face changed, as if under a spell, to one of abjectdespair; and a menacing frown convulsed the puffy features of Mrs. Pletheridge, while she burst out of her gorgeous sheath with a petulanthaste which expressed her inward perturbation better than words couldhave done. For a minute one could have heard a flower drop in thefitting-room; then the offended customer spoke, and her words, when shefound them, were not lacking in either force or effectiveness. "No, there's no use trying on anything else, I have an appointment atCambon's. " Cambon was Dinard's hated and wholly incompetent rival; anduntil this illuminating instant Madame had never suspected that herparticular Mrs. Pletheridge had ever entered the high white doors ofCambon's establishment. 

"But, surely, we have something else. There is a lovely Doucet model--inwhite and silver--"

But no, Mrs. Pletheridge would have none of the lovely model. "Give memy skirt at once, " she commanded haughtily, bending her opulent bosomand holding the lacy frills of her petticoat together while Agnes, theyoungest and the gentlest of the assistants, knelt at her feet with herdress skirt held invitingly open on the floor. As she inserted the toeof her exquisitely shod foot into the opening, she remarked maliciously:"It is impossible to find decent clothes in New York--one might as wellgive up trying. Paris dressmakers send you only their failures. " And, having crushed Madame to silence, she finished her dressing, fastenedher black lace veil with a flying swallow in diamonds, flung her featherboa over her shoulders, and taking up her gold chain bag, studded withrubies, marched out of the establishment with all the pomp andimpressiveness of a military parade. 

"I've lost her. She will never come back, " moaned Madame, and burst intotears. 

"But she couldn't possibly have worn that gown. She would have found itout as soon as she got home, " replied Gabriella reassuringly, though herheart was almost as heavy as Madame's. 

It was all her fault, of course, as Madame, recovering her voice as shelost her temper, began immediately to tell her. It was all her fault, and yet how could she have stood there and lied to the woman in coldblood because Madame expected it of her as a part of her work? That shehad infuriated Madame and imperilled her position she realizedperfectly; but, realizing this, she still felt that she could not havetold Mrs. Pletheridge that the gown was becoming to her. "There aretimes when one has to be honest no matter what happens, " she thoughtrebelliously, while she went back to the workroom. Had Madame dischargedher on the spot she would not have been surprised, and it was with asensation of relief that she presently saw the forewoman measuring adose of aromatic spirits of ammonia, and heard that the crisis waspassing. A little later, when she went into the showroom with a hat forMiss Bellman, she encountered Madame bonneted, cloaked, panting, withmoist eyes and raddled cheeks, preparing to take a slow airing in ahansom. As she was assisted into the vehicle by Miss Murphy and thedriver, Madame pressed her beringed hand to her forehead with adespairing gesture; then the driver cracked his whip, the horse started, and the hansom disappeared up Fifth Avenue. 

"What under the sun did you do to her?" inquired Miss Murphy, holdingher wheaten-red pompadour down in the wind. "I declare I thought atfirst it was murder!"

"I told her the truth, when she asked me, that was all. "

"Well, I never! Now what, in the name of goodness, possessed you?"

"I had to. I don't see how I could have kept from it. "

"Good gracious! There're always ways, but what sort of truth was it? Yousee, it's been so long since I've met one, " she explained airily, "thatI don't even know what they're like. "

"It was about Mrs. Pletheridge's gown--the one she wanted her to buy, you know. I told her it didn't suit her. And it didn't--you know itdidn't, " she concluded emphatically. 

"Of course it didn't, but I don't see why you had to go and tell her. "

"She asked me. They both asked me, and if I'd lied she wouldn't havebelieved me. You can't fool people so outrageously, and I wouldn't if Icould. It isn't honest, and it isn't good business. "

"Anything is good business that gets by, " remarked Miss Murphy, who hada philosophy. "I must go indoors or this wind will blow all my puffsaway. "

She departed breezily; and Gabriella, returning to the workroom, spenther afternoon patiently stitching flat garlands of flowers on the brimof a hat. When she left the house at six o'clock the April weather wasso lovely that she decided to walk all the way home; and while she movedrapidly with the crowd in Fifth Avenue, she considered anxiously thepossible disastrous results of Madame's anger. Between her and absolutewant there stood only her salary, and she had deliberately--she realizednow how deliberate her reply had been--undermined that thin and insecureprotection. Though she was now earning as much as thirty dollars a week, an illness of a year ago, when she had been obliged to stop work forseveral months, had exhausted the remains of the modest nest egg withwhich she had started; and to lose her place, she knew, would meaneither starvation or beggary. There was no one, with the exception ofCousin Jimmy, of whom she could beg, and to beg of him would be a tacitconfession that she had failed as a breadwinner. In Mrs. Carr's lastletter Charley had appeared in a new light as a reformed character, adevoted attendant at church, and an enthusiastic convert to theprohibition party; and Gabriella had gathered from her mother's piousrambling that, like other sinners who have outlived temptation, he wasdevoting his middle years to a violent crusade against the moderateindulgences of the abstemious. But Charley, she felt, was out of thequestion. She would die before she would stoop to ask help of a man shehad despised as heartily as she had once despised Charley. She must sinkor swim by her own strength, not by another's. 

"I wonder why I did it?" she asked herself again, and again she couldnot answer the question. She felt that she might have lied had it beenmerely a lie and not a test of courage before her; but she could not liesimply because she was afraid of speaking the truth. In every characterthere is one supreme vice or virtue which strikes the deepest root andblossoms most luxuriantly, and in the character of Gabriella this virtuewas courage. At the crucial moments of life some primordial instinctprompted her to fight, not to yield. "I ought to have been evasive, Isuppose, " she thought regretfully. "But how could I have been?" Therewere instants, she had discovered, when wisdom surrendered to the moremilitant virtues. 

When she reached home she found Fanny, who was fretfully recovering frominfluenza, lying on the sofa in the living-room, with Miss Polly busilystitching at her side, while Archibald, excited by a strenuous afternoonwith the son of the Italian fruit dealer, was kneeling before thewindow, making mysterious signs to a group of yellow-haired Germanchildren in the apartment house on the opposite side of the street. Both children were eagerly expecting their mother, and as soon as sheentered they grew animated and cheerful. 

She kissed and cuddled them, and listened sympathetically to theirexcited stories of the day, and of Dr. French, who had been to seeFanny, and who had waited as long as he could. 

"He's going to take us for a drive to-morrow, mother, and we're to sitin the carriage while he goes in to pay his calls, and then he's to showus the river and we're to stop somewhere to have tea. "

"Did he stay long?" asked Gabriella of Miss Folly. 

"For more than an hour, " replied Miss Folly, and commented shrewdlyafter a minute: "It looks to me as if there was more in that young manthan you can see on the surface, Gabriella. "

A blush tinged Gabriella's cheek, but she shook her head almostindignantly. "Oh, there's nothing of that kind, " she answeredemphatically, and rose to take off her hat and prepare supper. 

Since her illness of a year ago, when she had summoned the strange youngdoctor who had once been the assistant of the Fowlers' family physician, she had grown to feel a certain dependence upon Dr. French as the onlyuseful friend who was left to her. He was a thin, gray-eyed, fair-hairedyoung man, who practised largely among the poor, from choice rather thanfrom necessity, since Dr. Morton had given him an excellent start inlife. His pale, ascetic face had attracted Gabriella from their firstmeeting; there was the flamelike enthusiasm of the visionary in hiseyes; and he had, she thought, the most beautiful and sympathetic handsshe had ever seen. Even Fanny, who was usually impervious to sensitiveimpressions, felt the charm of his touch when he stroked her forehead orplaced his long, delicate fingers on her wrist. From that first visit hehad been a source of comfort and strength to Gabriella; but of late shehad felt moments of uneasiness when she was with him. Was it possible, she asked herself now, as she went back to the kitchen to stew theoysters Miss Polly had bought for supper, that the kindly doctor wasmisinterpreting the simple and unaffected nature of her friendship? Forherself she felt that she had put the reality of love out of her life, and that if the emotion existed for her at all, it existed only as adream and a regret. She enshrined the memory of Arthur in something ofthe sentimental worship which Mrs. Carr had consecrated to Gabriel aftershe had lost him. It was an exquisite consolation to her to feel that ifthings had been otherwise, she might have loved a man with the whole ofher nature--with both body and spirit; there were even moments in thespring of the year, when, softened by the caressing air and the scent ofhyacinths, she felt that she did so love a memory; but beyond this herfeeling was as bodiless and ethereal as the vague image to which it wasdedicated. And yet this gentle regret was all that she wanted of love. 

In the kitchen she found Miss Danton, the musical spinster, making herscant supper of tea and toast on the gas-range. Though the hectic flushstill burned in Miss Danton's cheeks, the famished look in her eyesseemed to have devoured all the strength of her body, and she moved likeone who has run to the point of exhaustion and is about to drop to theground. Long ago Gabriella had heard her story, and she understood nowthat the yearning in her face was the yearning for life, which she hadrejected in her youth, and which, in middle-age, had eluded her. As ayoung girl, aflame with temperament, she had sacrificed herself to awidowed father and a family of little brothers and sisters in a smalltown in the South. For thirty years she had fought down her dreams andher impulses; for thirty years she had cooked, washed, ironed, andsewed, until the children had all grown up and married, and her father, after a long illness, had died in her arms. On her fifty-second birthdayher freedom had come--freedom not only from cares and responsibilities, but from love, from duty, from the constant daily thought that she wasnecessary to some one who depended on her. At fifty-three, with brokenhealth and a few thousand dollars brought from the sale of the old home, she had come to New York to study music as she had dreamed of doing whenshe was young. And the tragedy of it was that she had a gift, she hadtemperament, she had genuine artistic feeling. 

"When I remember the way I used to cook for the children, " she remarkedwhile she measured a teaspoonful of green tea into a little Japanesetea-pot, "why, I'd think nothing of roasting a turkey when we had one atChristmas or Thanksgiving, and now, I declare, it seems too much troubleto do more than make a pot of tea. Sometimes I don't even take thetrouble to toast my bread. "

"You ought to eat, " replied Gabriella, briskly. "When one gets run down, one never looks at life fairly. " True to her fundamental common sense, she had never underestimated the importance of food as a prop forphilosophy. 

"I'd never eat if I could help it, " rejoined Miss Danton, with theabhorrence of the aesthetic temperament for material details. "It'squeer the thoughts I have sometimes, " she added irrelevantly as she satdown before the kitchen table, and poured out a cup of tea. "I don'tknow what's come over me, but I'd give anything on earth--if it wasn'twicked I'd almost give my soul--to be your age and to be starting tolive my life. I never had any life. It wasn't fair. I never had any, "she repeated bitterly, dropping a lump of sugar into her cup. 

"Well, I've had my troubles, too, " observed Gabriella, busily stirringthe oysters. 

"You've had them and you'll have others. It doesn't matter--nothingreally matters as long as you're young. It's all a part of the game, trouble and everything else--everything except old age and death. I'mgetting old--I'm getting old, and I began too late, and that's the worstthat can happen to a woman. Do you know I never had a love affair in mylife, " she pursued bitterly after a moment. "I never had love, orpleasure, or anything but work and duty--and now it's too late. It's toolate for it all, " she finished, rising to take her toast from the oven. 

"Poor thing, she exaggerates so dreadfully, " thought Gabriella. "Ibelieve it comes from drinking too much green tea"; and she resolvedthat she would never touch green tea as long as she lived. Like mostwomen whose love had ended not in unfulfilment, but in satiety andbitterness, she was inclined to deny the supreme importance of thepassion in the scheme of life. As a deserted wife and the mother of twochildren, she felt that she could live for years without the desire, without even the thought of romantic love in her mind. "I wonder why I, who have known and lost love, should be so much freer from thatobsession than poor Miss Danton, who has never been loved in her life?"she asked herself while she carried the supper tray down the long halland into the living-room. 

Some hours later, when the children were asleep, and Gabriella satdarning Archibald's stockings beside the kerosene lamp, she described toMiss Polly the scene with Madame and Mrs. Pletheridge. 

"I don't know how it will end. She may discharge me to-morrow, " shedeliberated, as she cut off a length of black darning cotton, and bentover to thread her needle. "I wonder what I ought to do?"

"Well, now, ain't that exactly like you, Gabriella, " scolded Miss Polly;"but when you come to think of it, " she conceded after a minute or two, "I reckon we're all made like that in the beginning. Why, I remember wayback yonder in the 'seventies how I was always tryin' to persuade awoman with a skinny figure not to wear a cuirass basque and a woman witha stout figure not to put on a draped polonaise. I got to know betterpresently, and you will, too, before you've been at it much longer. Theyall think they can look like fashion plates--the skinniest and thestoutest alike--and there ain't a bit of use tryin' to undeceive 'em. The last thing a woman ever sees straight is her figure. "

"I can't help feeling, " demurred Gabriella, forsaking the moral issuefor the argument of mere expediency, "that honesty is good business. "

"Well, it ain't, " retorted Miss Polly sharply. "It may be good religionand good behaviour, but there's one thing it certainly ain't, and thatis good business. How many of these rich men we read about in the papersdo you reckon spend their time settin' around and bein' honest? Mind youI ain't sayin' I'd lie or steal myself, Gabriella, but I'm poor, andwhat I'm sayin' is that when you feel that way about it, you're aslikely to stay poor as not. "

But the next day, life, with one of those startling surprises which defyphilosophy and make drama, confirmed the most illogical of Gabriella'sassumptions. Madame, coming in late, with a blotched face and puffyeyelids, had dispatched her to the workroom, and she was sitting beforeone of the long tables, embroidering azure beads on a black collar, whenAgnes darted through the door and jerked the needle out of her hand. 

"Madame is asking for you. Come as quick as you can!" she criedexcitedly, and sped back again to the shelter of the artificialrose-bushes at the end of the hall. 

Rising hurriedly, and brushing the scraps of silk from her cloth skirtas she walked, Gabriella followed the sound of Madame's wheedling voice, and found herself, as she parted the curtains of a fitting-room, in theopulent presence of Mrs. Pletheridge. 

"Yes, as I told you, we trust implicitly to Mrs. Carr's eye. She has thetrue eye of the artist, " Madame simpered fawningly as she entered. "Didyou send for me?" asked Gabriella, business-like and alert on thethreshold. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Carr! I told Madame Dinard that I wanted you to waiton me. I want some one who tells me the truth, " explained Mrs. Pletheridge so graciously that Gabriella would hardly have recognizedher. Something--sleep, pleasure, or pious meditation--had alteredovernight not only her temper but even the fleshly vehicle of itsuncertain manifestations. Her features appeared to have adjustedthemselves to the size of her face, and she spoke quite affably, thoughstill with her manner of addressing an inferior. 

"I want you to show me something that will really suit me, " she said. "Ithink the grayish-green cloth from Blandin might be copied in silver, but I should like you to see it on me. I know you will tell me what youreally think. " Her voice faltered and deepened to a note of pathos. 

"Poor woman, " thought Gabriella, "it must be hard for her to get peopleto tell her what they really think, " and she added exultantly while shewent for the gowns: "If I satisfy her now, I am saved with Madame!"

When she returned, with the green cloth in one hand and a charminglavender crêpe tea-gown in the other, she approached Mrs. Pletheridgewith the manner of intelligent sympathy, of serene and smilingcompetence, which had made her so valuable to Madame as a saleswoman. She had the air not only of seeking to please, but of knowing just howto go about the difficult matter of pleasing. With the eye of an artistin dress, she analyzed Mrs. Pletheridge's possibilities; and softeninghere and there her pronounced features, succeeded presently in producinga charming and harmonious whole. By the time a dozen gowns were tried onand their available points discussed and criticised in detail, Mrs. Pletheridge had given the largest order ever received by the house, andwas throwing out enthusiastic hints of an even greater munificence inthe future. She left at last in a thoroughly good humour not only withDinard's, but with her own rejuvenated attractions; and Gabriella, exhausted but triumphant, watched Agnes gather up the French models fromchairs and sofas and carry them back to the obscurity of the closets. Inher heart there was both peace and rejoicing because her belief in lifehad been justified. In spite of Madame, in spite of Miss Polly, in spiteof experience, the day had proved that it was, after all, "goodbusiness" to be honest. Though she was still in debt, though she wasstill compelled to scrimp and save over market bills, nevertheless shefelt that her work had progressed beyond the experimental stages, andthat her place at Dinard's was secured until some better openingappeared. For that morning at least she had made herself indispensableto Madame. For years, she knew, Madame had striven fawningly for theexclusive patronage of Mrs. Pletheridge, and she, Gabriella, hadattained it, without loss of pride or self-respect, by a few words ofhonest and sensible criticism. She had applied her intelligence to thesituation, and her intelligence had served Dinard's more successfullythan Madame's duplicity had done. 

At home she found Dr. French, who had just brought the delightedchildren back from their drive. When she thanked him, she saw that therewas a glow of pleasure in his rather delicate face, and that this glowlent an expression of ecstasy to his dark-gray eyes--the eyes of amystic and a dreamer. "I wonder how he ever became a physician, " shethought. "He is more like a priest--like a priest of the Middle Ages. "But aloud she only said: "You have done them a world of good. Fanny hasgot some of her colour back already, and that means an appetite forsupper. "

"We had tea, " broke in Archibald, with enthusiasm, "but it was reallymilk, and we had cake, but it was really bread and butter. " He looked sowell and vigorous that Gabriella called the doctor's attention to theanimation in his face. "If only he didn't have to wear glasses, " shesaid. "I'm so afraid it will interfere with his love of sports. Hisambition is to be captain of a football team and to write poetry. "

"It's a queer combination, " responded the doctor, smiling his slightlywhimsical smile. He was rather short, with an almost imperceptible limp, and he had, as he put it, "never gone in for sports. " "There's so muchelse when one comes to think of it, " he added, pausing, with his hat inhis hand, at the door; "there are plenty of ways of having fun evenwithout football. " Then he turned away from the children, and saiddirectly to Gabriella:

"Will you come out with me to-morrow? It is Sunday. "

"And leave the children?" she asked a little blankly. 

"And leave the children!" He was laughing, but it occurred to hersuddenly, for the first time, that her maternal raptures were beginningto bore him. For a year she had believed that his interest in her wasmainly a professional interest in the children; and now she wasconfronted with the disturbing fact that he wanted to be rid of thechildren for a few hours at least, that he evidently saw in hersomething besides the overwhelming force of her motherhood. 

"But I never leave them on Sunday. It is the only day I have with them, "she answered. 

"Don't go, mother! You mustn't go!" cried Fanny, and clung to her. 

"Oh, very well, " returned Dr. French, dismissing the subject withirritation. "But you look pale, and I thought the air might do yougood. "

He went away rather abruptly, while Gabriella stood looking at MissPolly in regret and perplexity. "I hope I didn't hurt his feelings bydeclining, " she said; and then, as the children raced into the nurseryto take off their coats, she added slowly, "He couldn't expect me to gowithout them. "

"If you want to know what I think, " replied Miss Polly flatly, "it isthat he's just sick to death of the children. You've stuck them down histhroat until he's had as much of them as he can swallow. "

For a moment Gabriella considered this ruefully. 

"You don't honestly believe that he's interested in me in that way?" shedemanded in a horrified whisper. 

"I don't know but one way in which a man's ever interested in a woman, "retorted Miss Polly. "It's either that way or it's none at all, as faras I can see. But if I was you, honey, I'd drop him a littleencouragement now and then, just to keep up his spirits. Men ain't nomo' than flesh and blood, after all" and it's natural that he shouldn'tbe as crazy about the children as you are. "

"But why should I encourage him? Even if you are right, I couldn't marryhim. I could never marry again. "

"I'd like to know why not, if you get a chance? You're free enough, ain't you?"

"Yes, it isn't that--but I couldn't. "

"You ain't hankerin' after George, are you, Gabriella?"

"After George? No!" responded Gabriella with so sincere an accent thatMiss Polly jumped. 

"Well, I'm glad you ain't, " observed the seamstress soothingly as shestooped to pick up her sewing. "I shouldn't think he was worth hankerin'after, myself, but you've looked kind of peaked and thin this spring, soI've just been wonderin'. "

"I never loved George. It was madness, nothing else, " returnedGabriella, and she really believed it. 

"Well, your thinkin' it madness now don't mean it wan't love ten yearsago, " commented Miss Polly, with the shrewdness of a detached andobservant spinster. 

"I suppose you're right, " admitted Gabriella thoughtfully. Though shehad not mentioned Arthur, her mind was full of him, and she wasperfectly convinced that she had loved him all her life--even during herbrief period of "madness. " It was a higher love, she felt, so muchhigher, indeed, that it had been too spiritual, too ethereal, to takeroot in the earthly soil from which her passion for George had sprung. But, if it were not love, why was it that every faint stirring of heremotions revived the memory so poignantly? Why was it that Miss Polly'ssentimental interpretation of the doctor's interest evoked the image ofArthur?

"No, I never think of George--never, " she repeated, and her fine, purefeatures assumed an expression of sternness. "But I shan't marry again, "she went on after a pause in which Miss Polly's sewing-machine buzzedcheerfully over its work. "I've had enough of marriage to last me forone lifetime. "

The machine stopped, and Miss Polly, snipping the thread as she came tothe end of a seam, turned squarely to answer. "Don't you be too sureabout that, honey. You may have had enough to last you for ten years orso, but wait till you've turned forty, and if the hankerin' for lovedon't catch you at forty, you may begin to expect it somewhere aroundfifty. Why, just look at that poor piano-playin' old maid in there. Wouldn't you think she'd have done with it? Well, she ain't--she ain't, and you ain't either, for that matter, I don't care how hard you argue!"

"There are ten happy years ahead of me anyhow!" rejoined Gabriella, witha ringing laugh--the laugh, as Dr. French had once remarked, of a womanwho is sound to the core. She had triumphed over the past, and was notafraid, she told herself valiantly, of the future. 

At the beginning of July the children went with Miss Polly to thecountry, and Gabriella, after seeing them off, turned back alone tobegin a long summer of economy and drudgery. In order to keep Fanny andArchibald out of town she was obliged to deny herself every unnecessarycomfort--luxuries she had given up long ago--and to stay at Dinard's, inMadame's place, through the worst weeks of the year, when the showroomwas deserted except for an occasional stray Southerner, and even the sixarrogant young women were away on vacations. Even if she had had thechance, the money for a trip would have been lacking, and to fillMadame's conspicuous place gave her, she realized, a certain importanceand authority in the house. There was opportunity, in a small way, towork out some of her ideas of system and order, and there was sufficienttime to think out a definite and practical plan for the future. Her aimfrom the first had been, not only to catch on, but to master the detailsof the business, and she knew that, in spite of Madame's sporadicattempts to keep her in her place, she was gradually making herselffelt--she was slowly impressing her individual methods upon theestablishment. Madame was no longer what she once was, and the businesswas showing it. She was getting old, she was growing tired, and hernaturally careless methods of work were fastening upon her. In the lastyears she had offered less and less resistance to her tendency to letgo, to leave loose ends ungathered, to allow opportunities to slip outof her grasp, to be inexact and unsystematic. There was urgent need of astrong hand at Dinard's, if the business was to be kept from runninggradually downhill, and Gabriella became convinced, as the days passed, that hers was the only hand in the house strong enough to check theperilous descent to failure. Her plans were made, her scheme arranged, but, as Madame was both jealous and suspicious, she saw that she mustmove very cautiously. 

There were times--since this is history, not romance--when her spiritsflagged and her strength failed her. The heat of the summer was intense, and the breathless days dragged on interminably into the breathlessnights. When her work was over she would wait until the last of herfellow-workers had gone home, and then walk across to Sixth Avenue andtake the Harlem elevated train for her deserted rooms, which appearedmore desolate, more ugly than ever because the children were absent. Inthe lonely kitchen--for Miss Danton and the art students were allaway--she would eat her supper of bread and tea, which she drankwithout cream because it was more economical; and then, lighting herlamp, she would sew or read until midnight. Sometimes, when it was toohot for the lamp, and she found it impossible to work by the flickeringgas, she would sit by her window and look down on the panting humanityin the street below--on the small shopkeepers seated in chairs on thesidewalk, on the little son of the Italian fruiterer playing with hisdog, on the three babies of the Jewish tobacco merchant, sprawling inthe door of the tiny shop which was pressed like a sardine between abakery and a dairy. She was alone in the apartment, and there were lateafternoons when the grim emptiness of the rooms seemed haunted, when sheshrank back in apprehensive foreboding as she turned her key in thelock, when the profound silence within preyed on her nerves like anobsession. On these days she dreaded to go down the long hail to thekitchen, where the fluttering clothes-lines on fire-escapes at the backof the next apartment house offered the only suggestion of humancompanionship in the unfriendly wilderness of the city. The sight of thechildren's toys, of Fanny's story books, of Archibald's roller skates, moved her to tears once or twice; and when this happened she caughtherself up sharply and struggled with the vague, malignant demon ofmelancholy. 

"Whatever comes, I must not lose my courage, " she told herself at suchtimes. "If I lose my courage I shall have nothing left. "

Then she would put on her hat, and go down into the street, where theunwashed children swarmed like insects over the pavements, and the airwas as hot and parched as the air of a desert. If the mother of theJewish babies sat on her doorstep, she would stop for a little talk withher about the heat and the health of the children, and the increasingprice of whatever one happened to buy in the market, or, perhaps, if thefruit stall still kept open, she would ask after the Italian's littleboy, and stop to pat Archibald's friend, the white mongrel with theblack ear. She had left her acquaintances when she left Fifty-seventhStreet, and, with the exception of Judge Crowborough, who telephonedoccasionally to inquire if she needed assistance, she was withoutfriends in New York. Patty wrote often from Paris, but Billy was happywith his work, and they said nothing of returning to America. In thewhole city, outside of Dinard's, she knew only Dr. French, and from himshe had had no word or sign for several months. 

It was on one of these depressing evenings, while she was boiling an eggin the kitchen, that the ringing of the door-bell reverberated with anuncanny sound through the empty apartment. Spurred by an instinctivefear of a telegram, she ran to open the door, and found Dr. Frenchstanding in the dimly lighted hail, with the negro Robert grinningcheerfully at his back. 

"I am so glad, " she said, "so glad, " and her voice shook in spite of theeffort she made. 

"I've been thinking about you all summer, " he explained, "and the otherday I passed you in the street as you were coming from work. You are notlooking well. Is it the heat?"

"No, it isn't the heat. I think it is the loneliness. You see it is sodifferent not having the children to come back to in the afternoon, andwhen I get lonely I see things in false proportions. This apartment hasbeen like a grave to me all summer. "

She led the way into the living-room, where her sewing, a blue cambricfrock she was scalloping for Fanny, was lying on the chair by thewindow. "Things are all upset. I hope you won't mind, " she addedapologetically while she folded the dress and laid it aside, "butnothing seems to matter when I sit here all by myself. "

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, I work all day. There is really very little to do except plan forthe autumn, and I like that. Madame is in Paris, and I am in charge ofthe place. "

"And in the evenings?"

She laughed with recovered spirit. "In the evening I sew and read andmope. "

"Well, we must change all that, " he said, with a tenderness whichbrought tears to her eyes. "Why can't you come out with me somewhere todinner?"

Three years ago, when she was first separated from George, she wouldhave evaded the suggestion; but to-night, at the end of the long summer, she caught eagerly at the small crumb of pleasure. 

"Oh, I'd love to! Only wait until I put out the stove and tidy my hair. "

"I want to see what you have to eat, " he remarked in his whimsical tone, as he followed her back into the kitchen. "Only an egg!"

"It is so hot. I wasn't hungry, but I am now, " she replied gaily, herthin face flushing to beauty. After her loneliness there was a delightin being cared for, in being scolded. "But for the mistake I made thismight happen to me always, " she thought, and her mind went back toArthur. 

When she came out of her room, wearing a fresh linen blouse, with herhair smoothly brushed, and her eyes sparkling with pleasure, he wasgazing abstractedly down into the street, and she was obliged to speaktwice to him before he heard her and turned. At last he broke away, almost with an effort, from his meditation, and when he looked at hershe saw that there was the mystic gleam in his eyes--the light as of astar shining through clouds--which attracted her so strongly. Thethought flashed through her vague impressions, "He loves me. I may winhim by a smile, by a word, by a look, " and, for a minute, she rested onthe certainty with an ineffable sense of peace, of ease, of deep inwardrejoicing. "Love is everything. There is nothing worth while exceptlove, " she thought; and love meant to her then, not passion, not evenromance, but comfort, tenderness, and the companionship that sweetensthe flat monotony of daily living. Then, beneath the beauty andsweetness of the vision, she felt the vein of iron in her soul as shehad felt it whenever she struggled to escape the sterner issues of life. The face of Arthur rose in her memory, tender, wistful, protecting, andyoung with the eternal youth of desire. No, love was not for her again. Not for the second time would she betray the faith of her Dream. 

They dined at a little French restaurant, where the green-shaded lights, festooned with grape leaves, shed a romantic pallor over their faces, and the haunting refrains of an Italian love song stirred the buriedghosts in their hearts. The doctor made her drink a glass of champagne;and after her frugal meals and the weakening effect of the heat and theloneliness, the sparkle of the wine, mingling with the music and thelights, sent a sudden rush of joy through her veins. Her courage cameback to her, not in slow drops, but in a radiant flood, which pervadedher being. After the lonely months there was delight in the clasp of afriend's hand, in the glance of a friend's eye, in the sound of afriend's voice speaking her name. Life appeared divinely precious at theinstant; and by life she meant not happiness, not even fulfilment, butthe very web, the very texture and pattern of experience. 

"You're better already, " he said, with a solicitude that was moreintoxicating than wine to her. "How I wish I'd known all summer that youwere here. I might have done something to make you happy, and now I'vemissed my chance. "

"I don't think I've ever been so happy as I am to-night, " she answeredsimply, and then after a pause she let fall word by word, "After all, ittakes so little to make me happy. "

"One can tell that to look at you. You have the air of happiness. Inoticed it the first moment I saw you. And yet you have not had an easylife. There must have been terrible hours for you in the past. "

"No, I haven't had an easy life, but I love it. I mean I love living. "

"I know, I understand, " he said softly. "It is the true Americanspirit--optimism springing out of a struggle. Do you know you havealways made me think of the American spirit at its best--of itsunquenchable youth, its gallantry, its self-reliance--"

They walked back slowly through the hot, close streets, and sat for anhour beside her window-sill on which a rose geranium was blooming in anearthen pot. Now and then a breeze entered warily, stealing thefragrance from the rose geranium, and rippling the dark, strayingtendrils of Gabriella's hair. By the dim light she saw the wistfulpallor of his face, and his blue eyes, with their exalted look, whichmoved her heart to an inexpressible tenderness. 

"You are so different from other physicians, " she said in perplexity, "Ican't think of you as one, no matter how hard I try. All the others Ihave known, even old Dr. Walker, were materialists. "

"Well, I got in some way. There are fools in every school, I suppose. But if it's any comfort to you, they've done their best to get rid ofme. They don't like my theories. " When he talked of his work he seemedall at once another man to her, and she discerned presently, while shelistened to his earnest voice, that he was one of the men whoseemotional natures are nourished by an abstract and impersonalpassion--by the passion for science, for truth in its concrete form. After all, he was a mystic only in his eyes. Beneath his dreamer's facehe was a scientist to the last drop of his blood, to the last fibre ofhis being. "He can't be hurt deeply through the heart, " she thought;"only through the mind. "

"I've wondered about you all summer, " he repeated presently, "and yet Ikept away--partly, I suppose, because I was thinking too much of you. "

At his change of tone from the impersonal to the tender all the frozenself-pity in her heart seemed to melt suddenly, threatening in itsoverflow the very foundations of her philosophy. The temptation to yieldutterly, to rest for a while not on her strength, but on his, assailedher with the swiftness and the violence of a spiritual revulsion. For aninstant she surrendered to the uncontrollable force of this desire;then she drew quickly back while the world about her--the room, thewindow, the bare skeleton of the elevated road, the street, and even therose geranium blooming on the sill--became as remote and impalpable as aphantom. 

"It has been a long summer, " she heard herself saying from a distance ina thin and colourless voice. 

"And you suffered?"

"Sometimes, but I'm interested in my work, and I've been thinking andplanning all summer. "

For a moment he was silent, and though she did not look at him, shecould feel his intense gaze on her face. The breeze, scented with rosegeranium, touched her forehead like the healing and delicate stroke ofhis fingers. 

"You are still so young, so vital, not to have something else in yourlife, " he went on presently in a voice so charged with feeling that hereyes filled while she listened to it. 

"I have had love, and I have my children. "

"But you will love again? You will marry again some day?"

She shook her head, hearing, above the street cries and the muffledrumble of the elevated train, a voice that said: "I shall never give youup, Gabriella!" To her weakened nerves there appeared, with thevividness of an hallucination, the memory of Arthur as he had looked inher school-days when she had first loved him; and in this hallucinationshe saw him, not as he was in reality, but divinely glorified andenkindled by the light her imagination had created around him. 

"No, I shall never love again, I shall never love again, " she answeredat last, while a feeling of exultation surged through her. 

"You mean, " his voice shook a little, "that your husband still holdsyou?"

"My husband? No, I never think of my husband. "

"Is there some one else?"

Before answering she looked up at him, and by his face she knew that herreply would cost her his friendship. She wanted his friendship--at themoment she felt that she would gladly give a year of her life for it. Itmeant companionship instead of loneliness, it meant plenty instead offamine. Yet only for an instant, only while she stopped to draw breath, did she hesitate. "Women must learn to be honourable, " she found herselfthinking suddenly with an extraordinary intensity. 

"Yes, there is some one else--there has always been some one else, " shesaid, driven on by an impulsive desire for full confession, for absolutecandour. "When I met George I was engaged to another man, and I haveloved that man all my life. "

She had confessed all, she told herself; and the remarkable part wasthat she really believed her confession--she was honestly convinced thatshe had spoken only the truth. Her soul, like the soul of Cousin Jimmy, sheltered a romantic strain which demanded that one supreme illusionshould endure amid a world of disillusionment. Because she was obligedto believe in something or die, she had built her imperishable Dream onthe flame-swept ruins of her happiness. 

"He must be a big man if he can fill a life like yours, " said Dr. French. 

"I don't know why I told you, " she faltered; "I have never told any oneelse. It is my secret. "

"Well, it is safe with me. Don't be afraid. "

For the few minutes before he rose to go they talked indifferently ofother things. She had lost him, she knew, and while she held his hand atparting, she felt a sharp regret for what was passing out of herlife--for the one chance of love, of peace, of a tranquil andcommonplace happiness. But beneath the regret there was a hidden springof joy in her heart. At the instant of trial she had found strength tobe true to her Dream. 

CHAPTER V

SUCCESS

"I declare you're real pretty to-night, honey, " remarked Miss Polly fromthe floor, where she knelt pinning up the hem of a black serge skirt shewas making for Gabriella. "Some days you're downright plain, and thenyou flame out just like a lamp. Nobody would ever think to look at youthat you'd be thirty-seven years old to-morrow. " For it was the eveningbefore Gabriella's birthday, and she was at the end of her thirty-sixthyear. 

"I feel young, " she answered brightly, "and I feel happy. The childrenare well, and I've had all the success I could ask. Some day I'm goingto own Madame's business, Miss Polly. "

"I reckon she's gettin' mighty old, ain't she?"

"She gave up the work years ago, and I believe she'd be glad to sell outto me to-morrow if I had the money. 

"I wish you had. It would be nice for you to be at the head, nowwouldn't it?" rejoined Miss Polly, speaking with difficulty through amouthful of pins. 

"Yes, I wish I had, but I've thought and thought, and I don't see how Icould borrow enough. I've sometimes thought of asking Judge Crowboroughto invest some money in the business. It would be investing, the returnsare so good. "

"He'd do it in a minute, I expect. He always set a lot of store by you, didn't he?"

"He used to, but somehow I hate to ask favours. "

"You were always a heap too proud. Don't you remember how you'd nevereat the other children's cake when you were a child unless you had someof your own to offer 'em?"

Gabriella laughed. "No, I don't remember, but it sounds like me. I washorrid. "

"There was always a hard streak somewhere down in you, and you don'tmind my sayin' that you ain't gettin' any softer, Gabriella. There aretimes now when your mouth gets a set look like your Aunt BeckyBollingbroke's. You don't recollect her, I 'spose, but she nevermarried. "

"Well, I married, " Gabriella flippantly reminded her; "so it can't bethat. "

Though the hard work of the last ten years had left its visible markupon her, and she looked a little older, a little tired, a little worn, experience had added a rare spiritual beauty to her face, and she wasfar handsomer than she had been at twenty. The rich sprinkling of silverin the heavy waves of hair over her ears framed the firm pale oval ofher face with a poetic and mysterious darkness, and gave depth andsoftness to her brilliant eyes. For the struggle, which had stolen herfirst freshness and left faintly perceptible lines in her expressiveface, had not robbed her of the eyes and the heart of a girl. 

"I don't count George, somehow, " retorted Miss Polly. "That wan't likemarryin' a real man, you know, and, when all's said and done, a lonewoman gets mighty hard and dried up. "

"But I can't marry when there's nobody to marry me, " laughed Gabriella. "I haven't seen a man for seven years except in the street oroccasionally in the shop. Men have either passed me by without seeing meor they have wanted to sell me something. "

At the sound of the children's voices she slipped out of the sergeskirt, and began hurriedly fastening the old black silk gown she wore atdinner. Through all the years of toil and self-denial she had preserveda certain formality of living, a gracious ease of manner, which she keptfor the evenings with her children. Cares were thrust away then, to betaken up again as soon as Fanny and Archibald were in bed, and no matterhow hard the day had been, she was always cheerful, always gay andlight-hearted for the dinner hour by the fireside. Not often had shebeen too poor to buy a handful of flowers for the table, and never once, except during her illness, had she come home too tired to change to theblack silk gown, which she had turned and made from bishop sleeves tosmall ones, and from "dropped" shoulders to high ones, for the last sixor seven years. The damask on the table was darned and mended, but itwas always spotlessly fresh. In winter the fire was made up brightly inthe evenings; in summer the room was deliciously scented with rosegeranium and heliotrope from the box in the window. For ten years shehad not had a holiday; she had worked harder than a man, harder than anyservant, for she had worked from dawn until midnight; but into her hardlife she had instilled a quality of soul which had enabled her to endurethe strain without breaking. "No life is so hard that you can't make iteasier by the way you take it, " she had said to herself in thebeginning; and remembering always that courage is one of the eternalvirtues, she had disciplined her mind as well as her body to firmnessand elasticity of fibre. "Nobody, except myself, is ever going to makeme happy, " she would repeat over and over again when the day waswearying and the work heavy. "I want to be happy. I have a right to behappy, but it depends on myself. "

This indestructible belief in her "right to happiness" supported herthrough the hardest hours of her life, and diffused an invigoratingatmosphere not only in her home, but even in her long working hours atDinard's. The children grew and strengthened in its bracing air; MissPolly quickly responded to it; the women in the workroom breathed it inas if it were the secret of health, and even Madame showed occasionalsigns that she was not entirely impervious to its vital and joyousinfluence. It was not always easy for Gabriella to keep the light in hereyes and the faith in her heart. There were days when both seemed tofail her, when, with aching body and depressed mind, she felt that shecould not look beyond the immediate suffering minute, when she toldherself despairingly that she had lost everything in losing her courage. But bad days passed as irrevocably as good ones; and left her, when theywere over, with her strong soul unshaken, and her philosophy ofhappiness still undestroyed. Like other human beings, she found that hermoods were largely controlled by her physical health. 

"Oh, mother dear, I went down to meet you, and I missed you by just fiveminutes, " said Fanny, kissing her cheek. "I wanted you to go with me tolook at the house in London Terrace. Miss Polly and I are crazy aboutit. "

"I know, " said Gabriella tenderly, while she feasted her eyes on herdaughter. 

The old apartment house in which they had spent the last ten years wouldbe torn down in the summer, and Fanny and Miss Folly had devoted thepast week to an exhaustive hunt for a home. 

"Then you'll look at it to-morrow, won't you, mother?" urged Fanny. "Wecan get the upper rooms and they are larger than these. There is alittle yard in front, with an elm tree and a rose-bush, and plenty ofspace for flowers. "

"I can't recall the house exactly, " said Gabriella thoughtfully. "Itmust be in a row, isn't it? I have a vague recollection of some oldhouses, with fronts of stuccoed pilasters, and rather nice yards. ButWest Twenty-third Street is too far away, dear. I don't like theneighbourhood. Wouldn't you rather be in Park Avenue?" Her ignorance ofNew York, though she had lived there seventeen years, amazed Fanny, whowas a true child of the city. 

"Carlie Herndon lives in that row, mother"--Carlie Herndon, the daughterof a distinguished and unpopular novelist, was Fanny's best friend forthe moment--"and I could always go out with her in the evening. "

"It isn't the location I should have liked, Fanny, " said Gabriella, weakly yielding, as she always yielded to her daughter; "but if youreally fancy the house, I'll try to look at it on my way home to-morrow. One has to be very careful about the plumbing in these old houses. Iinsist upon good plumbing. After that, you may have what you want. "

"Oh, it has brand new bathrooms, Mrs. Mallon told me so, and she'slived there until a year ago. And if you had only seen the newapartments we looked at, mother, nothing on the East Side that wouldhave held us under twenty-five hundred a year, and even at that thebedrooms were no bigger than closets, and you'd have to have electriclight all day in the bathroom. We searched everywhere, didn't we, MissPolly?"

"West Twenty-third Street is mighty far out of the way, honey, " observedMiss Polly cautiously. 

"Oh, but I'd have Carlie, and she's my best friend, " persisted Fanny, with caressing obstinacy. 

"Well, we'll see, precious, " said Gabriella, while she assured herselfthat if Fanny cost her every penny she had, at least the child was worthwhat she spent on her. To a superficial observer, Fanny would probablyhave appeared merely an attractive girl, of Jane's willowy type, withsomething of Jane's trite prettiness of feature; but to Gabriella, whosuffered from a maternal obliquity of vision, she seemed both brilliantand beautiful. Of course she was selfish, but this selfishness, as longas it was clothed in her youth and loveliness, was as inoffensive as theplayfulness of a kitten. Her face was round and shallow, with exquisitecolouring which veiled the flatness and lack of character in herfeatures. Above her azure eyes her hair, which was not plentiful, butfine and soft, and as yellow as ripe corn, broke in a shining mist overher forehead. All her life, by being what she was, she had got, withouteffort, everything that she wanted. She had got dolls when she wanteddolls; she had got Miss Ludwell's expensive school when she wanted anexpensive private school; she would get the house in West Twenty-thirdStreet to-morrow, and when she began to want love, she would get it aseasily and as undeservedly as she got everything else. She was veryexpensive, but, like the flowers on the table and the spotless damaskand the lace in Gabriella's sleeves, she was one of her mother'sluxuries to be paid for by additional hours of work and thought. 

"Wasn't Archibald with you?" inquired Gabriella, while she pushed thechairs into place and tidied the room. 

"He stopped at the library. There's his ring now. I'll open the door. "

She ran out, and Gabriella, with the tablecloth in her hand, stoodwaiting for Archibald to enter. In her eager expectancy, in the wistfulbrightness of her eyes, in the tender quivering of her lips, she waslike a girl who is awaiting a lover. Every evening, after her day'swork, she greeted her son with the same passionate tenderness. Never hadit lessened, never, even when she was most discouraged, had she failedto summon her strength and her sweetness for this beatific end to theday. For Archibald was more than a son to her. As he grew older theircharacters became more perfectly adjusted, and the rare bond of a deepmental sympathy held them together. Fanny loved her as a spoiled childloves the dispenser of its happiness; but in Archibald's devotion therewas something of the worship of a man for an ideal. 

Flushed and hungry, the boy came in, and after kissing her hurriedly, ran off to wash his face and hands before dinner. When he came back thetable was laid, with a bunch of lilacs in a cut glass vase over thedarned spot in the tablecloth, and Miss Polly was bringing in theold-fashioned soup tureen, which had belonged to Gabriella's maternalgrandmother. 

"If you don't sit right straight down everything will be cold, " saidMiss Polly severely, for this was her customary manner of announcingdinner. Every night for ten years she had threatened them with a colddinner while she served them a hot one. 

With a child on either side of her, Gabriella sat down, and ladled thesoup out of the old china tureen. It was her consecrated hour--thesingle hour of her toiling day that she dedicated to personal happiness;and because it was her hour, her life had gradually centred about it asif it were the divine point of her universe--the pivot upon which herwhole world revolved. Nothing harsh, nothing sordid, nothing sad, evertouched the sacred precincts of her twilight hour with her children. 

"I can beat any boy at school running, mother, " said Archibald, watchinghis plate of soup hungrily as it travelled toward him. "If my eyes won'tlet me be captain of a football team, I'm going to become the championrunner in America. I bet I can, if I try. "

"I shouldn't wonder, dear. It's good for you, too. I never saw you lookbetter. "

He was a tall, thin boy, with a muscular figure, and thick brown hair, which was always rumpled. Through his ugly spectacles his eyes showedlarge, dark, and as beautifully soft as a girl's. His mind wasremarkably keen and active, and there was in his carriage something ofGabriella's capable and commanding air, as if, like her, he embodiedthose qualities which compel acknowledgment. Though she had neveradmitted it even to herself, he was her favourite child. 

When dinner was over she had the children to herself--to the gracious, unhurried self she gave them--until ten o'clock. Then their books wereput away, and after she had kissed them good-night, and tucked thecovers about them, she came back to the living-room, and sat down to hersewing with Miss Polly. The ease and cheerfulness dropped from her atthe approach of midnight, and while the two women bent over theirneedles they talked of their anxieties, and planned innumerable andintricate ways of economy. 

"Fanny's school costs so much, and, of course, she must have clothes. All the other girls dress so expensively. "

"You spend three times as much on her as you do on Archibald. "

"I know, " her voice melted to the mother note, "but Archibald isdifferent. He is a man, and he will make his way in the world. Then, too, his expenses will be trebled next year when he goes off to school, and after that, of course, will come college. I don't believe anythingor anybody can keep Archibald back, " she went on proudly. "Do you knowhe talks already of going to work in a shipping office in order to helpme?"

"It's a pity about his eyes. "

"There's nothing wrong except near-sightedness, but he'll have to wearglasses all his life. "

For a minute Miss Polly stitched almost furiously, while her smallweatherbeaten face, with its grotesque features, was visited by anillumination that softened and ennobled its ugliness. From livingentirely in the lives of others, she had attained the spiritual serenityand detachment of a saint as well as the saint's immunity from theintenser personal forms of suffering. Long habit had accustomed her tothink of herself only in connection with somebody's need of her, andbeyond this she hardly appeared as an individual existence even in herown secret reflections. As far as it is possible to achieve absoluteunselfishness in a world planned upon egoistic principles Miss Polly hadachieved it; and the result was that she was almost perfectly happy. 

"Fanny seems right set on goin' down to Twenty-third Street, don't she?"she inquired, after an interval of musing. 

"It's all because Carlie lives in the row, and by next year, after we'vehad all the trouble of moving, she'll find another bosom friend and wantto go to Park Avenue. "

"It's a real comfortable sort of house, more like Richmond than NewYork, and I reckon we could get flowers to grow there just about as wellas they did in Hill Street. "

"I don't like having those O'Haras on the lower floor. If they are loudand common, it might be very disagreeable. "

"There ain't but one, a man, and he's hardly ever there, the caretaker'swife told me. She said he was almost always in the West, and anyway hislease is up next year, and he thinks he'll give up his rooms. She sayshe has made piles of money in mines somewhere out West, and he onlykeeps those rooms because they used to belong to a man who picked himout of the street when he was a little boy selling newspapers. Thatcaretaker's wife seems to be a mighty kind-hearted creature, but shetalks as if she was never goin' to stop. "

"I think I could afford to take an apartment in Park Avenue, " returnedGabriella, dismissing the name of O'Hara; "but, of course, I want tosave as much as I can in order to invest in the business. If it wasn'tfor that, I could stop scraping and pinching. I can't bear, though, tothink of leaving nothing for the children when I die. "

"Go away from here, honey. The idea of your talkin' about dyin'! Youlook healthier than you ever did in your life, only you're gettin' thatset look again about your mouth. "

"I wonder if I'm growing hard, " said Gabriella, stopping to glance inthe mirror. "I suppose that's the problem of life for the workingwoman--not to grow hard. " In some ways, she realized, Miss Polly wasright. She was a handsome woman, as Madame occasionally informed her;but she was no longer shrinking, she was no longer alluringly feminine. To dress smartly for Dinard's was a part of her work, and she had grownquite indifferent to having men turn and stare after her in the streetor when she entered a restaurant. But the men who stared never spoke toher as they did to Fanny when she was alone. They regarded heradmiringly, but she aroused neither disrespect nor the protectiveinstinct in their minds. Only when she smiled her face grew as young asher eyes, and with the powdering of silver on her hair, gave her a lookof radiance and charm; but at other times, when she was grave orpreoccupied with the management of Dinard's, the "set look" that MissPolly dreaded hardened her mouth. 

"I wish you could go easier now for a while, " resumed the littleseamstress, after a pause which she had filled with vague speculationsabout Gabriella's sentimental prospects. "I just hate like anything tosee you wearing yourself out. Of course I'd like you to own part of thebusiness, and I can't help thinkin' that the judge could get you themoney as easy as not. It ain't as if you couldn't pay him the interestregular, is it?" she pursued with the financial helplessness of a womanwho has never thought in terms of figures. "You couldn't be doin' anybetter, could you? There ain't anybody can run the business as well asyou do, I don't care who 'tis. "

"I sometimes think, " returned Gabriella deliberately, while she draped alace bertha on a white silk frock she was making for Fanny, "that I willtry to borrow the money. "

"It couldn't hurt, could it?"

"No, I don't suppose it could hurt. "

Her eyes were on the lace, which she was adjusting over the shoulder, and Miss Polly followed her gaze with a look which was not entirelyapproving. 

"There ain't a bit of sense in your wearin' yourself out over thatchild, " said the seamstress presently, with so sharp an accent thatGabriella glanced up quickly from her work. "It was just the way Mrs. Spencer started Florrie, and it ain't right. "

"Florrie!" exclaimed Gabriella, startled, and she added slowly, "Iwonder what has become of her? I haven't thought of her for years. "

"It was a mean trick she played you, Gabriella. I'd never have believedit of Florrie if I hadn't been there to see it with my own eyes. "

"Yes, it was mean, " assented Gabriella, but there was no anger in hervoice. She had left the past so far behind her that its disappointmentsand its cruelties had become as dim and shadowy to her imagination asif they had been phantoms of the mind instead of actual events throughwhich she had lived. 

"Well, I'm glad she didn't spoil your life for you, honey. "

"No, she didn't spoil my life. Don't I look happy? And Madame told meto-day that my figure was distinguished. Now, when a woman's life isspoiled her figure and her complexion are the first things to show it. "

"Of course you ain't gettin' slouchy, I don't mean anything like that. But I hate to see you workin' your fingers to the bone and bringin'lines around your eyes when you ought to be taken care of. I don't holdwith women workin' unless they're obliged to. "

"But I'm obliged to. How on earth could I take care of the children if Ididn't work?"

For a minute there was an austere silence while Miss Polly reflectedgrimly that Gabriella Mary--she thought of her as "Gabriella Mary" inmoments of disapprobation"--was gettin' almost as set as her ma. "

"You could marry, " she said flatly at last, stopping to press down thehem she had turned with the blunted nail of her thumb. "Of course yourma would be dead against it, but there ain't any reason in the world whyyou shouldn't go back home and marry Arthur Peyton, as you ought to havedone seventeen years ago. "

Though Gabriella laughed in reply, there was no merriment in the sound, and a look of sadness crept into the eyes she turned away from the sharpgaze of the little seamstress. 

"You've forgotten that I haven't seen him for seventeen years, " sheanswered. 

"That don't make any difference in his sort, and you know it. He ain'tever married anybody else, and he ain't goin' to. The faithfulness thatought to be spread over the whole sex gets stored up in a few, and he'sone of 'em. "

"He has never written to me. No, he must have got over it, " respondedGabriella, with an impassioned emphasis, "and, besides, even if hecared, I don't want to marry again. My children are enough for me. "

"It won't look that way next year when both the children are away atschool, and when they once break away from your apron strings they'rethe sort that will go the way they want to and look out for their ownhappiness. You won't have much of Archibald while he's at school andcollege, and Fanny will marry befo' she's twenty just as sure as youlive. Why, she's already got her head full of beaux. Have you noticedthat picture of an actor she keeps on her bureau?"

"Yes" admitted Gabriella anxiously, "I've noticed it, but when I askedher about it, she only laughed. "

After this the conversation dropped, and the two women put away theirwork for the might; but hours later, while Miss Polly lay in her hardlittle bed wondering if it would be possible to "fix" things betweenGabriella and Arthur, the stern heroine of her romance wept a few tendertears on her pillow. 

In the morning, with the tears still ready to spring at a touch, Gabriella read a letter from her mother, which he had found, beside thebaker's rolls, at the door. 

 _Richmond, Thursday_. 

 DEAR CHILD:

 As the others are all out to-night, and I have finished the mat I was crocheting, I thought I would send you a letter to reach you on your birthday instead of the telegram from the family. I am so thankful to hear that you keep well and happy and that Fanny has quite recovered from her cold. It was thoughtful of you to send the check, and I shall find it very useful, though Jane refuses to let me pay any board since Charley has inherited such a large income from his brother Tom. I sent you all the papers about the dreadful accident on the River road in which poor Tom and his wife were killed, but you haven't heard yet that Tom left his new house in Monument Avenue--they had only just moved into it--and almost all of his property to Charley. Of course, this will make a great difference in our manner of living; but just now none of us can think of anything except poor Tom and Gertrude, to whom we were all so deeply attached. No amount of money could in any way soften the blow of their loss, and the accident has given me such a horror of automobiles, though both Charley and Jane tell me this is very foolish. 

 To turn to more cheerful subjects, I can't begin to tell you how much the last photograph of Fanny has been admired. She is such a lovely girl, almost as pretty, we think, as Jane used to be when she first grew up, and I'm sure there could be no higher praise than that. You pleased me by saying that Archibald is like his grandfather, even if he isn't so handsome, and that he has a strong character. Good looks aren't nearly so important in a man as they are in a woman, and, you know, I don't think that men are as handsome to-day as they used to be when I was a girl. They have lost something--I can't make out just what it is. 

 Charley and Jane are at the Prohibition meeting. It is the first time they have gone anywhere since the accident, but we all felt that Tom and Gertrude would have wanted them to go for the sake of the cause. I don't suppose you, would recognize Charley now if you were to meet him. He is entirely changed, and I believe our new minister is the reason for it, though Jane likes to think that her influence reclaimed him. But, you remember, neither you nor I ever thought that Jane went about reforming Charley in the right way; and even now, though I wouldn't hurt dear Jane's feelings for anything in the world, I am afraid she nags Charley and the children too much. Of course, she means it for the best. No one could look at the dear child without realizing what a beautiful character she is. 

 But the change in Charley is really remarkable, and he won't allow a drop of alcohol to come into the house--not even as medicine. I can't help feeling sorry for poor old Uncle Meriweather, who despises grape juice and misses his mint julep when he comes to dine on Sunday; but Charley forbids Jane to make him a julep; and I suppose he is right since he says it is a matter of principle. Even Jane, however, thinks dear Charley is going a little too far when he refuses to let me have the sherry and egg the doctor ordered. However, I tell Jane that, since Charley feels so strongly about my taking it, she must not try to persuade him against his convictions. Dr. Darrow doesn't know that I stopped the sherry when Charley found out I was buying it. Perhaps the plain eggs will do me quite as much good. Anyhow, I wouldn't let my health stand in the way of Charley's salvation. 

 Margaret has gone out to a concert, and you would never guess who came to take her. I said to her when she was starting, "Well, I'm going to sit straight down and write your Aunt Gabriella that you've gone out with her old sweetheart. " But doesn't it make you realize how time flies when you think of Arthur Peyton's paying attention to Jane's daughter? Of course, it isn't anything serious--everybody knows that he has never recovered from his feeling for you--but last winter he took Margaret to two germans and to any number of plays. I believe Jane would be really pleased if he were to take a fancy to Margaret, but I don't think there is the faintest chance of it, for his Cousin Lizzie told me last winter that she couldn't mention your name in his presence. She says his faithfulness is perfectly beautiful, and she ought to know for she has lived with him ever since his mother's death. Of course, he has never accomplished very much in his profession. Chancy says all the men downtown look upon him as a failure; but, then, he is such a perfect gentleman, and, as I tell Charley and Jane, one can't have everything. How different your life would have been, my dear daughter, if you had listened to the prayers of your mother, and married a gentle Christian character like Arthur Peyton. 

 But I mustn't let my thoughts run away with me. Of course, even if your heart had not been broken, it would be impossible for you to think of another man as long as your husband is living. No pure woman could do that, and when people tell me about divorced women who remarry, I always maintain that they are not what my mother and I would call "pure women. " I would rather think of you nursing your broken heart forever in solitude than that you should put such a blot upon your character and the name of the Carrs. Of course, you were right to divorce George after he forsook you for Florrie--even his mother tells everybody that you were right--but the thought of a second marriage would, I know, be intolerable to your refined and sensitive nature. After all, he is still your husband in the sight of God, and I said this to Miss Lizzie Peyton when we were talking of Arthur. 

 It is almost eleven o'clock, and I must stop and undress. Kiss the dear children, and remember me kindly to Miss Polly. 

 Your loving MOTHER. 

As she refolded the letter Gabriella stood for an instant with herdreaming gaze on the delicate Italian handwriting on the envelope. 

"It's amazing how wide the gulf is between the generations, " shethought, not without humour. "I believe mother thinks of George oftenerthan I do, and I'd marry Arthur to-morrow if he wanted me to--except forthe children. "

Then, as Archibald rushed into the room, she caught him in her arms, andheld him hungrily to her bosom. 

"My darling, you want to keep your mother, don't you?"

"I jolly well do. What's the trouble, mother? I believe it's all thatsitting up over Fanny's old dresses. Why don't you make something prettyfor yourself?"

"She has to have things, and you love me just as well without them, don't you?"

"But I want you to have them, too. I like you to look pretty, and youare pretty. "

"Then I can look pretty in plain clothes, can't I?"

"I tell you what I am going to do, " he hesitated a minute, knitting hisheavy brows over his spectacles, which looked so odd on a boy. "Nextsummer when school is over I'm going to work and make some money so youcan have a velvet dress in the autumn--a black velvet dress with lace onit--lots of lace--and a hat with feathers. "

"You foolish boy!" laughed Gabriella. "Do you think for an instant I'dlet you?" Her voice was gay, but when he had broken away from her clasp, and was racing along the hail for his school books, she turned aside towipe the tears from her eyes. 

"It's wrong, but I love, him more than I love Fanny, " she said. "I lovehim more than all the rest of the world. ". 

An hour later, sitting beside an Italian labourer in an elevated train, she tried hard to keep her mind on the day's work and on the morningpaper, which she held open before her--for in adopting a business lifeshe had adopted instinctively a man's businesslike habits. A subtledistinction divided her from the over-dressed shopgirls around her ascompletely as her sex separated her from the portly masculinebreadwinner in the opposite seat. Her tailored suit of black serge, withits immaculate white collar and cuffs, had an air of charmingsimplicity, and the cameolike outline of her features against theluminous background of the window-pane was the aristocratic racialoutline of the Carrs. In the whirlpool of modern business she stillpreserved the finer attributes which Nature had bred in her race. Thebitter sweetness of the mother's inheritance, grafted on the hardy stockof the Carr character, had flavoured without weakening the daughter'sspirit, and, though few of the men in the train glanced in the directionof Gabriella, the few who noticed her in her corner surmised byintuition that she possessed not only the manner, but the heart of alady. She was not particularly handsome, not particularly young, and hercharm was scarcely the kind to flash like a lantern before the eye ofthe beholder. To the portly breadwinner she was probably a nice-lookingAmerican business woman, nothing more; to the Italian labourer she was, doubtless, a lady with a pleasant face, who would be polite if you askedher a question; and to the other passengers she must have appearedmerely a woman reading her newspaper on her way down to work. Her primalqualities of force, restraint, and capability were the last things thesesuperficial observers would have thought of; and yet it was by thesequalities that she must succeed or fail in her struggle for life. 

When she reached Dinard's she found Miss Smith, the only woman inMadame's employ who was ever punctual, ill-humouredly poking the springhats out of the cases. Miss Smith, who excelled in the cardinal virtues, manifested at times a few of those minor frailties by which the cardinalvirtues are not infrequently attended. Her one pronounced fault was abad temper, and on this particular morning that fault was conspicuous. As she carried the hats from the cases to the window, which she wasdecorating with the festive millinery of the spring, she looked as ifshe were resisting an impulse to throw Madame's choicest confections atthe jovial figure of the traffic policeman. Gabriella, who was used towhat she called the "peculiarities" of the forewoman, said "goodmorning" with her bright amiability, and hurried back to the dim regionswhere she changed from her street suit to the picturesque French gownwhich she wore in the showroom. When she came out again Miss Smith hadfinished ornamenting the white pegs in the window, and was vigorouslyupbraiding a messenger boy who had delivered a parcel at the wrong door. 

"You are always so prompt, " remarked Gabriella cheerfully, as shearranged the hats in the front room. Her rule of business conduct wassimple, and consisted chiefly of the precept that whatever happened shemust keep her temper. Never once, never even in Madame's most tryingmoments, had she permitted herself to appear angry, and her strictadherence to this resolution had established her in an enviable positionof authority. Obeying unconsciously some inherited strain of prudencein her nature, she had sacrificed her temper on the solid altar ofbusiness expediency. 

"Somebody has to be on time, I guess, " replied Miss Smith snappishly. "I'd like to know who would be here if I wasn't?"

She was a thin, soured, ugly little woman, with an extraordinarycapacity for work, and an excess of nervous vitality bordering onhysteria. Gabriella, who knew something of her story, was aware of theself-sacrificing goodness of her private life, and secure in her ownunclouded cheerfulness, could afford to smile tolerantly at the waspishsting. 

"It's a pity we can't get more system here, " she observed, for MissSmith, she knew, was no tale-bearer. "The waste of time and misdirectedenergy are appalling. The business would be worth three times as much toanybody who could give her whole attention to it, but, as Madame isforever telling us, her health keeps her from really overlookingthings. "

"I wonder why she doesn't sell out?" asked Miss Smith, suddenlygood-humoured and interested. "There's a lot in it for the right person, and it isn't in nature that she can hold on much longer. If I could findthe money, I'd buy it and cut down expenses until I made a big profit. It would be easy enough. " Then she added, while she slammed theivory-tinted door of a case: "I wish you could run the house, Mrs. Carr. You are so pleasant to work with. Nothing ever seems to depress you. "

"It would be nice, wouldn't it?" responded Gabriella promptly, and asshe said the words, she decided that she would try to borrow the moneyfrom Judge Crowborough. For three months she had been struggling tobring herself to the point of asking his help--or at least hisadvice--and now, in a flash, without argument or discussion, she hadsettled the question. "It's a simple business proposition--a promisinginvestment, " she thought. "I'll ask him to get the money for me at afair interest--to get me enough anyhow to give me control of thebusiness. The worst he can do is to refuse, " she concluded, with a kindof forlorn optimism; "at least he can't kill me. "

Making a hurried excuse, she went back to the telephone, and calling upthe judge, asked for an appointment in his office at five o'clock. Fromhis surprised response she inferred his curiosity, and from his heartyacquiescence, she gathered that his surprise was not an unpleasant one. "At five o'clock, then. It is so good of you. There is a little matterof business. Yes, I know how kind you are, and of course your advice isinvaluable. I can't think of anybody else on earth I can ask. Oh, thankyou. Yes, at five o'clock. I shan't be late and I promise to keep youbut a minute. Good-bye. What? Oh, yes, I'll come straight fromDinard's. "

His voice, eager and friendly over the telephone, had given herconfidence, and when she went back to the showroom, where the saleswomenwere assembling, she was already planning the interview. 

At eleven o'clock Madame, who never arrived earlier, was seen descendingfrom a hansom, and a few minutes later she waddled, wheezing, asthmatic, and infirm of joints, through the ivory and gold doorway. Like somefantastically garlanded Oriental goddess of death, her rouged andpowdered face nodded grotesquely beneath the flowery wreath on her hat. The indestructible youth of her spirit, struggling valiantly against theinert weight of the flesh, had squeezed her enormous figure into thecurveless stays of the period, and had painted into some ghastlysemblance of health the wrinkled skin of her cheeks. For underneath thedecaying mockery of Madame's body, the indomitable soul of Madame stillfought the everlasting battle of mind against matter, of the immaterialagainst the material elements. 

"There was no use my trying to get here any sooner, " she began in anapologetic tone when she was face to face with Gabriella behind the redvelvet curtains of her private office. "My asthma was so bad all night, I had to doze sitting up, and I didn't get any sound sleep untildaybreak. If I don't begin to mend before long I'll have to give up, that's all there is to it. There ain't any use my trying to hold on muchlonger. I'm too sick to think about fighting, and sometimes I don't carewhat becomes of the business. I want to go to some high place in Europewhere I can get my breath, and I'm going to stay there, I don't carewhat happens. There ain't any use my trying to hold on, " she repeateddisconsolately. 

Gabriella's opportunity had come, and she grasped it with the quicknessof judgment which had enabled her to achieve her moderate success. 

"I believe I could carry on this business, " she said, and her quietassurance impressed Madame's turbulent temper. With a brief return ofher mental alertness, the old woman studied her carefully. 

"I don't want any responsibility. I want to be rid of the whole thing, "she said after a pause. 

Gabriella nodded comprehendingly. "I believe I could carry it onsuccessfully, " she repeated. "Your customers like me. I think Iunderstand how the business ought to be run. I have been here ten years, and I feel perfectly confident that I could make it successful. "

"I've had offers--good offers, " observed Madame warily, for she wasincapable of liberating herself at the age of seventy-two from thelifelong suspicion that some one was taking advantage of her, thatsomething was being got from her for nothing, "and, of course, I wasonly joking about having to stop work, " she added, "I am retiring fromchoice, not from necessity. "

"I understand, " agreed Gabriella quietly. 

"But I should like you to have the name, " pursued Madame "A little moneywould be necessary, of course--perhaps you might buy a halfinterest--that would be simple. You could make a big success of it withyour social position and your wealthy acquaintances. Surely you can findsome one who is ready to make such a splendid investment?"

"Perhaps, " admitted Gabriella, as quietly as before. Unlike Madame, who, being an incurable idealist, had won her victories not by accepting butby evading facts, Gabriella was frankly skeptical about the practicalvalue of either her social position or her wealthy acquaintances. Neither possession impressed her at the moment as marketable, except inthe vivid imagination of Madame, and her social position, at least, wasconstructed of a very thin and unsubstantial fabric. Guided by theprudent streak in her character, she rested her hope not uponincorporeal possessions, but upon the solid bodies of her patrons thatmust be clothed. Her imposing acquaintances would avail her scarcelymore, she suspected, than would the noble ghost of that ancestor who wasa general in the Revolution. What she relied on was the certainty thatshe knew her work, and that Madame's customers from the greatest to theleast, from Mrs. Pletheridge to poor Miss Peterson, who bought only onegood gown a year, admitted the thoroughness of her knowledge. She hadgot on by learning all that there was to learn about the details of thework, and she stood now, secure and unassailable, on the foundation ofher achievement. In ten years she had fulfilled her resolution--she hadmade herself indispensable. By patience, by hard work, by self-control, by ceaseless thought, and by innumerable sacrifices, she had madeherself indispensable; and the result was that, as Madame weakened, shehad grown steadily stronger. Without her Dinard's would have droppedlong ago to the position of a second-rate house, and she was aware thatMadame understood this quite as clearly as she did. For whateverMadame's executive ability may have been in the past, it had dwindlednow to the capricious endeavours of a chronic invalid--of an aginginvalid, notwithstanding her desperate struggle for youth. Half as muchenergy as Madame had spent resisting Nature might have won for her asanctified memory had it been directed toward the practice of piety, ora tablet of imperishable granite had it been devoted to as tireless apursuit of art or science. To her battle against age she had brought theambition of a conqueror and the devotion of a martyr; and at the last, even to-day, there was a superb defiance in her refusal to acknowledgedefeat, in her demand that her surrender should be regarded as acapitulation. 

"In a day or two I hope to be able to discuss my plan with you, " saidGabriella, and she could not keep the softness of pity out of her voice. So this was what life came to, after all? For an instant she felt theoverwhelming discouragement which is the portion of those who approachlife not through vision, but through outward events, who seek a solutionnot in the deeper consciousness of the spirit, but in the changingsurface of experience. Then, even before her glance had left Madame'sgolden head, her natural optimism regained control of her mind, and shetold herself stoutly that if this was Madame's present, then it followedlogically that Madame must have had a past, and that past must have beenan agreeable one. It was inconceivable that she should defy the laws ofGod for the sake of a prolongation of tragedy. 

"It is a splendid investment, " croaked the old woman in the midst ofGabriella's painful reflections. "The house was never more flourishing. "

The ruling principle which decreed that Gabriella should keep her temperhad disciplined her not less thoroughly in the habit of holding hertongue. The house was in a flourishing condition; but she remembered howfragile and thinly rooted had been its showy prosperity, when she hadentered it; and had she cared to confound Madame utterly, she might havereminded her of that unwritten history of the past ten years in whichthe secret episode of Mrs. Pletheridge occurred. For Gabriella was notinclined to underrate her own efficiency, and her confidence wassupported by the knowledge that if she left Dinard's the mostfashionable of Madame's clientele would follow her. 

"You'll never have such another opportunity--not if you live to be ahundred. At your age I should have jumped at the idea, " persistedMadame. 

"So should I, " responded Gabriella merrily, "if I were sure of landingon my feet. "

"You'll always land on your feet--you're that sort. You've got push, andit's push that counts most in business. A woman may have all the brainsin the world, but without push she might as well give up the struggle. That was what brought me up in spite of four husbands and six children, "pursued Madame, while she took out a small flask from one of the drawersof her desk and measured out, as she remarked in parenthesis, "a littlestimulant. " "Yes, I had a great success in my line, and if I could onlyhave kept clear of men, I might have saved a fortune to retire on in myold age. But I had a natural taste for men, and they were the ruin ofme. As soon as I lost one husband and managed to get on a bit, anotherwould come, and I couldn't resist him. I never could resist marriage;that was the undoing of me as a woman of business. "

"Four husbands, and yet you were remarkably successful, " observedGabriella, because it was the only thing with a cheerful sound she couldthink of to utter, and an intermittent cheerful sound was all thatMadame required from a listener when she was under the enliveninginfluence of brandy. 

"But think what I might have done with my talent if I had remained awidow, as you have done. It was my misfortune to attract men whether Iwanted to or not, " wheezed Madame, wiping her eyes; "some women are likethat. "

"So I have heard, " murmured Gabriella, seeing that Madame paused for thenote of encouragement. 

"I don't suppose that has been your trouble, for there's astand-offishness about you that puts men at a distance, and they don'tlike to be put at a distance. Then, though your figure is very fine forshowing off models, it isn't exactly the kind that men lean to. If you'dfatten up it might be different, but that would spoil you for theclothes, and that, after all, is more important. It's strange, isn'tit?" she croaked, with an alcoholic chuckle, "how partial men are tofull figures even after they have gone out of fashion?"

And with this wonder still ringing in her ears, Gabriella turned away, to attend a customer, who demanded, in cool defiance of man and nature, to be transformed into a straight silhouette. 

Gabriella had not seen Judge Crowborough for several years, and herfirst impression, when she entered his office at five o'clock, was oneof surprise at his ugliness. Though he had changed but little sincetheir first meeting at Mrs. Fowler's dinner, the years had softened hermemory of his appearance, and she had skilfully persuaded herself thatone should not judge a man by a repelling exterior, which, after all, might cover a great deal of goodness. After George's flight andArchibald Fowler's death he had been very kind to her. "I don't knowwhat I should have done without him at that time, " she thought now, asshe stood with his big, soft hand clasping hers and his admiring fishyeyes on her face. "No, it is impossible to judge by appearances, and allmen think well of him, all men respect him, " she concluded, feelingsuddenly reassured. 

"It's been a long time--it must be nearly' three years--since I sawyou, " he remarked, with flattering geniality, "and you look younger thanever. "

"Hard work keeps me young, then. I work very hard. " Her charming smileflashed like an edge of light on her lips, and lent glow and fervor toher pale face beneath the silver-brightened cloud of her hair. She readhis admiration in the bold gaze he fastened upon her, and though she waswithout coquetry, she was conscious that her vanity was agreeablysoothed. 

"What is it? Dressmaking?" He was obviously interested. 

"Yes--dresses and hats. Hats are rather my specialty. I manage thingsnow almost entirely at Dinard's. Have you ever heard of the house?"

He nodded. "I remember. That's where you went after Archibald died, wasn't it?" His memory amazed her. What a mind for trifles he had! Whata wonderful man he was for his years!

"Yes, I've been there ever since. I've done well as things go, but, ofcourse, it has been hard. It has been a hard life. "

"And you never came to me. I wanted to help you. I'd have done anythingI could to make it easier for you, but you were so proud. You'd have goton twice as well if you had given up your pride. "

The telephone rang, and while he answered it, she watched his broad, slouching back, his swelling paunch overflowing now above the stays hewore to reduce it, the coarsened flesh of his neck, bulging above theedge of his collar, and the shining, baldness on the top of his head, which gave an appearance of commanding intellect to his empurpledforehead. How hideous he was, how revolting, and yet what a power! Aface like his on a woman would have condemned her to isolation andmisery, but, so far as one could judge, it had scarcely interfered withhis happiness. His mental force had risen superior to his face, to hispaunch, to his whole repulsive appearance. Greater than Madame becauseof his sex, he had achieved a triumph over the corporeal mass of hisbody which she, fortified and abetted by a hundred cosmetics andmanipulations, could never attain. Where Madame relied on futileartificial aids in her battle against decay, he hurled the tremendouspower of his personality, and ugliness became at once as insignificantas immorality in his life. "One can't judge him by the standards ofother men, " thought Gabriella, using a remembered phrase ofFifty-seventh Street. 

Judge Crowborough was still talking earnestly into the telephone, andshe gathered vaguely that his earnestness related to a donation he hadpromised his church. "Raise two hundred thousand, and I'll double it, "he said abruptly, and hung up the receiver. "We want a neworgan--something really fine, you know, " he observed casually as heturned back to Gabriella. "We are moving--everything is moving up, andthe church has to keep step with the age. You can't keep progress out ofreligion any more than you can out of business--not that I'm in favourof modernism or any of that stuff--but we've got to keep moving. " Hespoke with conviction, and there was no doubt that he sincerely believedhimself to be an important factor in the religious movement of hiscountry. Then his tone changed to one of intimate friendliness and heasked: "Have you heard any music this winter? If I'd only known aboutyou, I'd have sent you tickets to the opera. "

"The children go sometimes, " she answered. That he should imagine herbuying opera tickets for herself, with the children needing every pennyshe made, seemed to her ridiculous; but rich men were always like that, she reflected a little scornfully. 

"If I'd only remembered about you, " he murmured, and turning heavily inhis chair, he added authoritatively: "Now tell me about it. Tell me thewhole thing straight through. I am going to help you. "

She told him rapidly, and while she talked a sense of perfect peace andsecurity enveloped her. It was so long since she had been able to askadvice of a man; it was so long since anybody bigger and stronger thanshe had undertaken to adjust her perplexities. The past returned to heras a dream, and she felt again that absolute reliance on the masculineability to control events, to ease burdens, to remove difficulties, which had visited her in her childhood when Cousin Jimmy appeared in thefront parlour in Hill Street. "It's wonderful how men manage things, "she thought. "It's wonderful being a man. Everything is so simple formen. "

"Well, don't worry a minute longer. It's all as easy as--as possible, "observed the great man serenely when she had finished. "From what youtell me it looks as if it were a pretty good investment to begin with, and there are plenty of people around looking for ways to invest money. I'm looking for ways myself, when it comes to that, " he proclaimed, witha paternal smile as he sank back on the luxurious leather cushions ofhis chair. 

"You are so good, " she responded gratefully, "so good"; and she wasspeaking sincerely. 

With his casual gaze, which seemed to turn inward, fixed on the ceilingabove her head, he invited her confidence by a few perfectly chosenexpressions of comprehension and sympathy. The acuteness and activityof his mental processes delighted her while he questioned her. After theslovenly methods of Madame, after the loose reasoning and the muddledthinking of all the women she met in the course of her work, there was apositive pleasure in following the exactness and inflexibility of hislogic. His reasoning was orderly, neat, elastic, without loose ends ortangled skeins to unravel, and she felt again, while she listened tohim, the confidence which had come to her as soon as she entered hisoffice. He was efficiency incarnate, and from her childhood up she hadrespected efficiency. In an hour, in less time than it had taken her totell her story, he had lifted the weight from her shoulders, hadmastered the details of Madame's intricate problems, and had outlinedthe terms by which Gabriella could accept the old woman's offer withoutplacing herself under financial obligations. Her pride, he had discernedat a glance, shrank from obligation, and he was as alert to save herpride as he was to make a good bargain with Madame. 

"It's a good thing. It's good business. Don't think I'm losing for aminute, " he said as she rose to go, and she felt that some secretdelicacy, the last feeling she would have attributed to him, wasprompting his words. 

"I can't tell you what a relief it is to talk to you, " she said, holdingout her hand while she hesitated between the desk and the door. "I can'teven begin to tell you how grateful I am. I haven't had any one toadvise me since I left Richmond, and it is such a comfort"

"Well, I'll give you the best advice in my power. I'll give you the verybest, " he replied as frankly as if he were discussing his gift to thechurch. "What's more, I'll think it over a bit while I'm at the HotSprings, and talk to you about it when I come back. I suppose I canalways get you on the telephone, can't I?"

His manner was still casual and business-like, and it did not change byso much as a shade when he moved a step nearer and put his arm about herwaist. If he had taken down his hat or lighted a cigar, he wouldprobably have performed either action with the same air of automaticefficiency; and she realized, in the very instant of her amazement, thathis manner was merely an authoritative expression of his power. Whatastonished her most in the incident, after all, was not the judge'sshare in it, but the vividness and coolness of her own mentalimpressions. She was not frightened, she was not even disturbed, she wasmerely disgusted. Never before had she understood so clearly theimmeasurable distance that divided the Gabriella of seventeen years agofrom the Gabriella who released herself calmly from the appalling claspof the casual and business-like old man. To the Gabriella who had lovedGeorge such an episode would have appeared as an inconceivable horror. Now, with her worldly wisdom and her bitter knowledge of love, she foundherself regarding the situation with sardonic humour. The stupendous, the incredible vanity of man!--she reflected disdainfully. Was thereever a man too ugly, too repulsive, or too old to delude himself withthe belief that he might still become the object of passion?

"Now you've spoiled it, " she said shortly, but without embarrassment. "Now you've spoiled it. " She put the case to him plainly, the Gabriellawho would have blushed and trembled and wept seventeen years ago. 

"But I meant nothing, " he said, genuinely disturbed. "I assure you I amtruly sorry if I have offended you. It was nothing--a mere matter of--"the word "habit, " she knew, hovered on his lips, though he did not utterit, and broke off inconclusively. 

So there had not been even the excuse of emotion about it. He hadembraced her as instinctively, as methodically, as he might haveswitched on the electric light over his desk. Here again she was broughtto a stop before an overwhelming realization of the fundamentaldifferences between man and woman. To think of woman behaving like thatmerely because it had become a matter of habit!

"I always liked you, you know, " he said abruptly, with a sincereemphasis. 

"Well, there are different ways of liking, " she rejoined coldly, "and Ihappen not to care for this way. "

"If you don't like it, I'll never do it again, " he promised, almosthumbly. "I'll be a good friend to you, honestly I will. I'll treat youas if you were--you were--"

"A gentleman, " finished Gabriella, and smiled in spite of herself. Afterall, what was the use of resenting the facts of life? What was the useof reproaching the mud that spattered over one's clothes?

"Well, that's a bargain. I'll treat you as a gentleman. " There was afine quality about the man; she could not deny it. 

"I'll forgive you then and forget it. " It was the tolerant Gabriella whospoke--the Gabriella of disillusioning experience and a clear vision oflife--not the impassioned idealist of the 'nineties. When all was said, you had to take men and things as you found them. That was philosophy, and that was also "good business. " It was foolish to apply romantictheories to the positive actuality. 

"Well, you _are_ a gentleman, " exclaimed the judge, with facetiousness. "That's why I always liked you, I suppose. You're straight and you'rehonest and there's no nonsense about you. "

If he had only known! She thought of the romantic girl of the 'nineties, of her buoyant optimism, her childlike ignorance, her violentcertainties, and of her triumphant, "I can manage my life!" If he hadonly known how she had "muddled things" at the beginning, would he havesaid that she had "no nonsense about her?"

In the subway, a little later, clinging to a dirty strap, with ablackened mechanic in the seat before her, a box of tools at her feet, and a garlic-scented charwoman jolting against her shoulder, she wasovercome by a sudden cloud of despondency. Her courage, her hopefulness, her philosophy, seemed to melt like frost in her thoughts, leavingbehind only a sodden sense of loss, of emptiness, of defeat. "I've had amean life, " she said to herself resentfully. "I've had a mean life. Whathas ever happened to me that was worth while? What have I ever hadexcept hard work and disappointment? I am thirty-seven years old. Myyouth is going, and I have nothing to show for it but ten years ofdressmaking. The best of my life is over, and when I look back on it, itis only a blank. " It was as if the interview with the great man she hadjust left had completed the desolating retrospect of a lifetime. Wasthere nothing but disenchantment ahead of her? Was life merely thedropping of illusion after illusion, the falling of petals at the firsttouch from a flower that is beginning to fade? "Yes, nothing has everhappened to me that was worth while, " she repeated, forgetting herchildren for the moment. Then, because the heavy air stifled her, sheleft the car and turned into West Twenty-third Street where the lightswere coming out softly in the spring twilight. Though it was too late togo over the house Fanny wanted, it occurred to her that she might lookat the outside of it before she took the Harlem elevated train at one ofthe West Side stations. The walk would do her good and perhaps blow awaythe disquieting recollections of her encounter with Judge Crowborough. Not until her mood changed, she determined, would she go back to thechildren. 

At the corner she bought a bunch of lilacs because a man held them outto her temptingly when she approached, and as she buried her face in theblossoms, she said resolutely: "No, I haven't had a mean life. It can'tbe mean unless I think it so, and I won't--I won't. After all, it isn'tthe kind of life you have, but the way you think about it that matters. "

The air was deliciously mild; streaks of pale gold lingered above thegrim outlines of the buildings; and the wild, sweet spirit of springfluttered like an imprisoned creature in the gray streets of the city. It was May again, and the pipes of Pan were fluting the ancient songs inthe ancient racial fields of the memory. There was a spring softness inthe fleecy white of the clouds, in the flowing gold of the sunset, inthe languorous kiss of the breeze, in the gentle rippling waves of thedust on the pavement. For years she had been so tranquil, and nowsuddenly, at the flitting touch of the spirit of spring, she knew thatyouth was slipping, slipping, and that with youth, went romance, enchantment, adventure. It was slipping from her, and she had neverreally held it. She had had only the second-rate; she had missed thebest always--the best of life, the best of love, the best of endeavourand achievement. She had missed the finer reality. From somewhere, fromthe past or the present, from the dream or the actuality, her youngillusions and her young longings rushed over her, driven by thefragrance of the lilacs, which was stinging her blood into revolt. Onlyan instant the revolt lasted, but in that instant of vision nothingmattered in life except romance, enchantment, adventure. 

"Yes, I've missed life, " she thought, and the regret was still in hermind when one of those miracles which in our ignorance we call accidentsoccurred. Out of the lilac-scented twilight, out of the wild, sweetspirit of spring, a voice said in her ear, "Alice, you waited!"

Turning quickly, she had a vivid impression of height, breadth, bigness, of roughened dark red hair, of gray eyes so clean that they looked 'asif they had been washed by the sea. Then the voice spoke again: "I begyour pardon. It was a mistake. " And the next instant she was alone inthe street. 

CHAPTER VI

DISCOVERIES

"Who is Alice?" she wondered on her way home, "and for whom was shewaiting?" A shopgirl perhaps, and he was, probably--not a clerk in ashop--he looked more like a mechanic--but hardly a gentleman. Not, atany rate, what her mother or Jane would call a gentleman--not the kindof gentleman that George was, or Charley Gracey, for instance. He wasdoubtless devoid of those noble traditions by and through which, hermother had always told her, a gentleman was made out of a man--thetraditions which had created Arthur and Cousin Jimmy as surely as theyhad created George and Charley. "I wonder what tradition really amountsto?" she thought, while she stood on the rear platform of a Harlemtrain, grasping the handle of the door as the car swung round a curve. "All my life, I have been getting farther away from it--a woman has to, I suppose, when she works--and if I get away from it myself how can Ihonestly hold to it for men, who, according to mother, can't begentlemen without it?" Then reverting to her first question, she resumedmusingly: "Who _is_ Alice? It would be rather amusing to be Alice forone evening, and to find out what it means to be loved by a man likethat, even if he isn't a gentleman. He was, I think, the cleanestcreature I ever saw, and it wasn't just the cleanness of soap andwater--it went deeper than that. It was the cleanness of the winds andthe sea--as if his eyes had been washed by the sea. I wonder who Aliceis? A common little shopgirl probably from Sixth Avenue, with paddedhair and painted lips, and smelling of cheap powder. That's just thekind of girl to fascinate a big, strong, simple creature like that Yes, of course, Alice is cheap and tawdry and vulgar, with no substance toher mind. " She tried to think of Arthur, but her mental image of him hadbecome as thin and unsubstantial as a shadow. 

When she reached the apartment, Fanny rushed into her arms, and inquiredbreathlessly if she had taken the house?

"We went down again to look at it, mother, and we like it even betterthan ever. It will be so lovely to live next door to Carlie. We cantango every evening, and Carlie knows a lot of boys who come in to dancebecause the floor is so good. "

Her cheeks flushed while she talked, and, for the moment, she lostentirely her resemblance to Jane, who was never animated, though shemade a perpetual murmurous sound. Unlike Jane, Fanny was vivacious, pert, and, for her years, extraordinarily sophisticated. Already shedressed with extreme smartness; already she was thinking of men as ofpossible lovers; and already she was beginning, in her mother's phrase, "to manage her life. " Her trite little face, in its mist of golden hair, which she took hours to arrange, still reminded one of the insipid angelon a Christmas card; but in spite of the engaging innocence of her look, she was prodigiously experienced in the beguiling arts of her sex. Almost from the cradle she had had "a way" with men; and her "way" wasas far superior in finesse to the simple coquetry of Cousin Pussy as theworldliness of Broadway was superior to the worldliness of Hill Street. From her yellow hair, which she wore very low over her forehead andears, to her silk stockings of the gray called "London smoke, " whichshowed coquettishly below her "hobble" skirt, and above the flashingsilver buckles on her little pointed shoes of; patent leather, Fanny wasas uncompromisingly modern in her appearance as she was in her tastes orher philosophy. Her mind, which was small and trite like her face, wasof a curiously speculative bent, though its speculations were directedmainly toward the by-paths of knowledge which Gabriella, in her busylife, had had neither the time nor the inclination to explore. For Fannywas frankly interested in vice with the cool and dispassionate interestof the inquiring spectator. She was perfectly aware of the social evil;and unknown to Gabriella she had investigated, through the ample mediumof the theatre and fiction, every dramatic phase of the traffic in whiteslaves. Her coolness never deserted her, for she was as temperamental asa fish, and, for all the sunny white and gold of her surface, she hadthe shallow restlessness of a meadow brook. At twelve years of age shehad devoted herself to music and had planned an operatic career; atfourteen, she had turned to literature, and was writing a novel; and ayear later, encouraged by her practical mother, she had plunged into themovement for woman suffrage, and had marched, in a white dress andcarrying a purple banner, through an admiring crowd in Fifth Avenue. To-day, after a variable period, when she had dabbled in kindergarten, wood engraving, the tango, and settlement work, she was studying forthe stage, and had fallen in love with a matinée idol. Gabriella, whohad welcomed the wood engraving and the kindergartening and had beensympathetically, though impersonally, aware of the suffrage movement, just as she had been aware many years before of the Spanish War, wasdeeply disturbed by her daughter's recent effervescence of emotion. 

"I suppose she'll get over it. She gets over everything, " she had saidto Miss Polly, drawing painful comfort from the shallowness andinsincerity of Fanny's nature, "but something dreadful might happenwhile she is in one of her moods. "

"Not with Fanny, " Miss Polly had replied reassuringly. "Fanny knows morealready than you and I put together, and she's got about as much redblood as a lemon. She ain't the sort that things happen to, so don't youbegin to worry about her. She's got mighty little sense, that's thegospel truth, but the little she's got has been sharpened down to ap'int. "

"I can't help feeling that she hasn't been well brought up. I did what Icould, but she needed more time and care than I could give her. Itwasn't, of course, as if I'd chosen to neglect her. I have been obligedto work or she would have starved. "

"Oh, well, I wouldn't bother about that. It's like wishing chickens backin the shell after they're hatched--there ain't a particle of use in it. If you ask me what I think--then, I'd say that Fanny would be justexactly what she is if you'd raised her down yonder in Virginia. Herfather's in her as well as you, and it seems to me that she grows morelike him every day that she lives. Now, Archibald is your child, anybody can tell that at a glance. It's queer, ain't it how the boysalmost always seem to take after the mother?"

"But Charley has a splendid daughter. Think of his Margaret. "

"Of course, there ain't any rule that works out every time; but youknow, I'll always take up for Mr. Charley if it's with the last breath Idraw. It ain't always the woman that gets the worst of marriage, thoughto hear some people talk you'd think it was nothin' but turkey and plumpuddin' for men. But it ain't, I don't care who says so, and if anybodybut a saint could have married Jane without takin' to drink, I'd like tohave seen him try it, that's all. "

That was three weeks ago, and to-night, while Fanny rattled on about thehouse in West Twenty-third Street, her mother watched her with atolerant affection in which there was neither admiration nor pride. Shewas not deluded about Fanny's character, though the maternal mote in hereye obscured her critical vision of her appearance. But, notwithstandingthe fact that she thought Fanny beautiful, she was clearly aware thatthe girl had never been, since she left the cradle, anything but asource of anxiety; and for the last week or two Gabriella had been morethan usually worried about her infatuation for the matinée idol. Inspite of Miss Polly's assurances that Fanny was too calculating for rashadventures, Gabriella had spent several sleepless nights over the remotepossibility of an entanglement, and her anxiety was heightened by thefact that the child told her nothing. They were so different that therewas little real sympathy between them, and confidences from daughter tomother must spring, she knew, from fulness of sympathy. "I wonder ifshe ever realizes how hard I have worked for her?" she thought. "Howcompletely I've given up my life?" And there rose in her thoughts thewish that her children could have stayed children forever. "As long asthey were little, they filled my life, but as soon as they get bigenough for other things, they break away from me--even Archibald willchange when he goes away to school, next year, and I shall never havehim again as he is now. " At the very time, she knew, when she neededthem most--when middle-age was approaching--her children were failingher not only as companions, but as a supreme and vital reason forliving. If they could have stayed babies, she felt that she should havebeen satisfied to go on forever with nothing else in her life; but in alittle while they would grow up and begin to lead their own intensepersonal lives, while she, having outlived her usefulness, would be leftwith only her work, with only dressmaking and millinery for a lifeinterest. "Something is wrong with me, " she thought sternly; "the visitto the judge must have upset me. I don't usually have such wretchedthoughts in the evening. "

"Did you bring me your school report, darling?" she asked. 

Yes, Fanny had brought it, and she drew it forth reluctantly from thepages of a novel. It was impossible to make her study. She was asincapable of application as a butterfly. "I thought you were going to dobetter this month, Fanny, " said Gabriella reproachfully. 

"Oh, mother dear, I want to leave school. I hate it! Please let me beginto study for the stage. You know you always said the study ofShakespeare was improving. "

They were in the midst of the argument when Archibald came in, and heshowed little sympathy with Fanny's dramatic ambition. 

"The stage? Nonsense! What you want is to get safely married, " heremarked scornfully, and Gabriella agreed with him. There was no doubtin her mind that for some women, and Fanny promised to be one of these, marriage was the only safeguard. Then she looked at Archibald, strong, sturdy, self-reliant, and clever; and she realized, with a pang, thatsome day he also would marry--that she must lose him as well as Fanny. 

"I've had a letter from Pelham Forest, dear, " she said--Pelham Forestwas a school in Virginia--"and I am making up my mind to let you gothere next autumn. "

"And then to the University of Virginia where Grandfather went?"

"Yes, and then to the University of Virginia. "

Though she tried to speak lightly, the thought of the coming separationbrought a pang to her heart. 

"Well, I'd rather work, " said Archibald stoutly. "I don't want to goaway to school. I'd a long sight rather start in with a railroad or asteamship company and make my way up. "

"But, darling, I couldn't bear that. You must have an education. It'swhat I've worked for from the beginning, and when you've finished at theuniversity, I want to send you abroad to study. If only Fanny would goto college, too, I'd be so happy. "

"Don't you waste any money on Fanny's education, " retorted Archibald, "because it isn't worth it. What we ought to do is to get to work andlet you take a rest. The first money I make, I'm going to spend ongiving you pretty clothes and a rest. "

"I don't want to rest, dear, " replied Gabriella, with a laugh. "I'm notan old lady yet, you silly boy. " How ridiculous it was that he alwaysspoke of her work as if it were a hardship--a burden from which she mustbe released at the first opportunity. That was so like Cousin Jimmy, asurvival, she supposed, from the tradition of the South. Unlike Fanny, whose horizon was bounded by her personal inclinations, Archibald seemednever to think of himself, never to put either his comfort or his careerbefore his love for his mother. To attempt to shape Fanny's characterwas like working in tissue paper, but there was stout substance inArchibald. Gabriella had tried hard--she told herself over and overagain that she had tried as hard as she could--with both of herchildren; and with one of them at least she felt that she had succeeded. There was, she knew, the making of a splendid man in her son; and hisvery ugliness, which had been so noticeable when he was a child, wasdeveloping now into attractiveness. For it was the ugliness of strength, not of weakness, and there was no trace in his nature of theself-indulgence which had ruined his father. 

"But I don't want to go to college, mother dear, " protested Fanny, whoalways addressed Gabriella as "dear" when she was about to becomeintractable; "I want to go on the stage. "

"You are not to see another play, except when I take you, for a wholeyear. Remember what I tell you, Fanny!" replied Gabriella sternly. NotMrs. Carr herself, not Cousin Becky Bollingbroke, of sanctified memory, could have regarded an actress's career with greater horror than did theadvanced and independent Gabriella. Any career, indeed, appeared to herto be out of the question for Fanny (a girl who couldn't even get on astreet car without being spoken to), and of all careers the one thestage afforded was certainly the last she would have selected for herdaughter. 

"I'll remember, " responded Fanny coolly, and Gabriella knew in her heartthat the girl would disobey her at the first opportunity. It wasimpossible to chaperon her every minute, and Fanny, unchaperoned, was, in the realistic phrase of her brother, "looking for trouble. "

"I'll send her to boarding-school next year, " Gabriella determined; andshe reflected gloomily that with Fanny and, Archibald both away, shemight as well be a bachelor woman. 

"Well, children, you're both going away next winter, " she saidpositively. "I can't look after you, Fanny, and make your living at thesame time, so I shall send you to boarding-school. What do you say toMiss Bradfordine's?"

"That's up on the Hudson, mother. I don't want to go out of New York. "Fanny was genuinely alarmed at last. 

"The farther away from New York the better, my daughter. "

"What will you do here all alone with Miss Polly?

"Oh, we'll do very well, " answered Gabriella with cheerful promptness;"you need not worry about me. "

"If I'm good this summer, will you change your mind, mother?"

"Try being good, and see. " Though Gabriella spoke sweetly, it was withthe obstinate sweetness of Mrs. Carr. One thing she had resolved firmlyin the last quarter of an hour: Fanny should go away to boarding-schoolnext September. 

"Ain't you goin' to walk in the suffrage parade this year, Fanny?"inquired Miss Polly, who always thought it necessary to interrupt anargument between Gabriella and her daughter. 

"I haven't anything to wear, " replied Fanny pettishly. Her briefinterest in "votes for women" had evaporated with the entrance of thematinée idol into her life. 

"There's a lovely white gown just in from Paris I'll get for you, " saidGabriella pleasantly. She was tired, for she had had a trying day; butlong ago, when her children were babies, she had determined that shewould never permit herself to speak sharply to them. In Fanny's mostexasperating humours, Gabriella tried to remember her own youthfulmistakes, tried to be lenient to George's faults which she recognized inthe girl's character. 

"As if anybody needed to be dressed up to march!" exclaimed Archibaldscornfully, and he added: "She's always acting, isn't she, mother?"

"Hush, dear, you mustn't tease your sister, " Gabriella admonished theboy, though her voice when she spoke to him was attuned to a deeper andsofter note. 

"If you make me go to boarding-school next year, I don't care whetheryou take the rooms in Twenty-third Street or not, " said Fanny sullenly, for, in spite of her fickle temperament, there was a remarkable tenacityin her thwarted inclinations. 

"Very well. I'll look at the house and decide to-morrow. " As the servantcame in to lay the table, Gabriella dismissed the subject of Fanny'sschool, and opened the book--it chanced to be a volume ofBrowning--which she was reading aloud to the children. 

"I am really worried about Fanny, " she said to Miss Folly at midnight, while she lingered in the living-room before going to bed. "I honestlydon't know what to make of her, and I feel, somehow, that she is one ofmy failures. "

"Well, you can't expect everything to go the way you want it. Did yousee the judge?"

"Yes, I saw him, but it was no use. " Her visit to Judge Crowboroughappeared to her perturbed mind as a piece of headstrong and extravagantfolly, and she dismissed it from her thoughts as she had dismissedheavier burdens in the past. "Men simply won't treat Women in businessas they treat men, and I don't see unless human nature changes, how itis to be helped. But what about the house in Twenty-third Street? Do youthink I ought to look at it?"

"It was the most homelike place we saw, by a long way. There ain't manyplaces in New York where you can have a flower-bed in the front yard. "

"Do you think Fanny will be happy there? A year before this stage maniaseized her, you know, she was wild to move to Park Avenue. "

"Well, you know I've got a suspicion, " Miss Folly dropped her voice to awhisper. "Of course it ain't nothin' but a suspicion, for she neveropens her mouth about it to me, but I've got a right smart suspicionthat that young actor she is so crazy about lives somewhere down therein that neighbourhood, and she thinks she could watch him go by in thestreet. I don't believe, you know, that she's ever so much as spoken tohim in her life. "

"It's impossible!" exclaimed Gabriella, for this revelation of MissPolly's discernment was astonishing to her; "but if that's the case, "she added gravely, "I oughtn't to think of moving into the house. "

"Oh, well, I don't know that he's anywhere very near, and Fanny's goin'to be at boarding-school for a year or two and away with Jane at theWhite Sulphur in the summers. She won't be there much anyhow, will she?"

"Not much, but how I shall miss her--and, of course, if I miss her, I'llmiss Archibald even more, because he gives me no anxiety. It's odd, " shefinished abruptly, "but I've been depressed all day. I suppose mybirthday has something to do with it. "

"You ain't often like that, Gabriella. I never saw anybody keep inbetter spirits than you do. "

"I'm happy, but the spring makes me restless. I feel as if I'd missedsomething I ought to have had. "

"All of us feel that way at times, I reckon, but it don't last, and wesettle down comfortably after a while to doin' without what we haven'tgot. And you've been mighty successful, honey. You've succeeded ineverything you undertook except marriage. "

"Yes, except my marriage. "

"Well, I reckon things happen and you can't do 'em over again, " observedthe little seamstress, with the natural fatalism of the "poor white" ofthe South. 

As she undressed and got into bed, Gabriella told herself cheerfullythat there was, indeed, no need to worry over things that you couldn'tchange after they happened. From the open window a shaft of light fellon her mirror, and while she watched it, she tried to convince herrebellious imagination that she was perfectly satisfied, that life hadgiven her all that she had ever desired. "I have more than most womenanyhow, " she insisted, weakening a little. "I've accomplished what Iundertook, and by the time I'm fifty, if things go well, I may become arich woman. I'll be able to give Fanny everything that she wants, and ifshe hasn't married, we can go abroad every summer, and Archibald canjoin us in Switzerland or the Tyrol. About Archibald, at least, I canfeel perfectly easy. He is the kind of boy to succeed. He is strong, hehasn't a weakness, and I am sure there isn't a brighter boy in theworld. " Around the shaft of light in the mirror a stream of sparks, liketiny comets, began to form and quiver back and forth as if they wereflying. "It's a pity the judge can't help me, but it wouldn't do. I'dnever forget what happened to-day, and you can never tell when troublelike that is coming. I'll either make Madame give me half the profitsfor managing the business or I'll go to Blakeley & Grymn at a salary often thousand a year. She won't let me go, of course, because she knowsI'd take two thirds of her customers with the. Then I'll invest all Ican save in the business until finally I am able to buy it entirely--"An elevated train passed the corner, and while the rumble died slowly inthe distance, she found herself thinking of Arthur. "How different mylife might have been if I had only stayed true to him. That's thehappiest lot that could fall to a woman, to be loved by a man asfaithful and tender as Arthur. " For a few minutes she lay, withoutthought, watching the lights quiver and dance in the mirror, andlistening to the faint rumble of the elevated train far up the street. Then, just as she was falling asleep, a question flashed out of theflickering lights into her mind, and she started awake again. "I wonderwho Alice is?" she said aloud to the night. 

Several weeks, later, at the end of a busy day, Gabriella stood in frontof the house in London Terrace, watching her furniture as it passedacross the pavement and up the flagged walk into the hail. The yard wasneglected and overgrown with dandelions and wire-grass; but an oldrose-bush by the steps was in full bloom, and already Miss Polly wassurveying the tangled weeds with the eye of a destroyer. 

"I declare I'm just hungerin' for flowers, " she said wistfully, following the dining-room table as far as the foot of the steps whereGabriella stood. "The very first thing in the morning before I getbreakfast, I'm goin' to sow some mignonette and nasturtium seeds in thatborder along the wall, and fix some window boxes with clove pinks andsweet alyssum in 'em like your ma used to have in summer. I reckonthat's why I was so set on this place from the first. It looks more likeRichmond in old times than it does like New York. "

Beyond the grass and weeds, over which Gabriella was gazing, the streetwas so quiet for the moment that it might have been one of thoseforgotten squares in Richmond (she had never called them blocks) whereneedy gentlewomen still practised "light housekeeping" in the socialtwilight of the last century. Now and then a tired man or woman slouchedby from work; once a newsboy stopped at the gate to shout the name ofhis paper in belligerent accents; and a few wagons or a clanging carpassed rapidly in the direction of Broadway. From the corner of NinthAvenue the elevated road, which seemed to her at times the onlypermanent thing in her surroundings, still roared and rumbled itsdisturbing undercurrent in her life. 

"I think we shall be quite comfortable here, " she said, watching thelast piece of furniture pass through the door. "Where are the children?"The air had the rich softness of summer, and the roving fragrance fromthe old garden rose-bush by the steps awakened a strange homesickness inher heart--that mysterious homesickness which the spring gives us forplaces we have never seen. 

"The children are upstairs fixing their rooms, " replied Miss. Polly, stooping to pluck up a weed by the roots. "I reckon I'd better go andtell Minnie to begin gettin' dinner, hadn't I?"

"Yes, I'll come in presently. I hate to leave the air and the roses. "

"I wish we had the whole house, Gabriella. "

"It would be ever so much nicer, because I'm afraid the man on the firstfloor is dreadfully common. I don't like the look of that golden-oakhatrack in the hail. "

"Well, men never did have much taste. Think of the things your CousinJimmy would admire if Miss Pussy didn't tell him not to. Do yourecollect that paper in your parlour at home? Now Mr. Jimmy thought thatpaper downright handsome. I've heard him say so. "

"It was dreadful, but, do you know, I designed a gown last winter inpeacock blue like that paper, and it was a tremendous success. Poormother, I wish she could have seen it--peacock blue with an embossedborder. "

"You may laugh about it now, but I don't believe your mother minded itmuch. People in old times didn't let things get on their nerves the waythey do to-day. "

She went indoors to attend to the dinner table; and as Gabriella turnedback to the steps, she heard the gate slam and a man's voice exclaimheartily: "I'll see you about it to-morrow. " Then a figure came rapidlyup the walk--a large, free figure, with a buoyant swing, which awoke atrivial and fleeting association in her memory. Without noticing her, the man stooped for an instant beside the rose-bush, plucked a bud, andheld it to his nostrils as he turned to the steps. His voice, singing asnatch of ragtime which she recognized without recalling the name of it, rang out, gay and powerful, as he approached her. 

"I've seen him somewhere. Who can he be?" she thought, and then swiftly, as in a blaze of light, she remembered the May afternoon in WestTwenty-third Street, and "Alice, " whom she had wondered about andforgotten. She had again a vivid impression of bigness, of freshness, and of gray eyes that, reminded her vaguely of the colour of a storm onthe sea. 

"Good evening!" he remarked with impersonal friendliness as he passedher; and from the quality of his voice she inferred, as she had done onthat May afternoon, that he was without culture, probably withouteducation. 

He went inside; the door of his front room opened and shut, and after aminute or two the snatch of ragtime floated merrily through his window. If there was anything on earth she disliked, she reflected impatiently, it was a comic song. 

"He isn't a gentleman. I was right, he is common, " she thoughtdisdainfully, as she went indoors and ascended the stairs. "And he maymake it very disagreeable for us if he insists on bringing common peopleinto the houses" There was a vague impression in her mind that the malesof the lower classes were invariably noisy. 

"I saw the man on the first floor as I came up, " she remarked to MissFolly. "I hope he isn't going to be an annoyance. "

"Mrs. Squires says he's never in evenings. He gets all his meals outexcept breakfast, and she fixes that for him. She told me he was hardlyever here unless he was eatin' or sleepin', so I don't reckon he'llbother us?"

"Well, I'm glad of that, because he isn't the kind of person I'd likethe children to see anything of. You can tell that he is quite common. "

"What does he look like? Is he rough?"

"Oh, no, he is good looking enough--a fine animal. I suppose he'shandsome in a way, and he was dressed very carefully, but, of course, heisn't a gentleman. " For the second time this stranger had made her feelthat she had missed something in life, and she felt almost that shehated him. 

"Oh, well, I don't reckon it will hurt us to pass him in the hall, "replied Miss Polly soothingly, "as long as he don't bring in anydiseases. "

The next day they settled comfortably in the upper rooms and, as far assound or movement went, the floor below might have been tenanted by thedead. When she went out Gabriella passed the dreadful hatrack ofgolden-oak in the lower hail; and after a day or two she noticed thatit held a collection of soft felt hats, two overcoats of good cut andmaterial, and an assortment of gold-headed walking-sticks, whichappeared never to be used. Though she tried to ignore the presence ofthe hatrack, there was an aggressive masculinity about it which revivedin her the almost forgotten feeling of having "a man in the house. " Themere existence of a man--of an unknown man--on the first floor, alteredthe character not only of the lower hail, but of the entire house; itwas, she felt instinctively, a different place from a house occupied bywomen alone. She had seen so little of men in the last ten years thatshe had almost forgotten their distinguishing characteristics, and thescent of tobacco stealing through the closed door of the front roomdownstairs came as a fresh surprise when she passed Out in the morning. "I suppose I'm getting old maidish, " she thought. "That comes of leadinga one-sided life. Yes, I am getting into a groove. " And she determinedthat she would go out more in the evenings and try to take an interestin the theatre and the new dances. But even while she was in the act ofresolving, she realized that when her hard day's work was over, and shecame home at six o'clock, she was too tired; too utterly worn out, foranything except dinner and bed. There was still the cheerful hour withthe children (that she had kept up in the busiest seasons); but when thequestion of going out was discussed at dinner, she usually ended bysending the children to a lecture or a harmless play with Miss Polly. "When you work as hard as I do, there isn't much else for you in life, "she concluded regretfully, and there swept over her, as on that Mayafternoon, a sense of failure, of dissatisfaction, of disappointment. Youth was slipping, slipping, and she had missed something. 

At such moments she thought sadly of her life, of its possibilities andits significance. It ought in the nature of things, she felt, to mean somuch more than it had meant; it ought to have been so much more vital, so much more satisfying and complete. As it was, she could remember ofit only scattered ends, frayed places, useless beginnings, and brokenpromises. With how many beliefs had she started, and now not one of themremained with her--well, hardly one of them! The dropping of illusionafter illusion--that was what the years had brought to her as theypassed; for she saw that she had always been growing farther and fartheraway from tradition, from accepted opinions, from the dogmas and theideals of the ages. The experience and the wisdom of others had failedher at the very beginning. 

At the end of the week, when she and Miss Polly were watering seeds inthe yard one afternoon at sunset, the man from the first floor cameleisurely up the walk, and removing a big black cigar from his mouth, wished them "good evening" as he passed. 

"Good evening, " responded Gabriella coolly. She had resolved that thereshould be no interchange of unnecessary civilities between the firstfloor and the upper storeys. "One can never tell how far men of thatclass will presume, " she thought sternly. 

"Don't you think he's good lookin', honey?" inquired Miss Polly in awhisper when O'Hara had entered the house with his latchkey and closedthe door after him. 

"Is he? I didn't look at him. "

"You wouldn't think he'd ever had a day's sickness in his life. Ireckon he's as big as your Cousin Micajah Berkeley was. You don'trecollect, him, do you?"

"He died before I was born. Are those wisps of gray green, in theborder, pinks, Miss Polly?"

"Clove pinks like your ma used to raise. It ain't the right time to set'em out, but I sent all the way down to Richmond for 'em. I'm goin' toget a microphylla rose, too, in the fall. Do you reckon it would grow upNorth, Gabriella?"

"Well, we might try, anyhow. Where are the children?"

"Fanny's over at Carlie's, an' Archibald said he was goin' to thegymnasium befo' dinner. He's just crazy about gettin' as strong as theman on the first floor. He was punching a ball this mornin', andArchibald saw him. I never knew the boy to take such a sudden fancy. "

"When did he speak to him?" asked Gabriella, and her tone had a touch ofasperity so unusual that Miss Polly exclaimed in astonishment: "Forgoodness sake, Gabriella, what has come over you? Do you feel any sortof palpitations? Shall I run after the harts-horn?"

"No, I'm not ill, but I don't like Archibald to pick up acquaintances Iknow nothing about. "

"I reckon if you're goin' to sample all Archibald's acquaintances, you'll have a job on your hands. You ain't gone an' taken a dislike toMr. O'Hara for nothin', have you?"

"Oh, no, but I have to be careful about the children. Suppose he shouldbegin speaking to Fanny?" She had been vividly aware of the man as hepassed, and the sensation had provoked her. "If it wasn't for Alice, Ishouldn't have given him another thought, " she told herself savagely. "Imagine me at my age blushing because a strange man spoke to me in thestreet!"

"You needn't worry about his admirin' Fanny, " replied Miss Polly, in hermatter-of-fact manner, while she lifted the green watering-pot. "He wason the steps when she set out for school this mornin', an' he didn'tnotice her any more than he did me. Fanny ain't the sort he takes noticeof, I could see that in a minute. "

"Then he must be blind. " There was a resentful sound in Gabriella'svoice. "It embarrasses me when I get on a street car with her becausethe men stare so. "

"Well, he didn't stare. But it's a mighty good thing that all menhaven't got the same kind of eyes, ain't it? What I could never make outwas why men ever marry women who haven't got curly hair, an' yet they doit every day--they go right straight out an' do it with their wits about'em. "

The front door opened suddenly, and the man came out again, and, descended the walk with the springy step Gabriella had noticed at theirfirst meeting. Notwithstanding his size, he moved with the lightness andagility of a boy, and without looking at him she could see, as she bentover the flower-bed, that he had the look of exuberant vitality whichaccompanies perfect physical condition. Without meaning to, withoutknowing why she did it, she glanced up quickly and met his eyes. 

"So you are making a garden?" he remarked, and stopped beside thefreshly turned flower-bed. Against the gray twilight the red of his hairwas like a dark flame, and the vivid colour appeared to intensify thesanguine glow in his face, the steady gaze of his eyes, and thecheerful heartiness of his voice. 

"He is cyclonic, " she said to herself. "Yes, that is the word--he iscyclonic--but he isn't a gentleman. "

"It's a pity to let the yard run to waste, " she responded, with animperiousness which took Miss Polly's breath away, though it left theirrepressible O'Hara still buoyantly gay and kind. 

"Now it takes a woman to think of that, " he observed with an off-handgeniality which she felt was directed less toward herself than toward animpersonal universe. "I like to look at that old rose-bush when it is inbloom, but the idea"--(he pronounced it idee)--"of planting anythingwould never have occurred to me. "

Gabriella's lips closed firmly, while she sprinkled the earth with anair of patient finality which made Miss Polly think of Mrs. Carr on oneof her neuralgic days. 

"What's that stringy looking grass over there?" pursued the man, undismayed by her manner. 

"Clove pinks. " Nothing, she told herself indignantly, could persuade herto encourage the acquaintance of a man who mispronounced his words sooutrageously. 

"And here?" He pointed to the flower-bed she was watering. 

"Mignonette and nasturtium seeds. "

"When will they come up?"

"Very soon if they're watered. "

"And they'll bloom about July, I guess?"

"They ought to bloom all summer. In the autumn, if we have room, we'regoing to plant some dahlias, and a row of hollyhocks against the house. By next summer the yard will look much better. "

"By George!" he exclaimed abruptly, and after a minute or two: "Do youknow, I can remember the first time I ever saw a flower--or the firsttime I took notice of one, anyway. It was red--a red geranium. There wasa whole cart of 'em, and that's why I noticed 'em, I expect. But a redgeranium is a Jim-dandy flower, ain't it?"

To this outburst Gabriella made no reply. Her will had hardened with thedetermination not to be drawn into conversation, and while he waitedwith his eager gray eyes--so like the alert, wistful eyes of a greatdog--on her profile, she began carelessly plucking up spears of grassfrom the flower-bed. 

For a minute he waited expectantly; then, as she did not look up, heremarked, "So long!" in a voice of serene friendliness, and went on tothe gate. He had actually said "So long" to her, Gabriella, and he hadsaid it with a manner of established intimacy!

"Well, what do you think of that?" she demanded scornfully of Miss Pollywhen he had disappeared up the street. 

"I reckon he don't know any better, honey. You don't learn much aboutmanners in a mine, I 'spose, and when he ain't down in a mine, Mrs. Squires says he's building railroads across deserts. She says he ain'tever had anything, education or money, that he didn't pick up forhimself, and you oughtn't to judge him as you do some others you'veknown. Anyway, she says he's made a big pile of money. "

"I believe you're taking up for him, Miss Polly. Has he bewitched you?"

"I don't like to see you hard, Gabriella. You're almost always sotolerant. It ain't like you to sit in judgment. "

"I am not sitting in judgment, but I don't see why I'm obliged to befriendly with a strange man who says 'idee. ' It would be bad for thechildren. "

"Mrs. Squires has known him for thirty years--he's forty-five now--andshe says it's a miracle the way he's come up. He was born in a cellar. "

"I dare say he has a great deal of force, but you must admit that bloodtells, Miss Polly. "

"I never said it didn't, Gabriella--only that there's much more creditto a man that comes up without it. "

"Oh, I'll admire him all you please, " retorted Gabriella, "if you'llpromise to keep him away from the children. "

Though she spoke sharply, the sharpness was directed not to Miss Polly, but to herself--to her own incomprehensible childishness. The maninterested her; already she had thought of him daily since she firstcame to the house; already she had begun to wonder about him, and sherealized that she should wonder still more because of what Miss Pollyhad told her. When he had approached her in the yard, she had beenvaguely disturbed, vaguely thrilled by the strangeness and the mysterysurrounding him; she had been subtly aware of his nearness before sheheard his step, and turning, found his eyes fixed upon her. Her ownweakness in not controlling her curiosity, in recurring, in spite of herdetermined resolve to that first meeting, in allowing a coarse, roughstranger--yes, a coarse, rough, uneducated stranger, she insisteddesperately--to hold her attention for a minute--the incredible weaknessof these things goaded her into a feeling of positive anger. For tenyears there had been no men in her life, and now at thirty-seven, whenshe was almost middle-aged, she was beginning to feel curious about thehistory of the first good-looking man she encountered--about a mererobust, boisterous embodiment of masculinity. "What difference can itmake to me who Alice is?" she demanded indignantly. "What possibledifference?" She forced herself to think tenderly of Arthur; but duringthe last few months the image of Arthur had receded an immeasurabledistance from her life. His remoteness and his unreality distressed her;but try as she would, she could not recall him from the gauzy fabric ofdreams to the tangible substance of flesh. 

"It isn't that I care for myself, " she said to Miss Polly abruptly, asif she were defending herself against an unspoken accusation. "I am a working woman, and a working woman can't afford to besnobbish--certainly a dressmaker can't--but I must look after mychildren. That is an imperative duty. I must see that they formfriendships in their own class. "

But life, as she had already discovered, has a sardonic manner of itsown in such crises. That night she planned carefully, lying awake in thedarkness, the subterfuges and excuses by which she would keep Archibaldaway from O'Hara, and the very next afternoon when she came home fromwork she found confusion in the street, a fire engine at the corner, and, on the steps of her home, the boy clinging rapturously to the handof the man. 

"You ought to have been here, mother, " cried Archibald in tones ofecstatic excitement. "We had a fire down the street in that apartmenthouse--and before the firemen came Mr. O'Hara went in and got out awoman and some children who had been overcome by smoke. He had to lowerthem from a fire-escape, and he got every one of them out before theengine could get here. I saw it all. I was on the corner and saw it all. 

"I hope Mr. O'Hara wasn't hurt, " remarked Gabriella, but her voice wasnot enthusiastic. 

"To hear the kid run on, " responded O'Hara, overpowered byembarrassment, "you'd think I'd really done something, wouldn't you?Well, it wasn't anything. It was as easy as--as eating. Now, I wascaught down in a mine once in Arizona--"

"Tell me about it. Mother, ask him to tell you about it, " entreatedArchibald. The boy was obviously consumed with curiosity and delight. Gabriella had never seen him so enthusiastic, so swept away by emotion. Already, she suspected, he had fallen a victim to the passion of heroworship, and O'Hara--the man who spoke of "idees"--was his hero! "Ishall have to be careful, " she thought. "I shall have to be very carefulor Archibald will come under his influence. "

"Well, I guess I must be going along, " remarked O'Hara, a littlenervously, for he was evidently confused by her imperious manner. "Afellow is expecting me to dinner over at the club. "

"But I want to hear about the mine. Mother, make him tell us about themine!" cried Archibald insistently. 

"I'll tell you another time, sonny. We'll get together some day whenyour mother don't want you, and we'll start off on a regular bat. Howwould you like that?"

"When?" demanded the boy eagerly. His fear of losing O'Hara showed inthe fervour with which he spoke, in the frantic grasp with which hestill clung to his hand. It occurred to Gabriella suddenly that sheought to have thrown Archibald more in the companionship of men, thatshe had kept him too much with women, that 'she had smothered him in herlove. This was the result of her selfish devotion--that he should turnfrom her to the first male creature that came into his life!

Her heart was sore, but she said merely: "That is very kind of you, Mr. O'Hara, but I'm afraid I mustn't let my boy go off on a regular batwithout me. "

"Oh, yes, I may, mother. Say I may, " interrupted Archibald withrebellious determination. 

"Well, we'll see about it when the time comes. " She turned her head, meeting O'Hara's gaze, and for an instant they looked unflinchingly intoeach other's eyes. In her look there was surprise, indignation, and asuspicion of fear--why should he, a stranger, come between her and herson?--and in his steady gaze there was surprise, also, but it wasmingled, not with indignation and fear, but with careless and tolerantamusement. She knew from his smile that he was perfectly indifferent toher resentment, that he was even momentarily entertained by it, and theknowledge enraged her. The glance he gave her was as impersonal as theglance he gave Miss Polly or the rose-bush or the street with its casualstream of pedestrians. It was the glance of a man who had lived deeply, and to whom living meant action and achievement rather than criticism orphilosophy. He would not judge her, she understood, simply because hismind was not in the habit of judging. His interest in her was merely apart of his intense, zestful interest in life. She shared with MissPolly and Archibald, and any chance object that attracted his attentionfor an instant, the redundant vitality of his inquiring spirit. "Nowonder he has worked his way up with all that energy, " she reflected. "No wonder he has made money. " His face, with its clear ruddiness, wasthe face of a man who has breathed strong winds and tasted the sharptang of sage and pine; and she noticed again that his deep gray eyes hadthe unwavering look of eyes that have watched wide horizons of sea ordesert. There was no suggestion of the city about him, though hisclothes were well cut, and she was quick to observe, followed the lateststyles of Fifth Avenue. "Yes, he is good looking, " she admittedreluctantly. "There is no question about that, and he has personality, too--of a kind. " His hat was in his hand--a soft hat of greenish-grayfelt--and her eye rested for a moment on his uncovered head with itsthick waves of red hair, a little disordered as if a high wind hadroughened them. "If he only had breeding or education, he might bereally worth while, " she added, almost approvingly. 

When he spoke again O'Hara ignored Gabriella, and turned his alertquestioning glance on the little seamstress. Fanny had sauntered up thewalk to join the group--Fanny in all the glory of her yellow curls, andher "debutante slouch "--and he bowed gravely to her without thefaintest change of expression. If he admired Fanny's beauty and pitiedMiss Polly's plainness, there was no hint of it in the indifferent lookhe turned from the girl to the old woman. 

"The next time you're planting things, " he said earnestly, "I wish you'dset out a red geranium. I saw a cart of 'em go by in the street thismorning and I had half a mind to buy a pot or two for the yard. If Iget some, will you put 'em out?"

"Why, of course, I will. I'll be real glad to, " responded Miss Polly, agreeably flattered by his request. "Is there any special place you wantme to plant them?"

"Anywhere I can see 'em from the window. I'd like to look at 'em while Ieat my breakfast. And while we are about it, wouldn't it be just as wellto set out a whole bed of 'em?" he asked with a munificent gesture whichincluded in one comprehensive sweep the weeds, the walk, the elm tree, the blossoming rose-bush, and the freshly turned flower-borders. Thelarge free movement of his arm expressed a splendid scorn of smallthings, of little makeshifts, of subterfuges and evasions. 

"Don't you think it would cut up the yard too much to make another bed?"asked Gabriella, inspired by the whimsical demon of opposition. It wastrue that she had no particular fondness for red geraniums; but if MissPolly had expressed, on her own account, a desire to plant the streetwith them, she would never have thought of objecting. 

"Well, the yard ain't much to brag of anyhow, " replied Miss Polly withthat careful penetration which never sees below the surface of things. "To tell the truth I've always had a sort of leanin' toward geraniumsmyself--especially rose geraniums. I don't know why on earth, " sheconcluded with animated wonder, "I never thought of putting rosegeraniums in that window box along with the sweet alyssum. They wouldhave been the very things and they don't take so much watering. "

"That's a bargain, then, " said O'Hara, with his ringing laugh which madeGabriella smile in spite of herself. Then, after shaking hands with eachone of the group, he went down the walk and passed with his vigorousstride in the direction of Broadway. 

When the gate had closed, and his large figure had vanished in thedistance, Gabriella said sternly: "Archibald, you must not lose yourhead over strangers. We know nothing on earth about Mr. O'Hara exceptthat he lives in this house. "

"Oh, but, mother, he was splendid at the fire! You ought to have seenhim holding a girl by one arm out of the window. He was as brave as afireman, everybody said so, didn't they, Miss Polly?"

"Men of that sort always have courage, " observed Gabriellacontemptuously, and despised herself for the remark. What was the matterwith her this afternoon? Why did this man arouse in her the instinct ofcombativeness, the fever of opposition? Was it all because she suspectedhim of a vulgar intrigue with a shopgirl? And why had she decided sopositively that Alice was vulgar? Certainly, she, a dressmaker, shouldbe the last to condemn shopgirls as vulgar. 

"I declare, I can't begin to make you out, Gabriella, " said Miss Pollyuneasily. "I never heard you talk about folks bein' common before. Itdon't sound like you. "

"Well, he is common, you know, " protested Gabriella, with a strange, almost tearful violence. "Why did he have to shake hands with usall--with each one of us, even Fanny, when he went away? We'd hardlyspoken to him. "

"I don't know what's come over you, " observed the seamstress gloomily. "I reckon I'm common, too, so I don't notice it. But I must say I likethe way he spoke about geraniums. He showed a real nice feelin'. "

The words were hardly out of her mouth before Gabriella had caught herin her arms. "I know I'm horrid, dear Miss Polly, " she said penitently, "but I don't like Mr. O'Hara. "

"Then I shouldn't see any more of him than I was obliged to, honey, andthere ain't a bit of use in Archibald's goin' with him if you don't wanthim to. "

"I don't like to forbid him. Of course, I know nothing against theman--it is only a feeling. "

"Well, feelin's are mighty queer things sometimes, " remarked Miss Polly, scoring a triumph which left the indignant Gabriella at her mercy; "andwhen I come to think of it; I don't recollect that yours have alwaysbeen such good judges of folks. "

The geraniums arrived in a small cart the next morning, but O'Hara didnot appear, and for several weeks, though Gabriella glanced suspiciouslyat the hatrack each morning when she passed through the hail, there wasno sign of life in his rooms. Then one afternoon he reappeared assuddenly as he had vanished, and she found Archibald with him in theyard when she came home at six o'clock. That the boy would be herdifficulty, she knew by instinct, for he had been seized by one of thoseunaccountable romantic fancies to which the young of the race aredisposed. Though the sentiment was certainly far less dangerous thanFanny's passion for the, matinée idol, since it revealed itselfprincipally as a robust and wholly masculine ambition to follow in thefootsteps of adventure, Gabriella fought it almost as fiercely as shehad fought Fanny's incipient love affair. 

"He is making Archibald rough, " she said to Miss Polly, after afortnight of unavailing opposition to the new influence in Archibald'slife. "Until we came here, " she added despondently, "Archibald loved mebetter than anything in the world, and now he seems to think of nothingbut this man. "

"It looks to me as if it was mighty good for the child, honey. You can'tkeep a boy tied to your apron-strings all the time. Archibald needs afather the same as other boys, and if he hasn't got one, he's eithergoin' to break loose or he's goin' to become a mollycoddle. You don'twant to make a mollycoddle of him, do you?"

"Of course not, " answered Gabriella honestly, for, in spite of herstrange fits of unreasonableness, she was still sensible enough intheory. "I've tried hard to keep him manly--not to spoil him, you knowthat as well as I do. And it isn't that I object to his making friends. I'd give anything in the world if he could know Arthur. If it had beenArthur, " she went on gently, "I should have been glad to have him comefirst. I shouldn't have cared a bit if he had loved Arthur better thanme. "

"You oughtn't to talk like that, Gabriella, for you know just as well ascan be that Archibald don't love anybody better than he loves you. Asfar as I can make out though, Mr. O'Hara sets him a real good example. Idon't see that he's doin' the child a particle of harm, and I don'tbelieve you see it either. To be sure you don't think much of football, but it's a long ways better than loafin' round with nothin' to do, andthis boy scout business that Archibald talks so much about sounds allright to me. Now, he never would have thought a thing about that exceptfor Mr. O'Hara. "

"Yes, that's all right. I approve of that, but I can't help hating tosee a stranger get so strong an influence over my son. It isn't fair ofhim. "

"Then why don't you tell him to stop it. I believe he'd be sensibleabout it, and if I was you, I'd have it every bit out with him. "

"If it doesn't stop, I'll find some way of showing him that I object tothe friendship. But, after all, it may be only a fancy of Archibald's. Anyhow, I'll wait a while before I take any step. "

At the beginning of August Gabriella sent the children to the countrywith Miss Polly, and sailed, on a fast boat, for a brief visit to thegreat dress designers of Paris. Ever since Madame's age and infirmitieshad forced her to relinquish this annual trip, Gabriella had taken herplace, and all through the year she looked forward to it as to the lastof her youthful adventures. On her last visit, Billy and Patty had beenin Switzerland; but this summer they met her at Cherbourg; and she spentseveral brilliant days with them before they flitted off again, and lefther to the doubtful consideration of dressmakers and milliners. Patty, who appeared to grow younger and lovelier with each passing year, cameto her room the evening before they parted, and asked her in a whisperif she had heard of George or Florrie in the ten years since theirelopement?

"Not a word--not a single word, darling. I haven't heard his namementioned since I got my divorce. "

"You didn't know, then, that Florrie left him six months after they ranaway?"

"No, I didn't know. Does he ever write to you?"

"Not to me, but mother hears from him every now and then when he wantsmoney badly. Of course she doesn't have much to send him, but she giveshim every penny she can spare. A year ago she had a letter from somedoctor in New Jersey telling her that he was treating George for thedrink habit, and that he needed to be kept somewhere for treatment forseveral months. We sent her the money she needed, Billy and I, but inher next letter she said that George had escaped from the hospital andthat she hadn't heard of him since. That must have been about six monthsago. "

"It's dreadful for his mother, " observed Gabriella, with vaguecompassion, for she felt as if Patty were speaking of a stranger whoseface she was incapable of visualizing in her memory. In the last tenyears she had not only forgotten George, but she had forgotten ascompletely the Gabriella who had once loved him. Though it was stillpossible for her to revoke the hollow images of the past, she could notrestore to these images even the remotest semblance of reality andpassion. It was as if some nerve--the sentimental nerve--had atrophied. She could remember George as she remembered the house in Fifty-seventhStreet or her wedding-gown which Miss Polly had made; she could say toherself, "I loved him when I married him, " or, "It was in such a yearthat he left me"; but the empty phrases awoke no responsive echoes inher heart; and it would have been impossible to imagine a woman lesscrushed or permanently saddened by the wreck of her happiness. "Isuppose it's hard work that keeps me from thinking about the past, " shereflected while she watched Patty's beautiful face framed by the palegold of her hair. "I suppose it's work that has driven everything elseout of my thoughts. "

"Have you any idea what became of Florrie?" she asked, moved by apassing curiosity. 

"She left George for a very rich man she met in London. I believe he hada wife already, but things like that never stood in Florrie's way. "

"It's queer, isn't it, because she really has a kind heart. "

"Yes, she is kind-hearted when you don't get in her way, but she wasborn without any morality just as some people are born without any senseof smell or hearing. I know several women over here who are likethat--American women, too--and, do you know, they are all surprisinglysuccessful. Nobody seems to suspect their infirmity, least of all themen who become their victims. "

"I sometimes think, " observed Gabriella cynically, "that men like womento be without feeling. It saves them so much trouble. "

The next day Patty fluttered off like a brilliant butterfly, andGabriella began to suffer acute homesickness for the house inTwenty-third Street and her children. Not once during her stay in Parisdid the thought of O'Hara enter her mind; and so completely had sheceased to worry about his friendship for Archibald that it was almost ashock to her when, after landing one September afternoon, she drove upto the gate and found the man and the boy standing together beside aflourishing border of red geraniums, which appeared almost to cover theyard. 

"Oh, look, Ben, there's mother!" cried Archibald; and turning quickly, the two came to meet her. 

"My darling, I thought you were still in the country, " said Gabriella, kissing her son. 

"We've been here almost a week. . The place closed, so we decided to comeback to town. It's much nicer here, " replied Archibald eagerly. Helooked sunburned and vigorous, and it seemed to Gabriella that he hadgrown prodigiously in six weeks. 

"Why, you look so much taller, Archibald!" she exclaimed, laughing withhappiness, "or, perhaps, I've been thinking of you as a little boy. "Then, while her manner grew formal, she held out her hand to O'Hara. "How do you do, Mr. O'Hara?"

He was standing bareheaded in the faint sunshine, and while her eyesrested on his dark red hair, still moist and burnished from brushing, his tanned and glowing face, and on the tiny flecks of black in theclear gray of his eyes, she was startled by a sensation of strangenessand unreality as if she were looking into his face for the first time. 

"Oh, we're well. I've been playing with Archibald. Did you have a goodcrossing?"

"It was smooth enough, but I got so impatient. I wanted to be with thechildren. "

"Well, I went once, and I was jolly glad to get back again. There wasnothing to do over there but loaf and lie around. "

There would be nothing else for him, of course, she reflected; and shewondered vaguely if he had ever entered a picture gallery? What wouldEurope offer to a person possessing neither culture nor a passion forclothes?

The driver had placed her bags inside the gate; and O'Hara took chargeof them as if it were the most natural thing in the world to carry fora fellow tenant. Upstairs in the sitting-room he put his burden down, unfastened the straps, and commented upon the leather of a bag she hadbought in Paris. 

"I'd like to have a grip like that myself. Is there anything else I canhelp about?"

"No, thank you. " She was embracing Fanny, and she did not glance at himas she responded: "You are very kind, but my trunks are arranged for. "

At this he went without a word, and Gabriella began a joyous account ofher trip to the children. 

"Year after next, if you work hard with your French, you may both gowith me. Then you'll be big enough to look after each other while I amwith the dressmakers. "

"Oh, tell me about the dressmakers, mother. What did you bring me?"urged Fanny, prettily excited by the thought of her gifts. "I needdreadfully some dancing frocks. Carlie has a lovely one her mother hasjust bought for her. "

"I have all your autumn dresses, darling; everything you can possiblyneed at Miss Bradfordine's. "

Fanny's eager face grew suddenly fretful. "Am I really to go away toschool, mother?"

"Really, precious, both you and Archibald. Think of your poor lonelymother. " Breaking off with a start she glanced inquiringly about theroom, and turned a hurt look on Miss Polly. "Why, where is Archibald? Ithought he was in the room. "

"I reckon he must have gone down after Mr. O'Hara. They had just gotback from a ball game, and I 'spose they felt like talking about it. He'll be up again in a minute, because Mr. O'Hara goes out at sixo'clock. "

"But I've just come home. " Her lip trembled. "I should think Archibaldwould rather be with me. "

"Oh, he won't stay, and you'll have him all the evening. Archibald isjust crazy about gettin' you back. "

Taking off her hat, a jaunty twist of black velvet from Paris, Gabriellawent into her bedroom and changed to a gown of clear blue crape, whichshe took out of the new bag. When she came out again, with her armsfilled with Fanny's gifts, there was a flush in her usually pale face, and her eyes were bright with determination. 

"I put these in my bag, Fanny, so you wouldn't have to wait for thetrunks. Try on this little white silk. "

"Oh, mother, you look so sweet in that blue gown!"

"I got it for almost nothing, dear, but the colour is lovely. " Turningrestlessly away, she walked to the window and stood looking over MissPolly's window box down on the brilliant border of red geraniums. 

"Has Archibald come upstairs yet, Miss Polly?"

"Not yet, but he'll be up directly. Don't you worry. "

For an instant Gabriella hesitated; then crossing the room with aresolute step, she turned, with her hand on the knob, and looked back atthe startled face of the little seamstress, who was fastening Fanny'swhite gown. 

"Well, I'm going after him, " she said sternly; "I am going straightdownstairs to find him. "

CHAPTER VII

READJUSTMENTS

For a minute Gabriella stood outside the door of what had once been thedrawing-room of the house, while she listened attentively to the soundof animated voices within. Then suddenly Archibald's breezy laugh rangout into the hail, and raising her hand from the knob, she knockedsoftly on the white-painted panel of the door. 

"Come in!" called O'Hara's voice carelessly; and Gabriell entered andimperatively held out her hand to her son, who was standing by thewindow. 

"Come, Archibald, I want you, " she said gravely. "You went off withoutseeing your gifts. " She had invaded the sitting-room of a strange man, but her purpose was a righteous one, and there was no embarrassment inher manner. 

"Oh, mother, are they upstairs? I'll run up and see them!" cried, Archibald delightedly. "I thought they were all in the trunks. "

Darting past her in a flash, he bounded up the staircase, whileGabriella stood facing O'Hara, who had risen and thrown away his cigarat her entrance. The room was still fragrant with tobacco; there was alight cloud of smoke over the mignonette in the window box, and beyondit, she could see the dim foliage of the elm tree waving over theflagged walk to the gate. With an eye trained to recognize the value ofdetails, she saw that the sitting-room was furnished with the samedeplorable taste which had selected the golden-oak hatrack and theassortment of ornamental walking-sticks. The woodwork had been stainedto match the oak of the barbarous writing-table, which held a distortedbronze lamp, with the base composed of a heavily draped feminine figure, a massive desk set, also of bronze, a pile of newspapers, a dictionary, and several dull-looking books with worn covers and dog's eared pages. She noticed that the chairs were all large and solid, with deep arms andbacks upholstered in red leather, which looked as if it would never wearout, that the rug was good, and that, except for a few meretricious oilpaintings on the greenish walls, the room was agreeably bare ofdecoration. After her first hesitating glance, she surmised that acertain expensive comfort was the end sought for and achieved, and thatin the furnishing beauty had evidently been estimated in figures. 

"Mr. O'Hara, " she began firmly, "I wish you would not take my son awayfrom me. "

He did not lower his gaze, and she saw, after an instant in which heappeared merely surprised, a look of amusement creep into his expressiveeyes. Within four walls, in his light summer clothes, with the gauzydrift of tobacco smoke over his head, he looked larger and moreirrepressibly energetic than he had done out of doors. 

"I am sorry you feel that way, " he returned very slowly after a pause. Already she had discovered that he had great difficulty with his wordsexcept when he was stirred by excitement into self-forgetfulness. Atother times he seemed curiously inarticulate, and she saw now that, while she waited for his answer, he was groping about in his mind for asuitable phrase in which to repel her accusation. 

"I appreciate your interest in him, " she resumed smoothly, "but he iswith you too much. I do not know you. I know nothing in the world aboutyou. "

"Well--" Again he hesitated as if over an impediment in his speech. Then, finding with an effort the words he needed, he went on moreeasily: "If there's anything you'd like to know, I guess you can askme. "

She frowned slightly, and leaving the door moved resolutely to thewriting-table, where she stopped with her hand on the pile ofnewspapers. Against the indeterminate colour of the walls her head, withits dark, silver-powdered hair, worn smooth and close after the Parisianfashion, showed as clear and fine as an etching. In her blue summer gownshe looked almost girlish in spite of the imperious dignity of hercarriage; and from her delicate head to her slender feet, she diffusedan air of fashion which perplexed and embarrassed him, though he wasunaware of the conscious art which produced it. 

"The only thing I'd like to know about you, " she answered, "is why youhave taken so sudden a fancy to my son?"

At this he laughed outright, with a boyish zest which dispelled theoppressive formality of her manner. He was completely at his ease again, and while he ran his hand impatiently through his hair, he answeredfrankly:

"Well, you see, when it comes to that, I didn't take any sudden fancy, as you call it--I didn't take any fancy at all--it was the other wayabout. The boy is a nice boy--a bully good boy, anybody can seethat--and I like boys, that's all. When he began trotting round afterme, we got to be chums in a way, but it would have been the same withany other boy who had come to the house--especially, " he added with aclean blow given straight from the shoulder, "if he'd been a decent chapthat a parcel of women were making into a muff. "

For a minute anger, righteous anger, kept her silent; then she respondedwith stateliness: "I suppose I have a right to decide how my son shallbe brought up?"

He met her stern gaze with a smile; and in the midst of her resentmentshe was distinctly aware of the impeccable honesty of his judgment. Thepeculiar breeziness she had always thought of as "Western" sounded inhis voice as he answered:

"By George, I'm not so sure that you have!"

Before his earnestness she felt her anger melt slowly away. The basicreasonableness of her character--her passion to investigate experience, to examine facts, to search for truth--this temperamental attitudesurvived the superficial wave of indignation which had swept over her. 

"So you think I am making a mistake with Archibald?" she asked quietly;and growing tired of standing, she sank instinctively into one of thecapacious leather-covered chairs by the table. "But the question is--areyou able to judge?"

"Well, I'm a man, and I hate to see a boy coddled. It's going to bedevilish hard on the kid when he grows up. "

"Perhaps you're right"--her manner had grown softer--"and because I'vethought of this, I am going to send him away to school this autumn--in afew weeks. Much as it will hurt me to part with them, I am going to sendboth of my children away from me. I have made the arrangements. "

Insensibly the note of triumph had crept into her voice. By the simplestatement of her purpose she had vindicated her motherhood to this man. She stood clear now of his aspersions on her wisdom and her devotion. 

"I don't know much about girls, " he replied, seating himself on theopposite side of the table, where the green light from the shaded lampfell directly on his features. "I can't remember ever noticing one untilI grew up, and then I was afraid to death of them, particularly whenthey were young--but I've been a boy, and I know all about boys. Thereisn't a blooming thing you could tell me about boys!" he concluded withanimation. 

"And you think that all boys are alike?"

"More or less under the skin. Of course some are washed and some aredirty--I was dirty--but they're all boys, every last one of them, andall boys are just kids. With the first money I made out West, I starteda lodging-house for them--the dirty ones--down in the Bowery, " he added. "They can get a wash and a supper and a night's lodging in a bed withreal sheets any night in the year. "

She was suddenly interested. "Do you care for boys just because you werea boy yourself?" she asked. 

"Because I was such a God-forsaken little chap, I guess. You were neverdown in a cellar, I suppose, the kind of cellar people live in? Well, Iwas born in one, and my father had killed himself the week beforebecause he was ill with consumption, and couldn't get work. He'd been ateamster, and he lost his job when he came down with pneumonia, andafter they let him out of the hospital, he looked such a scarehead thatnobody would employ him. After he died, my mother struggled on somehow, taking in washing or scrubbing floors--God knows how she managedit!--and by the time I was five, and precious big for my age, I was inthe street selling papers. I used to say I was seven when anybody askedme, but I wasn't more than five; and I remember as plain as if it wasyesterday, the way mother used to take me to a corner of Broadway, andput a bundle of papers in my arms, and how I used to hang on to thecoppers when the bigger boys tried to get 'em away from me. SometimesI'd get an extra dime or nickel, and then we'd have Irish stew or friedonions for supper. After my mother died, when I was about eight, I stillkept on selling papers because I didn't know what else to do, but Ididn't have any place to sleep then so I used to crawl into machineshops or areas (he said 'aries') or warehouses, when the watchmenweren't looking. In summer I'd sometimes hide under a bush in the park, and the policeman would never see me until I slipped by him in themorning. There was one policeman I hated like the devil, and I used toswear that I'd get even with him if it took me all the rest of my life. "For a moment he paused, brooding complacently. "I did get even with him, too, " he added, "and it didn't take me more than twenty years. "

"You never forget anything?"

"Forget?" he laughed shortly. "When you find a thing I forget, it'll beso small you'll have to put on spectacles to recognize it!"

She nodded comprehendingly. "And after that?"

"After that they caught me and sent me to school, and I learned to readand write and do sums--I always had a wonderful head for figures--butafter school I went on selling papers so I'd have something to eat---"

The door burst open, and Archibald rushed in to show the evening clothesGabriella had brought him from Paris. 

"They are jolly, mother! May I keep them on?"

"If you like, dear, but they'll have to be altered a little. The coatdoesn't quite fit across the shoulders. "

"You're a dandy, kid, a regular dandy, " observed O'Hara, with humorousgravity. 

After a few moments Archibald rushed off again, and Gabriella made anuncertain movement to follow him. "I must go, " she said, without rising, and added abruptly: "So you got on in spite of everything?"

"Right you are!" He leaned back in his chair and regarded her withbenevolent optimism. "You can always get on if the stuff is in you. Imeant to get on, and a steam engine couldn't have kept me back. It's thegospel truth that I believe I came into the world meaning to get out ofthat cellar, and it was the same thing with areas and ash-bins. I knewall the time I wasn't going to keep grubbing a living out of an ash-bin. I was always growing, shooting up like one of those mullein stalks outthere, and eating? Great Scott! I used to eat so much when I was a kidthat mother starved herself near to death so as to give me a squaremeal. By the time I was twelve I had grown so fast that I got a job atcleaning the streets--my first job from the city. But I never wenthungry. As far as I recollect I never went hungry except the time I beatmy way out to Chicago--"

Without moving, without lowering her eyes from his face, Gabriellalistened, while she clasped and unclasped the hands in her lap. There isa personality that compels attention, and she realized for the firsttime that O'Hara possessed it. A new vision of life had opened suddenlybefore her, and she felt, with the illuminating intensity of a religiousconversion, that the world she had been living in was merely a fiction. In spite of her experience she had really known nothing of life. 

"Yes, a lot of 'em went hungry, but I never did, " he resumed in a toneof frank congratulation. "Sometimes, of course, I'd go without supper orbreakfast, but that was nothing--that was not being really hungry, youknow. I always managed, even when I was at school, to make enough tokeep satisfied. What I minded most, " he added musingly, "was not havinga regular place to go home to at night, and that's why I started thatlodging-house. When you've slept in holes and on benches, and underfreight cars, and hidden away in machine shops, you know there's nothingon God's earth--not a blessed thing--that can take the place of a realsure enough bed with real sure enough sheets and pillow cases on it. "

"But how did you come out of it? How did you succeed? For you havesucceeded beyond your dreams, haven't you?"

"Beyond my dreams?" He threw back his big, bright head, laughinghappily. "Did any man alive ever succeed beyond his dreams? Why, I usedto dream of being President, and I guess I shan't be President thisside of the Great Divide, shall I? But I made money, if that's what youmean. Why, I have a million to-day to every dollar I had when I wastwenty. Do you mind my smoking? I can't talk unless I've got hold of acigar. "

While he struck a match, she noticed with surprise how very neat andorderly he was about the ashes of his cigars, which lay in an exact grayheap in the massive bronze ash-tray. What a pity, she thought, moved bya feeling of compassion, that he had had no advantages!

"I'll tell you how I got on, " he pursued after a minute, leaning forwardwith the cigar in his hand--it was a good cigar, she knew from the smellof it. "Do you see this room?"--he glanced proudly about him--"do youknow why I keep this place even when I am in the West?" She shook herhead, and he went on with a kind of half-ashamed, whimsical tenderness:"Well, a man lived here once you never heard of--a common Irishman--justa common Irish politician--the Tammany sort, just the sort thenewspapers are so down on. I guess he wasn't strong on civic morality asthey call it, and the social conscience and all the other new-fashioncatchwords, but he found me out there in the snow one night sellingnewspapers without any overcoat, and he brought me in and gave me one ofhis. He was a little fellow--not big as the Irish usually grow--and Icould wear his clothes, though I wasn't thirteen at the time. The coatwasn't an old one, either, " he explained with retrospective complacency;"no, sirree, he had just bought it, and he made me take it off after I'dtried it on and sit down at the table in that back room there--it's alljust as he left it--and eat supper with him--the best supper I ever hadin my life before or since, you may take my word for it. Then when I'dfinished he gave me a dollar and told me to go out and rent a bed--" Hebroke off, glanced about the room with the pride of ownership, and addedsoftly: "Who'd ever have thought on that night that this place would oneday belong to me?"

"Did you see him again?"

"After that he never lost sight of me. He got me a room, he sent me toschool--not that he thought much of education, the more's the pity--andwhen I was through with school he got me into the Mechanics' Institute, and gave me a job at engineering. But the job was too small for me, andso was New York--there ain't room enough here to get on without steppingon somebody's toes--and when I was twenty I set out to beat my way toChicago, and went clean out to Arizona. That's a long story--I'll tellyou that some day, for I've been everything on earth you can be in orderto keep alive, and done pretty much everything you can do with two handsthat will earn you a square meal. I've cut corn and ploughed fields, andgreased wheels, and chopped wood, and mended machinery, and cleaned thesnow away, and once out in some little town in Arizona, I even dug agrave because the sexton was down with pneumonia. I've been brakesman, and freightman, and, after that, freight agent. That was just before Istruck it rich in Colorado. I was one of the first men at Bonanza City, and when I went there with the railroad--I was on the very first trainthat ever ran there--the whole town was just a row of miners' shacksnear the foot of old Bonanza. It's the richest mineral streak in theState, and yet twenty-five years ago, before the C. A. & F. W. Tapped it, there wasn't even a saloon out there at Bonanza. City. When you wanted adrink--and that didn't worry me, for I haven't tasted anything but watersince I was twenty-five--you had to go all the way to Olympia to get it;and what was worse, all the ore had to go to Olympia, too, on a littleno account branch road to be shipped over the main line. Well, as soonas I discovered Bonanza City I said that had to change, and it didchange. I guess I did as much to make that town as any man out there, and to-day I own about two thirds of it. I've got a house on PhoenixAvenue, and I gave the town a church and a theatre and the ground for alibrary. We've got one of the handsomest churches in the State, " heproclaimed with his unconquerable optimism, "and we've just begungrowing. Why, in ten years more Bonanza City will be in the race withDenver. "

"And what about your friend?" she asked, finding it difficult to becomeenthusiastic over the most progressive town in Colorado, a State whichshe always pictured imaginatively as a kind of rocky desert, inhabitedby tribes of gregarious invalids, which one visited for the sake of thescenery or the climate, when one had exhausted the civilized excitementsof Europe. 

"I am coming back to him, " he responded with a manner of genialremonstrance. "You just give me time. But I'd honestly like you to seeBonanza City. Why, it would take your breath away if I told you ithadn't even begun to grow twenty years ago. You people in New York don'tknow what progress means. Why, out there in Bonanza City we do thingswhile you're thinking about doing them. But to come back toBarney--that was his name, Barney McGoldrick--after I made my pile outof Bonanza, I used to strike here once in a while to see how he wasgetting along, and when he died I took these rooms just as he left 'em. There wasn't a chick or a child to come after him, but he had a stringof pensioners as long as the C. A. & F. W. His money--it must have beenhalf a million--all went to charity, but I kept on in the rooms. "

"What kind of man was he?" she asked, sincerely interested. 

"What kind?" He pondered the question with deep puffs of his cigar. "Well, do you know, I don't believe, to save my life, I could tell you. The more you know of men, and of women, too, for they're all alike, themore you understand, somehow, that you can't judge unless you've beenright in the other man's place--unless you know exactly what they've hadto pull up against and how hard they have pulled. Now, if I was drawingmy last breath, and you asked me what I thought of Barney McGoldrick, I'd be obliged to answer that he was the best man I ever knew, thoughthere are others in this town, I guess, and the newspapers among 'em, who would tell you that he was--" He broke off abruptly, and she waitedwithout speaking, until he solaced himself with his cigar, and went onless boisterously: "It's a downright shame, isn't it, that the same mancan't manage to corner all the virtues. I can't explain how it is, butI've noticed that the virtues don't seem able to work along peaceably inone another's company, for if they did, I guess we'd have pure saints orpure sinners instead of the mixed lot we've got to make a world out of. I've seen a man who wouldn't have lied or stolen to save his wife fromstarving, and who was the first in the pew at church every Sunday, grindthe flesh and blood out of his factory girls until they were driven intothe streets, or crush the very life out of the little children he put towork in his mills. Yes, and I've seen a tombstone over him with 'I knowthat my Redeemer liveth' carved an inch deep in the marble. Well, Barneywasn't like that, but he had his weaknesses, and they were the kindpeople don't raise marble tombstones over. I never had a taste forpolitics myself, but it seems to be like any other weakness, and to draga man a little lower down if it once gets too strong a hold on him. It'sall right, of course, if you keep it in moderation, but there's preciousfew chaps, particularly if it's in their blood, and they're Irish, whocan keep the taste under control. Barney was the most decent man towomen I ever knew. He wouldn't have hurt one for a million dollars, in afactory or out of it, and he was faithful to his old wife up to the dayof her death and long after. He grieved for her till he died, and Idon't believe any woman ever asked his help without getting it. Hisprivate life was absolutely clean, but his public morality--well, Iguess that wasn't exactly spotless. At any rate, they had aninvestigation--there was a committee of citizens appointed to sit injudgment on his record. The chairman was a pillar of the church and apublic benefactor; he had led every political reform for a generation;and I happened to know that he kept two mistresses up somewhere in theBronx, and his wife, who was old and ugly, wore herself to a shadowbecause he neglected her. Mark you, I'm not upholding Barney, but, goodLord! ain't it queer how easy men get off when they just sin againstwomen and not against men or against the State?"

"It's all queer. " She rose from the leather chair, and held out herhand. "I'm glad I came in, Mr. O'Hara. Some day you must tell me therest. "

"The rest?" His embarrassment had descended upon him, and he wasawkwardly stammering for words, with her cool hand in his grasp. As longas his enthusiasm had lasted he had talked fluently and naturally, sweptaway from his self-consciousness; but with the return of the formalamenities he became as ill at ease and shy as a boy. "There ain'tanything more except that we're building a railroad out there, and I'mgoing back to finish it next spring if I'm alive. "

The September breeze entered from the dim stretch of yard, under thewaving elm boughs, and in an instant the room was filled with thefragrance of mignonette. 

"But you won't be if you never get your dinner, " she retorted, as shesmiled brilliantly. Then, turning quickly, she crossed the threshold, and went down the hall to the staircase. 

She was tremendously excited, and while she mounted the stairs she feltthat she had not been so alive, so filled with energy since her girlhoodin Richmond. It was as if a closed door into the world had been suddenlyflung open, and she knew that she had passed beyond the narrow paths ofconvention into the sunny roads and broad fields of vision. In a momentof enlightenment she saw deeper and farther than she had ever dreamedof seeing before. "It teaches one not to judge, " she thought, with astab of self-reproach, "it teaches one not to judge others until onereally knows. " Twice before to-night, on the day when she resolved forthe sake of Jane's children to go to work, and again on the June eveningwhen George returned to her, she had felt this sudden quickening oflife, this magical sense of the unexplored mystery and beauty of theworld that surrounded her. But she had been very young then, and on thatJune evening she had been deeply in love. To-night, she assured herself, there was no touch of personal romance. In some inexplicable way thetalk with O'Hara had renewed her broken connection with her Dream, andshe felt closer in sympathy to Arthur than she had been able to feel formonths. No, this awakening was utterly different from the awakening oflove, for it shed its illumination not on a single person, but on thewhole of humanity. O'Hara had moved her, not as a man, but as a force--aforce as impersonal as the wind or the sea, which had swept herintellect away from its anchorage in the deeps of tradition. She hadthought herself free, but she understood now that she had never reallybroken away--that in spite of her struggles to escape, the past hadstill held her. To-night it was more than an awakening, it was aconversion through which she was passing, and she knew she could neveragain believe as she had believed a few hours ago, that she could neverjudge again as unintelligently as she had judged yesterday. "So that isa man's world, " and then with a rush of impulse: "What a mean littlelife I have been living--what a mean little life!" For she really knewnothing of life except dressmaking; she was familiar with no part of itexcept the way to Dinard's. She had been living a little life, withlittle standards, little creeds, little compromises. And yet, though thepersonality of O'Hara had enlarged her vision of the world, it had notaltered her superficial view of the man. She still saw him outwardly atleast without the glamour of romance--she still thought of him asboisterous, uneducated, slangy--but she was beginning almostunconsciously to distinguish between the faults of manner and the faultsof character; she was beginning to be tolerant. 

From Fanny's open door a humming voice floated out to her, and goinginside, she found the girl, in a new frock, practising a dance stepbefore the mirror. "This is the lame duck, mother, but it's differentfrom the one we danced last year. "

"Yes, dear, it's very pretty. " Stopping before the dressing-table, Gabriella frowned on the photograph of a young man in a silver frame--ayoung man with a fascinating smile and inane features. 

"Fanny, where did you get this?"

"Oh, mother, I didn't mean you to see it. I meant to put it away. "

"Where did you get it?"

"He sent it to me. I wrote and asked him for it, and it has hisautograph. Isn't he handsome? That's just the way he looked in 'StolenSweets' last winter. "

"Well, he looks like a calf, I think, " returned Gabriella severely. "Isuppose you may keep it out until you get tired of it, but please try tobe sensible, Fanny. " Though she spoke jestingly, she was secretlydisturbed by the discovery of the photograph. "If she were not pretty, it wouldn't matter, " she thought, "but she is so pretty that almost anyman might be tempted to begin a flirtation. Thank Heaven, she didn'ttake a fancy to Mr. O'Hara. That would have been a calamity. " For, inspite of the fact that she had become personally reconciled to O'Hara, she was as firmly resolved as ever to keep Fanny out of his sight. "Youknow so many nice boys, dear, " she resumed after a minute, "that I thinkyou might be content to let actors alone. "

"But boys are so stupid, mother. " Fanny's tone was withering in itsdisdain. "They are wrapped up in sports, and I despise sports. "

"Then you oughtn't to tease them as you do. You're too young to havefancies. "

"I am sixteen. "

"Well, that is much too young for anything of that sort. I like you tohave boy friends, but I don't like you to be foolish. What has become ofthat attractive boy, Carlie's brother? He doesn't come here any more, and I'm afraid you've hurt his feelings. "

"Oh, mother, " hummed Fanny to the music of the lame duck as shepractised before the mirror, "how can you really hurt a man?"

The next morning when Gabriella, in a Parisian gown of black taffeta andone of the absurdly small hats of the autumn, started for Dinard's, shefound herself thinking, not of Fanny's flirtation, but of her long talkwith O'Hara. She cast a friendly glance on the golden-oak hatrack as shepassed--for O'Hara had risen in her regard since she had discovered thathe had not selected the furniture on the first floor--and then stoppingfor a few moments on the front steps, she closed her eyes, and inhaledthe fragrance of the mignonette in the window box. The yard wasbrilliant in the early sunshine; and at the gate she saw the wife of thecaretaker, who had looked after the flowers in her absence. Detainingthe woman by a gesture, she joined her in the street, and the twostarted together to walk the long blocks that stretched to Fifth Avenue. 

"You are going home early to-day, Mrs. Squires. "

"Yes, ma'am; it's Johnny's birthday and I promised to take him up to theBronx. Mr. O'Hara had his breakfast at seven, and I got through earlierthan usual. He is so tidy that there ain't much to do except to dustaround a little. "

She was a neat, red-faced woman, in rusty mourning for a child she hadlost in the early summer, and while she talked, Gabriella felt anirresistible impulse to question her about O'Hara. "She has known himfor thirty years, and I can find out more from her than I could discoverfor myself in six months, " she thought; but she only said indifferently:

"You've worked at this house a long time, haven't you?"

"For thirty years--ever since I came here at eighteen as housemaid toMr. McGoldrick. My husband was coachman for Mr. McGoldrick, you know--hedrove the prettiest pair of bays in New York--and that was how I methim. When we married, Mr. McGoldrick set us up, and John drove hiscarriage for him as long as he lived. I often wonder what the oldgentleman would think of everybody having automobiles. They were justbeginning to come into fashion when he died. "

"You knew Mr. O'Hara then?"

"Oh, yes, he was a great deal with Mr. McGoldrick. After he went West wedidn't see much of him for a time--that was while he was making hismoney. Then he came back and brought his wife to a place here to betreated--"

"His wife?"

"Didn't you know? She died a few years ago, but before that he used tokeep her with some doctor over on Long Island, and he went regularly tosee her every Sunday afternoon as long as she lived. "

"What was the matter?"

"Drugs. Drugs and drink, too, they said, though I never knew for certainabout that. But they couldn't do anything with her. They tried all thecures anybody ever heard of, and she went back every time. No soonerwould one thing fail, however, than Mr. O'Hara would hear of somethingor other over in Europe, and make them begin trying it. Finally for thelast ten or twelve years she was quite out of her mind--clean crazy theysaid, and didn't know anybody. But he still went to see her every Sundaywhen he was staying in town, and he still made the doctors go on tryingnew things. He never gave up till the very last. Mr. McGoldrick used tosay of him that he was the sort that would go on hoping in hell. "

"Who was she? Where did he meet her?"

"God only knows. He never would say much about her even to Mr. McGoldrick, but John always stuck it out that she was never the rightsort in the beginning, and that Mr. O'Hara got tangled up with hersomewhere in a mining town out West, and couldn't get out. I've heardshe was a chambermaid or a barmaid or something in a miners' hotel, butI don't know, and nobody else knows, for Mr. O'Hara never opened hismouth about her. All we know positive is that she must have been a drugfiend long before he ever married her, and that he stuck to her forbetter or for worse until she died and was buried. Some men are likethat, you know, a few of 'em. When a thing once belongs to 'em, nomatter what it is or how little it's worth, they'll go through fire andwater for the sake of it--and it makes no difference whether it's awoman or a railroad or a dog or a mine. They've got the sense ofresponsibility like a disease. You see, Mr. O'Hara is that sort, and youmight as well try to turn a steam roller as to start to reason him outof a notion. It would have been as easy as talking for him to have got adivorce. Time and again Mr. McGoldrick used to go after him about it, and talk himself hoarse; but it didn't do any good, not a particle. Instead of getting free out there in the West where it was easy, he kepton lugging that crazy woman back and forth, trying to cure her longafter everybody else had given up hope and was wishing that she wasdead. "

"Well, I suppose he loved her. "

"No, ma'am, that's the funny part, but it didn't look like love tome--not like what men call love, anyway. If it had been love, it wouldhave worn itself out long ago. Who on earth could love a crazy, yellow, shrieking, cursing creature like that? I saw her sometimes when he'dsend me to take things down to her, and I tell you it wasn't love--notman's love, anyhow--that made him do what he did. "

"Then it must have been something finer even than love, " Gabriellaacquiesced after a moment. "It's strange, when we come to think of it, how often we find spirituality in places where we'd never expect it tobe. "

"I don't know that I'd call Mr. O'Hara spiritual exactly, " replied Mrs. Squires thoughtfully. "I don't believe he ever puts his foot inside achurch, and I've heard him swear when he got ready till you'd expect theroof to drop in on you, but when you come to think of it, " sheconcluded, "I guess there's a good deal of religion floating aroundoutside of walls. "

At the next corner they parted, and as the caretaker stopped to shakehands with Gabriella and thank her for a birthday present for Johnny, she added nervously: "I hope I haven't said anything that I oughtn't tohave said, Mrs. Carr. Mr. O'Hara has been as good as gold to me, and Ishouldn't like him to hear I'd been talking about him. "

"He shan't hear, I promise you"; and while Mrs. Squires hurried, reassured, to her home in Sixth Avenue, Gabriella walked briskly withthe crowd which was streaming along Twenty-third Street into Broadway. 

A week ago she would scarcely have noticed the people about her. For tenyears she had gone every morning to her work through the streets, andshe had felt herself to be as aloof from the masses as the soaringskyscraper at the corner of Broadway. The psychology of the crowd hadnot touched her; even when she walked with it, when she made a part ofit, she had felt herself to be detached from its purposes. 

To-day, however, a change had come over her, and she was happy with alarge and impersonal happiness which seemed to belong less to herselfthan to the throng which surged about her and gathered her in. Herlittle standards, her little creeds, had become a part of the largerstandards and creeds of humanity. In Broadway, moving onward with theother workers who were returning to the day's work, she was aware of aninvisible current of joy which flowed from the crowd into her thoughtsand through her thoughts back again into the crowd. For the first timeshe was feeling and thinking in unison with the multitude. 

That night, when she sat alone with Miss Polly, she said to hersuddenly:

"I believe I was wrong to wish Archibald not to see anything of Mr. O'Hara. Yesterday we had a long talk, and I think he must have some veryfine traits. "

"Maybe, " replied Miss Polly, a little snappishly. "I never could seewhat set you so against him, Gabriella. "

"Oh, he is dreadfully slangy, and, of course, he isn't educated. Isuppose if I mentioned Hamlet to him, he'd think I was talking aboutsome town in Oklahoma. "

"Well, I reckon he's been his own Hamlet, " retorted Miss Polly; "andknowing about Hamlet don't make a man, anyhow. George knew all aboutHamlet, but it didn't make him easy to live with. "

"Yes, that's just it. What did George's advantages do for him? I used tothink it was love that mattered most, " she said musingly after a pause, "and then, when love failed, I began to think it was culture. But I seenow that it is something else. Do you ever wonder what the essentialthing really is, Miss Polly?"

"No, I never wonder, " responded Miss Polly tartly, "but when you stew itdown to the bones, I reckon it's just plain character. "

"Yes, if you can't have both culture and character, of course characteris the more important. But think how much that man might have made ofthe university training that was wasted on George. " While she spokethere came back to her in snatches a conversation she had had with anEnglishman on the boat last summer, and she remembered that he hadalluded to Judge Crowborough as "a man of the broadest culture. " Surelythe "broadest culture" must include character, and yet she could feeleven now the casual and business-like clasp of the judge, she could seeagain the admiring gleam in his small, fishy eyes. "After all, I supposeit is a kind of spiritual consciousness that makes character, " she saidaloud, "and you can't train that into a man if he isn't born with it. "

"It seems to me that Mr. O'Hara has done mighty well, all thingsconsidered, " pursued Miss Polly, and she inquired suspiciously: "DidMrs. Squires ever tell you anything about his marriage?"

"I met her this morning on my way to work, and she told me about it. "

"Well, what do you make of it? Don't it beat anything you ever heard?"

"It does. There's not the slightest doubt of it. And, do you know, "Gabriella went on hurriedly, "that story made a remarkable impression onme--I've been thinking about it ever since. It made me see everythingdifferently, and I've even asked myself if I had enough patience withGeorge. If I wasn't too hard and intolerant with him in the beginning?"

"I shouldn't worry about that, honey, because I don't believe it wouldhave made any difference if you'd been gentler. It's the stuff in a man, I reckon, that counts more than the way a woman handles him. Youcouldn't have saved George any more than that other woman could ruin theman downstairs. "

"Perhaps not. " Rising from her chair, Gabriella drew the pins from thesmooth, close coil of her hair. "But I see things so differently since Ihad that talk with Mr. O'Hara. I am glad to have him for a friend, " sheadded generously, "but of course I still feel the same about Fanny. Ihope he won't begin to notice Fanny. "

"Well, he won't. He ain't thinkin' about it. I declare, Gabriella, " thelittle woman went on with a change of tone, "your head don't look muchbigger than a pincushion with your hair fixed that way. It makes youseem mighty young, but there ain't many women that could stand it. "

"It's the fashion in Paris. I have to be smart. Do you suppose manypeople guess that I wear extreme styles, " she added laughingly, "becausethey are so hard to sell?"

"You certainly do look well in 'em. I never saw anybody with morenatural style. Why, you can put on those slouchy things without a pieceof corset and look as if you'd just stepped out of a fashion plate. "

"When you aren't pretty, you're obliged to be smart. "

"Well, of course you never had the small features and pink and whitecolouring that Jane had; but you always had a way of your own even as agirl, and you're handsomer now than you ever were in your life. If youwere to ask Mr. O'Hara, I bet you he'd say you were a heap betterlookin' than Fanny. "

A gasp broke from Gabriella, and she turned from the mirror to stareblankly at the seamstress. "Mr. O'Hara! Why, what in the world made youthink of him?"

But Miss Polly had grown suddenly impenetrable. "Oh, nothin', " sheresponded evasively; "I've just seen him look at you both when you weretogether. "

Gabriella laughed brightly. "Oh, he looks at everything. I never sawsuch eyes. "

There was the note of accomplishment, of success, in her voice, and shebrushed her fine, soft hair with long, vigorous strokes which had inthem something of this same quality of unwavering confidence. To look ather as she sat, relaxed yet dominant, before the glass, was to recognizethat she was a woman who had achieved the purpose of her life, who hadsucceeded in whatever she had undertaken. Not a great purpose, perhaps--there were hours when her purpose seemed to her to beparticularly trivial--but still, great or small, she had accomplishedit. She was not only directing Dinard's now--she _was_ Dinard's. Withouther the business would collapse like a house of cards, and it wasbecause she knew this, because Madame also knew this, that she had beenable to perfect the arrangements she had planned that May afternoonafter her depressing visit to Judge Crowborough. For she managed thehouse of Dinard's now by an arrangement which gave her one third of theprofits; and in the last six months, since this scheme had gone intoeffect, the business had grown tremendously in certain directions. Themillinery department, for instance, which Madame had once treated withsuch supercilious disdain, had become to-day the most fashionable hatshop in Fifth Avenue. The work was hard, but the returns were wonderful;and with a strange gloating, she told herself that she was makingmoney--always more money for the children. "When Fanny finishes schoolyear after next, we'll take a large apartment in Park Avenue, and spendevery summer in Europe, " she concluded. 

In the morning she rather expected to see O'Hara, but a month passedbefore she met him one evening in October, when she came home late fromwork. The autumn rains had come and gone, destroying the fugitive bloomof Miss Polly's flower-beds, and scattering the leaves of the elm treein a moist, delicately tinted carpet over the grass. An hour ago the sunhad set in a purple cloud, and beneath the electric lights, which shonethrough the fog with a wan and spectral glimmer, the dark outlines ofthe city assumed an ominous vagueness. There was no light in the house;and the deserted yard, silvered from frost and strewn with dead leaves, which lay in wind-drifts along the flagged walk, had the haunted aspectof a place where youth and happiness have passed so recently that thefragrance of them still lingers. 

"Archibald went off to school without telling you good-bye, " she said ina friendly voice. "He was much disappointed. "

Stopping in the walk, he looked at her with unaffected surprise. 

"Why, I thought that was what you wanted!"

She met this quite honestly. "Not after I talked to you. "

"What in thunder did I say to change your opinion of me?" The strongwest wind blowing around him and lifting the roughened red hair from hisforehead, appeared to lessen by contrast the breezy animation of hismanner. 

"It wasn't anything you said, " she answered simply. "I found out youwere different from what I thought, that is all. "

"Then you must have thought something!" he laughed aloud. 

"I was afraid at first that you might have a bad influence overArchibald. "

"Oh, the kid!" His mirth was as irrepressible as his energy. 

"You see I have to be very careful, " she went on gently. "I want to domy best by him. "

At this he turned on her with sudden earnestness. "You can't do yourbest by being too careful--take my word for it. If you want him to be aman, don't begin by making a mollycoddle of him. Let him rough it a bit, or it will be twice as hard for him when he grows up. "

"But I do--I do. I am sending him away from me. Isn't that right?"

"You bet it is. Let him learn his own strength. I've lived among menever since I was born, and I tell you, nine times out of ten, the boywho is tied to his mother's apron-strings, loses his grip when he isturned out into the world. At the first knock-down he goes under. "

Instinctively she flinched. If only he wouldn't!

"After he leaves school of course he will go to the university, " shesaid. 

"That's right, " he agreed emphatically, and pursued a little wistfully:"Now, that's what I was cheated out of, and there've been times when I'dhave given my right arm to have been through college instead of havingto keep my mouth shut and then run home and look up the meaning ofthings in an encyclopædia. It's a handicap, not knowing things. Nobodywho hasn't had to get along in spite of, it knows what a darned handicapit is!"

"But you read, don't you?"

"Not much. Never had time to form the habit. But I've readShakespeare--at least I've read Julius Cæsar six times, " he explained. "I had it in the desert once where there wasn't a newspaper for twomonths. And I've read the Kings, too--most of 'em. "

"But not Hamlet?" She was smiling as she looked from him into thestreet. 

He shook his head with a laugh. "Too much meandering in that. I don'tlike talk unless it is straight. "

Though he was upon the most distant terms of acquaintance with theEnglish language, it occurred to her that he probably possessed aknowledge of men and things which no university training could havegiven him. 

"It is wonderful, " she remarked, touched to sympathy by his confession, "that you should have succeeded. "

"Oh, any man could have done it--any man, that is, who loved a fight asmuch as I do. It was half luck and half bulldog grip, I suppose. When Ionce get my grip on a thing, I'll hold on no matter what happens. Thereain't the power this side of Kingdom Come that could make me let go if Idon't want to. "

She thought of his wife, of his losing fight against the craving formorphine, and she replied very gently: "If you hadn't been a goodfighter, I suppose you would have been beaten long ago. "

"So long ago, " he retorted with jovial humour, "that you wouldn't haveknown me. "

An impulse of curiosity urged her to an utterly irrelevant response. "Iwonder if you have known many women?" She felt that she should like tohear his story from him, there in the deserted yard; but when heanswered her, he revealed a personal reticence worthy of thearistocratic traditions of Mrs. Carr. "Oh, I haven't had time for them, "he replied indifferently. 

"Perhaps there aren't so many in Bonanza City?"

"Oh, there're plenty, " he rejoined gaily, "if you take the trouble tolook for them. "

"And you didn't?" They had entered the house, and she spoke merrily asshe crossed to the staircase. 

"Well, the sort I found didn't take my fancy, you see!" he tossed backplayfully from his door. 

Her foot was on the lowest step, when, hesitating with a birdlikemovement, she looked at him over her right shoulder. 

"Well, that's a pity. A woman could have told you a good many things, "she observed. 

"For instance?" He was still jesting. 

Poised for flight, she gazed back at him, challenging his eyes. 

"Oh, not to collect gold-headed walking-sticks, not to believe ingolden-oak, and not to be so extravagantly--slangy. "

As she ran up the staircase, a burst of laughter followed her in themidst of which she distinguished the retort: "Well, I own to the slang, but I inherited the oak, and the sticks were all given me--by women. "

The temptation to fling back, "of a sort?" came to her; but sheconquered it as she passed demurely into the sitting-room, where MissPolly was reading the afternoon paper before an open fire. "I mustn'tget too friendly, " she told herself, reprovingly. "It is better to keepup a certain formality. " And she determined that at the next meeting shewould be dignified and aloof. 

But the next meeting did not occur until January, for O'Hara went Westthe following day, and for more than two months Miss Polly and Gabriellawere alone in the house. Though she was working doubly hard at Dinard's, the loneliness of the winter evenings after the Christmas holidays wereover became almost intolerable to Gabriella; and the bleak month ofJanuary stretched ahead of her in an interminable prospect of cold andgloom. For the past ten years the children had absorbed her life, afterher working hours, so entirely that the parting from them had been anunbearable wrench, and had left her with an aching feeling as if an armhad been cut away. She had had little time to make friends; the streetsof the city isolated her as completely as if they had been spaces ofuninhabited wilderness; and, except for her casual remarks to MissPolly, she had lived from day to day without speaking a word that wasnot directly concerned with the management or the sales of Dinard's. Since her divorce, obeying perhaps some inherited tradition, she hadavoided men almost instinctively; and even if she had cared to makefriends among them, her life was so narrow that it would have beenalmost impossible for her to do so. When she was not too tired, shestill read as widely as she could; but at thirty-seven books had becomebut a poor substitute for the more robust human activities. As thetheatres and the lecture rooms offered the only opportunities ofrelaxation and amusement, she went twice a week, accompanied by thelittle seamstress, who appeared to thrive on self-sacrifice, to see aplay that was noticed in the papers, or to listen to explanatorydescriptions of the scenery of South America or the grievances of theoppressed natives of Asia. 

"You mustn't let yourself mope, honey, " urged Miss Polly, one snowymorning in January, when Gabriella was putting on a fur coat, cut in thelatest fashion, which had been left on her hands after the mid-wintersales. "The children had to go sooner or later, and it's just as well ithappened while you are young enough to get over it. A boy never stays athome anyway, and you know I always told you Fanny was the sort to marrybefore she is out of her teens. "

"Oh, I'm not moping, but of course I can't help missing them. The houseseems so empty. "

"It's obliged to be empty with only us two women in it. I declare I gotsuch a creepy feelin' about burglars last night that I kept wishin' Mr. O'Hara would hurry up and come home. Mrs. Squires says she was expectin'him all last week, but he didn't turn up, so she is kind of lookin' forhim to-day. "

"Is she?" Gabriella's voice was charged with sincere thankfulness. Merely to know that there was a man on the first floor afforded a senseof security; and an occasional meeting with him would make, she wasaware, a trivial diversion from the monotony of her existence. Theloneliness of the winter had driven her like a storm-swept bird back tothe enduring refuge of her Dream; but, after all, the flesh and bloodpresence of O'Hara could not seriously interfere with the tender andpensive visions her memory spun of the past. Every morning, standingbeside her window and gazing on the bleak street and the bare elmboughs, she thought of Arthur and of her first love, with a pious andreverent mind--for they occupied in her day the hour and mood which hermother, belonging to a more orthodox generation, piously dedicated to"Daily Strength for Daily Need. " But never for an instant would it haveoccurred to the granddaughter of that sanctified snob, BartholomewBerkeley, who despised the lower orders and fraternized with the Deityin his pulpit every Sabbath, that the red-blooded and boisterousO'Hara--the man of force and slang--could by any accident usurp thesacred shrine where the consecrated relics of her first love reposed. Before the whirlwind of O'Hara's energy, she would congratulate herselfthat her Arthur, with the milder fluid of the Peytons in his veins, would never allow himself to be carried away by his impulses. 

"Well, I'm glad he's coming back, if it's only to protect us, " she said, while she fastened her fur coat. "I wonder what he has been doing outWest all this time?"

"Makin' money, I reckon. They say he makes so much he don't know what todo with it. "

"We could teach him, couldn't we? But he ought to marry and let his wifespend it for him. Only, " she concluded carelessly, "I suppose he'dselect some dizzy chorus girl who would bring him to ruin. Men of hiskind always pick out chorus girls, don't they?"

"I thought 'twas the other sort that did that, " observed Miss Polly, fresh from the perusal of the Sunday newspapers; "Dukes and society menand the sons of millionaires. "

"Perhaps. Maybe they're all alike, " and taking up her umbrella, Gabriella started bravely out into the storm. 

At six o'clock, when she struggled back along Twenty-third Street, thewind had changed, and the storm driving furiously down the long blockscaught her in a whirl of blinding snowflakes. In the swirling whitenessof the distance, the black outlines of the city appeared remote andshadowy, while the waning lights, which shone like dim moons at thecrossing, revealed the ghostly figures of a few struggling pedestrians. 

The gate was open, and she had almost reached it, when the lurching formof a man, emerging suddenly from the storm, was flung against her withsuch violence that she fell back for support on the icy railing of theyard. Then, as the obscure figure, drawing away from her with astaggering motion, began fumbling blindly at the gate, she caught sightof a ghastly face, which looked as if it had been stricken by anincurable illness. The man wore no overcoat; a knitted muffler waswrapped tightly about his neck; and she saw that the hands fumbling atthe gate were red and trembling from cold. 

Steadying herself against the fence, she drew her purse from her muff, and she had already taken out a piece of silver, when she heard her namecalled in a voice which sounded vaguely familiar, though it awoke noimmediate associations in her mind. 

"Gabriella! My God! I was looking for you, Gabriella!"

With the money still in her hand, she stooped to look into his face. 

"You don't know me. I'm George, " he said in an angry voice as if he wereabout to burst into tears. "I'm George, but you don't know me. "

The storm drove him against her, and he clung weakly to her arm, cryingsoftly in a terrified whimper like a child that is awaking from ahorrible nightmare. Though she did not realize that he was dying, not ofdisease, but of drink, the thought shot through her mind: "So this isGeorge. So this is what George has come to--George who took everythingthat he wanted!"

"Where are you going?" she asked, for the shock had restored him to somepoor semblance of sanity. 

"I was looking for you. I heard you lived down here, and I knew you'dtake me in. I've been ill--I'm ill enough to die, and they turned me outof the hotel. There was a woman who stole everything I had. She stole itand ran off in the night, damn her!"

He shivered violently while he spoke, and she saw a glassy look creepinto his eyes and over his face, as if his features had been frozen inan instant of terror. Panic seized her lest he should die there in thestreet, and she grasped his arm almost roughly as if she would shake himback into life. As she supported him his teeth began to rattle, not asthe teeth of the living chatter from fear, but as the teeth of a deadman might rattle when he is jolted in his coffin. For a minute she feltthe madness of her panic pass from her pulses to her brain, and herterror of him turned her as cold as the sleet-covered iron railingagainst which she leaned. A cowardly impulse tempted her to desert himand run for her life, to seek shelter behind bolted doors, to leave himthere alone to freeze to death at her gate. 

"Gabriella, I'm afraid, " he whined, clinging to her arm. "I'm afraid, Gabriella. You can't let go of me!"

An unspeakable loathing swept over her; his very touch seemedcontamination; and while she turned toward the gate, she knew thatevery fibre of her flesh, every quiver of her nerves, revolted againstthe thing she was doing. But something stronger than her flesh or hernerves--the vein of iron in her soul--decided the issue. 

"Come in with me, and I'll take care of you, " she said. "There is thestep. Don't stumble. Here, steady yourself with the umbrella. We arealmost there now. " Her voice was cold and hard; but the words were thoseshe might have used to Archibald had she been leading him in out of thestorm. 

Still whimpering and stumbling, George clung to her with his desperateclutch, while she dragged him up the short walk, which was deep in snow, to the six steps, which appeared to her to reach upward into eternity. As she approached the house, a light shone out suddenly in one of thewindows and a sense of safety, of perfect security descended upon her, for she knew that it was the red glimmer of O'Hara's fire. With thesensation, she heard again her mother's voice speaking above the storm:"Gabriella, we'll send immediately for your Cousin Jimmy Wrenn!" So, inthe old days of her childhood, Cousin Jimmy had brought her this feelingof relief in the midst of distress. 

Opening the door with her latchkey, she dragged George into the hall, where her thankful eyes fell on O'Hara's overcoat, from which the waterwas, still dripping. For an instant she was tempted to call to him; thenchecking the impulse, she went on to the staircase, which she ascendedwith difficulty because George's legs seemed to give way when he triedto lift them to a step. At last, after what she felt to be an eternity, they reached the upper floor, and she pushed her burden intoArchibald's room, where he fell like a log on the hearthrug. The soundof his fall shook the house, and when Miss Polly came running in, with acry of alarm, Gabriella almost expected to see O'Hara behind her. ButO'Hara did not come, and before the seamstress could recover from thepalpitations the shock had produced, George was on his feet again, andwas staring blankly, as if fascinated, at the reflection of the electriclight in the mirror. 

"It's George, " Gabriella explained in a harsh voice. "I found him in thestreet. He was looking for me, and I couldn't leave him to freeze. Ithink he's either drunk or ill. I don't know which it is, but it soundslike pneumonia. "

"God have mercy!" exclaimed Miss Polly, which was quite as lucid as sheever became in a crisis. Her face had turned blue, she was tremblingwith terror, and the violence of her palpitations almost exceeded thepainful sounds in George's chest. "If there was only a man we could sendfor, " she wailed hysterically. "Oh, Gabriella, if there was only a man!"

"Well, there's the doctor, " replied Gabriella shortly. "You'd bettertelephone for him at once. Get the nearest one. I think his name isMcFarland. "

"And a nurse? You'll want a nurse, won't you?"

"I'll want anything I can get, and I'll want it quickly. There, hurry, while I find a bathrobe of Archibald's. He's wet through--soaking wet. He must have been out all day in the storm. "

Miss Polly vanished into the dimness of the hall, and after a fewminutes Gabriella heard her fluttering voice demanding a telephonenumber as if she were still supplicating the Deity. 

"Take off your wet clothes while I get you a drink and some hotblankets!" said Gabriella when she had found one of Archibald'sbathrobes in the closet. It occurred to her that George was reallyincapable of undressing himself, but she felt that she would rather diethan touch him again. The loathing which had overpowered her outside inthe storm became stronger in the close air of the house. "I can't touchhim. I don't care what happens I can't touch him, " she told herself, while she placed the flannel robe on the rug, and hurried back to thekitchen. Her whole body was benumbed and chilled, not from cold, butfrom disgust, yet her mind was almost unnaturally active, and she foundherself thinking over and over again: "So this is the man I loved, thisis the man I married instead of Arthur!"

When she came back with a cup of broth and some hot blankets, she foundGeorge in the flannel gown of Archibald's, with his wet clothes on thefloor at his feet, from which he had forgotten to remove his shoes. Hedrank the soup greedily, while Miss Polly lighted the wood-fire she hadlaid in the open grate. 

"The heat's comin' up all right in the radiator, " she said, "but Ithought a blaze might make him more comfortable. "

"Yes, it's better, " replied Gabriella sternly, while she stooped tounlace George's boots. There was no compassion in her heart, and itseemed to her, while she struggled with the wet lacing, that the fumesof whiskey spread contagion and disease over the room. She was not onlyhard and bitter--she felt that she loathed him with unspeakableloathing. 

"I declare, Gabriella, I believe he has gone deranged!" Miss Pollycried out sharply, dropping the poker and starting to her feet in anerratic impulse of flight. 

With the flannel gown clutched tightly to his chest, where the dullrattling sounds went on unceasingly, George was staring in fascinatedintensity at the reflection of the electric light in the mirror. Thensuddenly, with a scream of terror, he lifted the poker Miss Polly haddropped, and flung it over Gabriella's head in the direction of thedressing-table. At the noise of breaking glass, Gabriella rose from herknees, and said in the hard, quiet voice she had used ever since thefirst shock of the meeting:

"If you are afraid, lock yourself in your room, Miss Polly. I am goingdownstairs for Mr. O'Hara. "

Without waiting for a response, she ran out into the hall and down thestaircase, while her eyes clung to the comforting glimmer of light underthe drawing-room door. As her feet touched the lowest step, the dooropened quickly, and O'Hara stood on the threshold. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE TEST

"I knew something was wrong, " he said, emerging, big and efficient, fromthe firelight, "and I was just coming up. " Before she could answer shefelt his warm grasp on her hands, and it seemed to her suddenly that itwas not only her hands he enfolded, but her agonized and suffering mind. 

"There's a man up there--" she faltered helplessly. "I was once marriedto him long ago--oh, long ago. Just now I found him in the street and heseems to be out of his mind. We are frightened. "

But he seemed not to hear her, not to demand an explanation, not even towait to discover what she wanted. Already his long stride wasoutstripping her on the staircase, and while she followed more slowly, pausing now and then to take breath, she realized thankfully that thesituation had passed completely away from her power of command. As MissPolly's strength to hers, so was her strength to O'Hara's. 

Faint, despairing moans issued from Archibald's room as she reached thelanding; and going inside, she saw George wrestling feebly with O'Hara, who held him with one hand while with the other he waved authoritativedirections to Miss Polly. 

"Get the bed ready for him, with plenty of hot blankets. He's about atthe end of his rope now. It's a jag, but it's more than a jag, too. IfI'm not mistaken he's in for a case of pneumonia. "

Miss Polly, hovering timidly at a safe distance, held out the blanketsand the hot water bottles, while O'Hara carried George across the roomto the bed, and then covered him warmly. When he turned to glance abouthis gaze fell on Gabriella, and he remarked bluntly: "You'd better getout. You aren't wanted. "

"But I am obliged to be here. It is my business, not yours, " shereplied, while a sensation of sickness passed over her. 

For a moment he regarded her stubbornly, "Well, I don't know whosebusiness it was a minute ago, " he rejoined, "but it's mine now. I amboss of this particular hell, and you're going to keep out of it. Iguess I know more about D. T. Than you and Miss Polly put together wouldknow in a thousand years. "

She was very humble. In the sweetness of her relief, of her security, she would have submitted cheerfully not only to slang, but to downrightprofanity. It was one of those unforgettable instants when character, she understood, was more effective than culture. Even Arthur would haveappeared at a disadvantage beside O'Hara at that moment. 

"I think I ought to help you, " she insisted. 

"Well, I think you oughtn't. Out you go! I guess I know what I'm upagainst. "

Before she could protest, before she could even resist, he had pushedher out into the hail, and while she still hesitated there at the headof the staircase, the door opened far enough to allow the huddled figureof Miss Polly to creep through the crack. Then the key turned in thelock; and O'Hara's voice was heard pacifying George as he might havepacified a child or a lunatic. After a few minutes the shrieks stoppedsuddenly; the door was unlocked again for a minute, and there floatedout the reassuring words:

"Don't stand out there any longer. It's as right as right. I've got himbuffaloed!"

"What does he mean?" inquired Gabriella helplessly of the seamstress. 

"I don't know, but I reckon it's all right, " responded Miss Polly. "Heseems to know just what to do, and anyhow the doctor'll be here in aminute. It seems funny to give him whiskey, don't it, but that was thefirst thing Mr. O'Hara thought of. "

"I suppose his heart was weak. He looked as if he were dying, " answeredGabriella. "He asked for more whiskey, didn't he?"

"Yes; I'm goin' right straight to get it. Oh, Gabriella, ain't a man areal solid comfort sometimes?"

Without replying to this ejaculation, Gabriella went after the whiskey, and when she came back with the bottle in her hand, she found the doctoron the landing outside the locked door. He was a stranger to her, andshe had scarcely begun her explanation when O'Hara called him into theroom. 

"The sooner you take a look at him the better. " Everything was taken outof her hands--everything, even her explanation of George's presence inher apartment. 

As there was nothing more for her to do, she went back to thesitting-room, where a fire burned brightly, and began to talk to MissPolly. 

"I don't know what I should have done if he hadn't been here, " shesaid. 

"Who? Mr. O'Hara? Well, it certainly was providential, honey, when youcome to think of it. "

The door of Archibald's room opened and shut, and the doctor came downthe hall to the telephone. They heard him order medicines from a chemistnear-by; and then, after a minute, he took up the receiver, and spoke toa nurse at the hospital. At first he gave merely the ordinarydirections, but at the end of the conversation he said sharply in answerto a question: "No, there's no need of a restraining sheet. He's too fargone to be violent. It is only a matter of hours. "

His voice stopped, and Gabriella went out to him. "Will you tell me whatyou think, Doctor?" she asked. 

"Is he your husband?" He had a blank, secretive face, with light eyes, and a hard mouth--so different, she thought from the poetic face of Dr. French. 

"I divorced him ten years ago. "

He looked at her searchingly. "Well, he may last until morning, but itis doubtful. His heart has given out. "

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No. Morphine is the only thing. We are going to try camphorated oil, but there is hardly a chance--not a chance. " He turned to go back intothe room, then stopped, and added in the same tone of professionalstoicism: "The nurse will be here in half an hour, and I shall wait tillshe comes. "

When Gabriella went back to the sitting-room, Miss Polly was weeping. "Ifollowed you and heard what he said. Oh, Gabriella, ain't life tooawful!"

"I'll be glad when the nurse comes, " answered Gabriella with impatience. Emotionally she felt as if she had turned to stone, and she had littleinclination to explore the trite and tangled paths of Miss Polly'sphilosophy. 

The nurse, a stout, blond woman in spectacles, arrived on the stroke ofthe half-hour, and after talking with her a few minutes, the doctor tookup his bag and came to tell Gabriella that he would return aboutdaybreak. "I've given instructions to the nurse, and Mr. O'Hara will situp in case he is needed, but there is nothing to do except keep thepatient perfectly quiet and give the hypodermics. It is too late to tryanything else. "

"May I go in there?"

"Well, you can't do any good, but you may go in if you'd rather. "

Then he went, as if glad of his release, and after Gabriella hadprevailed upon Miss Folly to go to bed, she changed her street dress fora tea-gown, and threw herself on a couch before the fire in thesitting-room. An overpowering fatigue weighed her down; the yellowfirelight had become an anodyne to her nerves; and after a few minutesin which she thought confusedly of O'Hara and Cousin Jimmy, she letherself fall asleep. 

When she awoke a man was replenishing the fire, and as she struggleddrowsily back into consciousness, she realized that he was not CousinJimmy, but O'Hara, and that he was placing the lumps of coal very softlyin the fear of awaking her. 

"Hallo, there!" he exclaimed when he turned with the scuttle still inhis hand; "so you're awake, are you?"

She started up. "I've been asleep!" she exclaimed in surprise. 

"You looked like a kid when I came in, " he responded cheerfully, and shereflected that even the presence of death could not shadow his jubilantspirit. "I went back to the kitchen to make some coffee for the nurseand myself, and I thought you might like a cup. It's first-rate coffee, if I do say it. Two lumps and a little cream, I guess that's the way. Irummaged in the icebox, and found a bottle of cream hidden away at theback. That was right, wasn't it?"

A strange, an almost uncanny feeling of reminiscence, of vague yetprofound familiarity, was stealing over her. It all seemed to havehappened before, somewhere, somehow--the slow awakening to the largedark form in the yellow firelight, O'Hara's sudden turning to look ather, his exuberance, his sanguine magnetism, and even the cup of coffeehe made and brought to her side. She felt that it was the most naturalthing in the world to awake and find him there and to drink his coffee. 

"It's good, " she answered; "I had no dinner, and I am very hungry. "

"I thought you'd be. That's why I brought a snack with it. " He wascutting a chicken sandwich on the tray he had placed under the greenshaded light, and after a minute he brought it to her and held the cupwhile she ate. A nurse could not have been gentler about the littlethings she needed; yet she knew that he was rough, off-hand, careless--she could imagine that he might become almost brutal if hewere crossed in his purpose. She had believed him to be so simple; buthe was in reality, she saw, a mass of complexities, of actions andreactions, of intricacies and involutions of character. 

"I don't know what I should have done if you hadn't been here, " she saidgratefully while she ate the sandwich and he sat beside her holding hercup. "But I'm so unused to being taken care of, " she added with atrembling little laugh, "that I don't quite know how to behave. "

"Oh, you would have got on all right, " he rejoined carelessly; "but I'mglad all the same that I was here. "

She motioned toward the hall. "Has there been any change?"

"No, there won't be until morning. He'll last that long, I think. We'regiving him a hypodermic every four hours, but it really ain't any good, you know. It is merely professional. " For a minute he was silent, watching her gravely; then recovering his casual manner, he added: "Ishouldn't let it upset me if I were you. Things happen that way, andwe've got to take them standing. "

She shook her head. "I'm not upset. I'm not feeling it in the least. Somehow, I can't even realize that I ever knew him. If you told me itwas all a dream, I should believe you. "

"Well, you're a plucky sort. I could tell that the first minute I sawyou. "

"It's not pluck. I don't feel things, that's all. I suppose I'm hard, but I can't help it. "

"Hard things come useful sometimes; they don't break. "

"Yes, I suppose if I'd been soft, I should have broken long ago, " shereplied almost bitterly. 

After putting the plate and cup aside, he sat down by the table, andgazed at her attentively for a long moment. "Well, you look as soft as awhite rose anyhow, " he remarked with a curiously impersonal air ofcriticism. 

A rosy glow flooded her face. It was so long since any man had commentedupon her appearance that she felt painfully shy and displeased. 

"All the same I've had a hard life, " she returned with passionateearnestness. "I married when I was twenty, and seven years later myhusband left me for another woman. "

"The one in there?"

She shuddered, "Yes, the one in there. "

"The darn fool!" he exclaimed briefly. 

"There was a divorce, and then I had my two children to support andeducate. Because I had a natural talent for dressmaking, I turned tothat, and in the end I succeeded. But for ten years I never heard a wordof the man I married--until--I met him downstairs--in the street. "

"And you brought him in?"

"What else could I do? He was dying. "

"Do you know what he was doing out there?"

"He was looking for me, I think. He thought. I would take him in. "

"Well, it's strange how things work out, " was his comment after a pause. "There's something in it somewhere that we can't see. It's impossible toreason it out or explain it, but life has a way of jerking you up attimes and making you stand still and think. I know I'm putting it badly, but I can't talk--I never could. Words, don't mean much to me, and yet Iknow--I know--" He hesitated, and she watched his thought struggleobscurely for expression. "I know you can't slip away from things and bea quitter, no matter how hard you try. Life pulls you back again andagain till you've learned to play the game squarely. "

He was gazing into the fire with a look that was strangely spiritual onhis face, which was half in shadow, half in the transfiguring glow ofthe flames. For the second time she became acutely aware of the hiddensubtleties beneath his apparent simplicity. 

"I've felt that myself often enough, " he resumed presently in a lowvoice. "I've been pulled up by something inside of me when I wasplunging ahead with the bit in my teeth, and it's been just exactly asif this something said: 'Go steady or you'll run amuck and bu'st up thewhole blooming show. ' You can't talk about it. It sounds like plainfoolishness when you put it into words, but when it comes to you, nomatter where you are, you have to stand still and listen. "

"And is it only when you are running amuck that you hear it?" she asked. 

"No, there've been other times--a few of them. Once or twice I've had itcome to me up in the Rockies when there didn't seem more than a few feetbetween me and the sky, and then there was a time out on the prairiewhen I was lost and thought I'd never get to the end of those darnedmiles of blankness. Well, I've had a funny road to travel when I lookback at it. "

"Tell me about some of the women you knew in the West. " An insatiablecuriosity to hear the truth about his marriage seized her; but no soonerhad she yielded to it than she felt an impulsive regret. What right hadshe to pry into the hidden sanctities of his past?

A frown contracted his forehead, but he said merely: "Oh, there wasn'tmuch about that, " and she felt curiously baffled and resentful. "I thinkI'll go and take a look in there, " he added, rising and walking softlyin the direction of the room at the end of the hall. 

He was gone so long that Gabriella, crushing down the revolt of hernerves, went to the door, and opening it very gently, looked cautiouslyinto the room. The window was wide open to the night, where the snow wasstill falling, and beside the candlestand at the head of the bed thenurse was filling a hypodermic syringe from a teaspoon. By the openwindow O'Hara stood inhaling the frosty air; and Gabriella crossed thefloor so silently that he did not notice her presence until he turned towatch the nurse give the injection. 

Then he said in a whisper: "You'd better go out. You can't do any good. "But she made an impatient gesture of dissent, and stopping between thebed and the wall, waited while the nurse bared George's arm and insertedthe point of the needle. He was lying so motionless that she thought atfirst that he was already dead; but presently he stirred faintly, ashiver ran through the thin arm on the sheet, and a low, half-strangledmoan escaped from his lips. Had she come upon him in a hospital ward, she knew that she should not have recognized him. He was not the man shehad once loved; he was not the father of her children; he was only astranger who was dying in her house. She could feel nothing while shelooked down at him. When she tried to remember her young love she couldrecall but a shadow. That, too, was dead; that, too, had not left even amemory. 

As she bent there above him she made an effort to remember what he hadonce been, to recall his face as she had first seen it, to revive theburning radiance of that summer when they had been lovers. But a grayveil of forgetfulness wrapped the past; and her mind, when she tried tobring back the emotions of seventeen years ago, became vacant. For solong she had stoically put the thought of that past out of her life, that when she returned to it now, she found that only ashes remained. Then a swift stab of pity pierced her heart like a blade, and she sawagain, not George her lover, not George her husband, but the photographMrs. Fowler had shown her of the boy in velvet clothes with the wealthof curls over his lace collar. So it was that boy who lay dying like astranger in the bed of his son!

She turned hurriedly and went out without speaking, without looking backwhen she opened the door. 

"If one could only understand it, " she said aloud as she entered thesitting-room; and then, with a start of surprise, she realized thatO'Hara had followed her. "You walked so softly I didn't hear you, " sheexplained. 

"The rugs are thick, and I have on slippers. My boots were soaking whenI came in, and I'd just taken them off when you called. "

They sat down again in front of the fire; and while she stared silentlyat the flames, with her chin on her hand and her elbow on the arm of thechair, he burst out so unexpectedly that she caught her breath in agasp:

"You didn't know that I was married, too, did you?" His words, and evenmore than his words, his voice, filled with suppressed emotion, awokeher from her reverie in which she had been dreaming of Arthur. 

She smiled evasively, remembering her promise to Mrs. Squires. 

He hesitated again, and then spoke with an effort. "Well, it was hell!"he said grimly. 

"I know"--she was very gentle, full of understanding and sympathy--"butyou went through it bravely. "

"I stuck to her. " His hand clenched while he answered. Then, after apause in which she watched him struggle against some savage instinct forsecrecy, he added quietly: "If she were alive to-day, I'd be sticking toher still. "

"You must have loved her. " It was all she could think of to say, and yetthe words sounded trite and canting as soon as she had uttered them. 

Lifting his head quickly, he made a contemptuous gesture of dissent. "No, it wasn't that. I never loved her, except, perhaps, just at thefirst. But there's something that comes before love, I guess. I don'tknow what it is, but there's something. It may be just plain doggedness, but after I married her there wasn't anything on top this earth thatcould have made me give up and let go. As soon as I found what I was upagainst--it was morphine--I knew I'd either got to fight it out or be aquitter, and I've never been a quitter. Until she got so bad she had tobe shut up I kept a home for her out there in Colorado, and I lived withher in hell as long as she wasn't too bad to be out of a hospital. ThenI brought her on here and we found a private place down on Long Islandwhere she stayed till she died--"

"And you still saw her?"

"Except when I was out West, and that's where I was most of the time, you know. My work was out there, and there's nothing like hell behindyou to keep you running. I made piles of money those years. That's allI ever cared for about money--just making it. I'd fight the devil to getit, but after I've once got it, I'll give it to the first fool who comesbegging. But the getting of it is great. "

"How long did it last?"

"My marriage? Going on eighteen years. She was down on Long Island forthe last ten of them. "

"Then you lived with her eight. Was she always--always-"

"Took it before I ever married her, and I found it out in a month. Shewasn't so much to blame as you might think, " he pursued thoughtfully. "You see she had a tough time of it, and she was little and weak, andeverything was against her. She came out West first to teach school, andthen she got mixed up with some skunk of a man who pretended to marryher when he had a wife living in Chicago, and after that I guess shewent on taking a dope just to keep up her spirits and ease the pain ofsome spinal trouble she'd had since she was a child. There was nothingbad in her--she was just weak--and I began to feel sorry for her, and soI did it. If I had it to do over again, I'm not so sure I'd actdifferently. She was a poor little creature that didn't have any man tolook after her, and I was just muddling along anyway, thinking aboutmoney. Heaven knows what would have become of her if I hadn't happenedalong when I did. "

He had lifted his head toward the light, while he ran his hand throughhis hair, and again she saw the look, so like spiritual exaltation, transfigure his face. Before this man, who had sprung from poverty anddirt, who had struggled up by his own force, overcoming and triumphing, fighting and winning, fighting and holding, fighting and losing, butalways fighting--before this man, who had been born in a cellar, shefelt suddenly humbled. Without friends, without knowledge, except thebitter knowledge of the streets, he had fought his fight, and had keptuntarnished a certain hardy standard of honour. Beside this tremendousachievement she weighed his roughness, his ignorance of books and of thesuperficial conventions, and she realized how little these things reallymattered--how little any outside things mattered in the final judgmentof life. She thought of George, dying a drunkard's death in the room atthe end of the hail--of George whose way had been smoothed for him frombirth, who had taken everything that he had wanted. 

"I wish there was something I could do for you--something to help you, "she said impetuously. "But I never saw any one who seemed to need helpso little. "

His face brightened, and she saw that her words had brought a touchingwistfulness into his eyes. 

"Well, if you'd let me come and talk to you sometimes" he answeredshyly. "There're a lot of things I'd like to talk to you about--things Idon't know, things I do know, and things I half know. "

From the brilliant look she turned on him, he understood that he musthave given her pleasure, and she saw the smile return to his face. 

"I'll tell you everything I know and welcome, " she replied readily; "butthat isn't much. Better than that, I'll read to you. "

"If you don't mind, I think I'd rather you'd just talk. " Then he rosewith one of his abrupt movements, "I'd better look in again now. Thenurse might want something. "

"I feel that you oughtn't to stay up, " urged Gabriella, rising as heturned away from her. "You have done all you can. "

His only response was an impatient negative gesture, and without lookingat her, he crossed the room quickly and went out into the hall. Hardly aminute had passed, and she was still standing where he had left her, when he returned and said in a whisper:

"He is going now--very quietly. Will you come?"

She shook her head, crying out sharply: "No! no!" Then before somethingin his face her opposition melted swiftly away, and she added: "Yes, I'll come. He might like to have some one by him who knew him as he usedto be. "

"After all, he got the worst of it, poor devil!" he answered gently ashe opened the door. 

By a miracle of memory her resentment was swept out of her thoughts, andshe was conscious of an infinite pity. In George's face, while shewatched it, there flickered back for an instant the glory of thatenchanted spring when she had first loved him. Of his brilliant promise, his ardent youth, there remained only this fading glimmer in the face ofa man who was dying. And it seemed to her suddenly that she saw embodiedin this wreck of youth and love all the inscrutable mystery not ofdeath, but of life. Her tears fell quickly, and while they fell O'Hara'sgrasp enfolded her hand. 

"It's over now. The best thing that could happen to him has happened, "he said, and the touch of his hand was like the touch of life itself, consoling, strengthening, restoring. 

In the days that followed it was as if the helpful spirit of CousinJimmy had returned to her in the unfamiliar character of O'Hara. Theghastly details of George's burial were not only taken out of her hands, she was hardly permitted to know even that they were necessary. Allexplanations were made, not by her, but by O'Hara; and when theyreturned together from the cemetery, Gabriella brought with her afeeling that she had been watching something that belonged to O'Haralaid in the earth. But when she tried to thank him, she found that hewas apparently unaware that he had done anything deserving of gratitude. 

"Oh, that's nothing. Anybody would have done it, " he remarked, anddismissed the subject forever. 

For a week after this she did not see him again; and then one Saturdayafternoon, when she was leaving Dinard's, they met by chance and walkedhome together. It was the first time she had been in the street withhim, and she was conscious of feeling absurdly young and girlish--she, the mother of a daughter old enough to have love affairs! A softflush--the flush of youth--tinted her pale cheek; her step, which sooften dragged wearily after the day's work, was as buoyant as Fanny's;and her low, beautiful laugh was as gay as if she were not burdened byinnumerable anxieties. As they passed a shop window, her reflectionflashed back at her, and she thought happily: "Yes, it is true, you arebetter looking at thirty-seven, Gabriella, than you were at twenty. "

"Shall we walk down?" asked O'Hara, and added: "So that was your shop? Iam glad that I saw it. But what do you do there all day?"

She laughed merrily. "Put in pins and take them out again. Design, direct, scold, and flatter. We are getting in the spring models now, and it's very exciting. "

He glanced down at her figure, noting, as if for the first time, thenarrowness at the feet, the large loose waist, and the bunchiness aroundthe hips. 

"Did you make that?" he inquired. 

"This coat? Oh, no; it came from Paris. It was left on my hands, " sheexplained, "or I shouldn't be wearing it. I wear only what people won'tbuy, you know. "

"No, I didn't know, " he returned abstractedly, and she observedhumorously after a minute that he was not thinking of her because he wasthinking so profoundly about her clothes. It was his way, she haddiscovered, to concentrate his mind intensely upon the object beforehim, no matter how trivial or insignificant it might appear. He seemednever to have learned how to divide either his interest or hisattention. 

"If you could make what you wanted, " he remarked, "I should think you'dmake them more comfortable. Are you going to wear those hobble skirtsthis spring?"

"They'll be narrow at the feet but very bunchy at the top--doesn't thatsound delightful? I am making a white taffeta for Fanny that has five orsix yards of perfectly good material puffed out in the most ridiculousway at the back over a petticoat of silver lace. "

Her spirits felt so light, so effervescent, that she wanted to jest, tolaugh, to talk nonsense interminably; and after his first moments ofbewilderment, when he appeared still unable to detach his mind from hisbusiness, he entered gaily and heartily into her mood. His perplexitiesonce disposed of, he gave himself entirely to the enjoyment of the walkwith her, and she noticed for the first time his boyish delight in thesimplest details of life. With the simplicity of a man to whom largepleasures are unknown, he threw himself whole-heartedly into themomentary diversion of small ones. Every person in the crowd, shediscovered, excited his interest, and his humour bubbled over at themost insignificant things--at the grimace of a newsboy who offered him apaper, at the absurd hat worn by a woman in a motor car, at theexpression of disgusted solemnity on the face of a servant in livery, atthe giggles of an over-dressed girl who hung on the arm of an anemic andexhausted admirer. Never before had she encountered such vitality, suchcareless, pure, and uncalculating joy of life. There was a tonic qualityin his physical presence, and while she walked at his side down FifthAvenue she felt as if she were swept onward by one of the health-giving, pine-scented winds of Colorado. And she told herself reassuringly thatonly a man who had lived decently could have kept himself soextraordinarily young and exuberant at forty-five. 

The shop windows, particularly those displaying men's shirtings, enchanted him; and he stopped a moment before each one, while sheyielded as obligingly as she might have yielded to a fancy ofArchibald's, though she was aware that her son would have scorned tolook into a window. 

"It's so seldom I get out on the Avenue, that's why I like it, Isuppose, " he remarked while they were surveying a festive arrangement ofpink madras. 

She smiled up at him, and her smile, gay as it was, held a touch ofmaternal solicitude. Notwithstanding his bigness and his success and hisforty-five years, there was something appealingly boyish about him. 

"It would be so easy to get out, wouldn't it?" she asked as they walkedon again. 

"Well, there ain't much fun when you are by yourself. "

"But you know plenty of people. "

"Oh, yes, I know people enough in a business way, but that don't meanhaving friends, does it? Of course, I've men friends scatteredeverywhere, " he added. "The West is full of 'em, but it's funny when youcome to think of it--" He broke off, hesitated an instant, and then wenton again: "It's funny, but I don't believe. I ever had a woman friend inmy life--I mean a friend who wasn't just the wife of some man I knew inbusiness. "

The confession touched her, and she answered impulsively: "Well, that'sjust what I want to be to you--a good friend. "

He laughed, but his eyes shone as he looked down on her. "If you'd onlytake the trouble. "

"It won't be any trouble--not a bit of it. After your goodness to me, how could I help being your friend?"

Lifting her eyes she would have met his squarely while she spoke, but hewas not looking at her--he appeared, indeed, to be looking almostobstinately away from her. 

"There wasn't anything in what I did, " he responded in a barely audiblevoice, and she understood that he was embarrassed by her gratitude. 

"But there was something in it--there was a great deal in it, " sheinsisted. It was so easy to be natural with a man, so easy to be candidand sincere when there was no question of sentiment, and, she thoughtalmost gratefully of the elusive and mysterious Alice. The faintestsuggestion of romance would have spoiled things in the beginning; butthanks to the hidden Alice, she might be as kind and frank as shepleased. Besides, she was nearly thirty-eight, and a woman ofthirty-eight might certainly be trusted to make a friend of a man offorty-five. 

With this thought, over which the memory of Arthur brooded benevolently, in her mind, she said warmly: "It will make so much difference to me, too, having a real friend in New York. "

He turned to her with a start. "Do you mean that I could make adifference to you?"

"The greatest difference, of course, " she rejoined brightly, eager toconvince him of his importance in her life. "I can't tell you--you wouldnever understand how lonely I get at times, and now with the childrenaway it is worse than ever--the loneliness, I mean, and the feeling thatthere isn't anybody one could turn to in trouble. "

For a minute he appeared to ponder this deeply. "Well, you could alwayscome to me if you needed anything, " he answered at last, and she feltintuitively that for some reason he was distrustful either of himself orof her. "I am not here very much of my time, but whenever I am, I amentirely at your service. "

"But that's only half of it. " She was determined to reassure him. "Afriendship can't be one-sided, can it? And it isn't fair when you giveeverything, that I should give nothing. "

His scruples surrendered immediately to her argument. "You giveeverything--you give happiness, " he said--a strange speech certainlyfrom the twilight lover of Alice. However, as she reasoned clearlyafter her first perplexity, men were often strange when one leastexpected or desired strangeness. At thirty-seven, whatever else life haddenied her, she felt that it had granted her a complete understanding ofmen; and it was out of this complete understanding that she observedbrightly after a minute:

"Well, if you feel that way, we are obliged to be friends. " At least shewould prove by her frankness that she was not one of those foolish womenwho are always taking things seriously. 

"Yes, you give happiness. You scatter it, all over the place, " he wenton, groping an instant after the right words. 

"Cousin Jimmy used to say, " she laughed back, "that I had a sunnytemper. "

"That's it--that's what I meant, " he replied eagerly; and she wasimpressed again by his utter inability to make light conversation. Whenhe was once started, when he had lost himself in his subject, she knewthat he could speak both fluently and convincingly; but she realizedthat he simply couldn't talk unless he had something to say. In order toput him at his ease again, she remarked with pleasant firmness: "Do youknow there is something about you that reminds me of my Cousin Jimmy. Itgives me almost a cousinly feeling for you. "

She had the air of expecting him to be interested, but he met it withthe rather vague interrogation: "Cousin Jimmy?"

"The cousin who always came to our help when we were in trouble. We usedto say that if the bread didn't rise, mother sent for Cousin Jimmy. "

Though he laughed readily enough, she could see that his attention wasstill wandering. "I never had a cousin, " he returned after a pause, "ora relation of any sort, for that matter. "

His voice was curiously distant, and she was conscious of a slightshock, as if she had run against one of the hard places in hischaracter. "Well, I've done my best, " she thought impatiently. "If hedoesn't want to be friends he needn't be. " Then, with a change ofmanner, she observed flippantly: "Sometimes one's relatives are usefuland sometimes they're not. " Really, he was impossibly heavy except in acrisis; and one could scarcely be expected to produce crises in order toput him thoroughly at his ease. 

As he made no response to her trite remark, she, also, fell silent, while they turned into Twenty-third Street, and began the long walk toNinth Avenue. Once or twice, glancing inquiringly into his face, whichwore a preoccupied look, she wondered if he were thinking of Alice. Then, as the silence became suddenly oppressive, she ventured warily inthe effort to dispel it: "I hope you are not disturbed about anything?"

"Disturbed?" He turned to her with a start. "No, I was only wondering ifyou knew how much your friendship would mean to me. "

It was out at last, and confirmed once more in her knowledge of men, sheretorted gaily: "How can I know if you won't take the trouble to tellme?" After all, she reflected cheerfully, the education she had derivedfrom George and Judge Crowborough, though lacking in the higherbranches, was fundamentally sound. All men were alike in one thing atleast--they invariably disappointed one's expectations. 

"I've been trying to tell you for a quarter of an hour, " he answered, "and I didn't know how to put it. "

"But at last you didn't have to put it at all, " she said laughingly; "itsimply put itself, didn't it?"

"I am still wondering, " he persisted gravely. 

"Wondering if I know?" She spoke in the sweetly practical tone of onewho is firmly resolved not to permit any nonsense. "Yes, I do know--thatis, I know there are ways in which I might be useful to you. "

"For instance?"

"Well, there are some little--some very little things I might tell youif we were friends--real friends, " she made this plain, "just as two menmight be. "

"But the very last things two men would tell each other, " he waslaughing now, "are the little things--the things about slang andwalking-sticks and oak furniture. "

So he hadn't forgotten! The recollection of her impertinence confusedher, and she hastened to make light of it by protesting gaily: "I wasonly joking. Of course, you didn't take that seriously. "

"I don't know how much more seriously, " he replied emphatically, "Icould have taken it. "

"But you haven't thought of it since?"

"What would you say if I told you I hadn't thought of anything else?"

"Then I wish I hadn't said it. " She was obviously worried by hisadmission. "It was horrid of me--perfectly horrid. I ought to have beenashamed of myself. I had no right to criticise you, and you have been soheavenly kind. "

"After that"--he appeared to be hammering the idea into her mind--"Iwas so grateful I'd have done almost anything. Do you know, " he burstout with evident emotion, "that was the first criticism--I meandownright honest criticism--I've ever had in my life. Nobody--that isnobody who knew--ever thought enough of me before to tell me where I waswrong. "

It was all a pathetic mistake, she saw, but she saw also that it wasimpossible for her to explain it away. She could not tell him the uglytruth that she had been merely laughing at him when he had believed, inhis beautiful simplicity, that she was speaking as a friend. Though shefelt ashamed, humbled, remorseful, there was nothing that she could saynow which would not hurt him more than the original misunderstanding haddone. 

In her desire to atone as far as possible, she remarked recklessly: "Ionly wish I could be of some real help to you. "

"You can, " he answered frankly. "You can let me come to see yousometimes before I go West again. "

"You are going back in the spring?"

He laughed happily, drawing himself erect with a large, free movement asif he needed to stretch his limbs. "I can't stand more than six monthsof the East, and I've been here a year now, off and on. After a time Ibegin to want air. I want to breathe. "

"Yet you lived here once. "

"A sort of life, yes, but that don't count. "

"What does count with you, I wonder?" She was smiling up at him, and asthey passed under a street light her eyes shone with a misty brightnessthrough her veil of dotted net. 

For a minute he thought over her question. "I guess fighting does, " heanswered at last. "Getting on in spite of hard knocks, and smashingthings that stand in your way. I like the feeling that comes afteryou've put through a big deal or got the better of the desert or themountains. I got joy in Arizona out of my first silver mine; but Ididn't get the joy exactly out of the silver. I don't suppose youunderstand. "

"Oh, yes, I do. I understand perfectly. It's the pure spirit ofadventure. Whenever we do a thing for the sake of the struggle, not forthe thing itself, it's pure adventure, isn't it?"

"Well, I like money, " he said with the air of being entirely honest. "I'm not a romantic chap, don't think that about me. I care a lot aboutmoney, only after I've made it, somehow, I never know what to do withit. All I want for myself is a place to sleep and a bite to eat--I'm notover-particular what it is--and clothes to wear, good clothes, too--butI don't give a hang for motor cars except to go long distances in whenthere are no trains running. "

It was the commonplace problem, worked out in intricate detail, of thenewly rich, of the uncultivated rich, of the rich whose strenuouslyactive processes of enrichment had permanently closed all other highwaysto experience. Seventeen years ago the Gabriella of Hill Street wouldhave had only disdain for the newly rich and their problems; but life, which had softened her judgment and modified her convictions, hadcompletely reversed her inherited opinion of such a case as O'Hara's. Though he was as raw as unbaked brick, she was penetrating enough todiscern that he was also as genuine; and, so radically had eventsaltered her point of view, that at thirty-seven she found genuinerawness more appealing than superficial refinement. George had weariedher of the sham and the superficial, of gloss without depth, of mannerwithout substance, of charm without character. 

"But there is so much that you might do to help, " she said presently. "After all, money is power, isn't it?"

"Misused power too often, " he answered. "Of course, you can always buildlodging-houses and tenements and hospitals; but when you come squarelydown to facts, I've never in my life tried to help a man by giving himmoney that I haven't regretted it. Why, I've ruined men by helping tomake their way too easy at the start. "

"Perhaps you're right, " she admitted; "I don't know much about it, Iconfess; but I should have been spared a great deal of suffering if Ihad had something to start with when I was obliged to make my living. "

"That's different. " His voice had grown gentle in an instant. "I can'tthink of your ever having had a hard time. You seem so strong, sosuccessful, so happy. "

If she had answered straight from her heart, Gabriella would haveretorted frankly: "A good deal of that is in the shape of my face andthe way I dress, " but instead of speaking sincerely, she remarked withimpersonal cheerfulness: "Oh, well, happiness, like everything else, ismainly a habit, isn't it? I cultivated the habit of happiness at themost miserable time of my life, and I've never quite lost it. "

"But I don't like to think of your ever having worried, " he protested. 

Of her ever having worried! Was he becoming dangerously sentimental orwas it merely a random spark of his unquenchable Western chivalry?

Though she told herself emphatically again that she was not falling inlove with O'Hara, though she was perfectly faithful in her heart to thememory of Arthur, still she was vividly aware with every drop of herblood, with every beat of her pulses, of the man at her side. Andthrough her magnetic sense of his nearness there flowed to her presentlya deeper and clearer perception of the multitudinous movements of lifewhich surrounded her--of the variable darkness out of which lightsflashed and gigantic spectacular outlines loomed against a dimbackground of sky, of the vague shapes stirring, swarming, creatingthere in the darkness, and always of the pitiless, insatiable hungerfrom which the city had sprung. For the first time, flowing like acurrent from the mind of the man beside her, there came to her anunderstanding of her own share in the common progress of life--for thefirst time she felt herself to be not merely a woman who lived in acity, but an integral part of that city, one cell among closely packedmillions of cells. Something of the responsibility she felt for her ownchildren seemed to spread out and cover the city lying there in itsdimness and mystery. 

"But I don't like to think of your ever having worried, " he repeated. 

"Oh, it's over now, " she returned, severely matter-of-fact. "It took meyears to make my way, but I've made it at last, and I may settle down toa comfortable middle-age without the dread of the poorhouse to spur meinto activity. My business is doing very well; our custom has doubled inthe last two or three years. "

"But wasn't it a tough pull at one time?"

"It was hard; but what isn't? Of course, when I was obliged to work fromnine till six and then come home to cook the children's dinner and teachthem their lessons, I used to be tired out by the end of the day--butthat lasted only a few years: five or six at the most--and now I canafford to let Fanny wear imported gowns when she goes out to parties. "

Though she spoke gaily, making a jest of her struggle, she saw thegravity of his face deepen until his features looked almost wooden. 

"And through it all you kept something that so many other women seem tolose when they work for a living, " he said. "You've kept your--yourcharm. "

Again she found herself on the point of exclaiming frankly: "heavenknows I've tried to!"--and again, checking herself, she proceededcautiously: "I've never understood why charm should be merely a hothouseflower. "

"I suppose it does depend a good deal upon a sunny temper, " he rejoinedin his blindness. 

They had reached the gate, and stopping him when he would have entered, she said with the directness of a man: "So we're friends, and you'recoming to see me?"

"Yes, I'm coming, " he replied gravely. Then, standing beside the gate, he watched her while she went up the walk and opened the door with herkey. 

Upstairs, with her knitting on her lap and her feet on the fender, MissPolly looked up to observe: "You're late, Gabriella. You must havewalked all the way. "

"Yes, I walked all the way. Mr. O'Hara joined me. "

"Where did you run across him?"

"Just as I left the shop. He was walking down Fifth Avenue. "

"Do you reckon he was waitin' outside?"

"Oh, no, he said he had been up to Fifty-ninth Street on business. "

"Well, the walk certainly did you good. You are bloomin' like a rose. "

"The air was delicious, and I really like talking to Mr. O'Hara. He isquite interesting after you get over the first impression, and he isn'tnearly so ignorant about things as I imagined. He has thought a greatdeal even if he hasn't read very much. It's wonderful, isn't it, whatthe West can do with a man? Now, if he'd stayed in New York he wouldhave been merely impossible, but because he has lived out of doors hehas achieved a certain distinction. I can understand a woman falling inlove with him just because of his force and his bigness. They are thequalities a woman likes most, I think. "

"He must have made a great deal of money. "

"Yes, he's rich, and that's a good thing. I like money tremendously, though I used to think that I didn't. I wonder if he had been poor if Ishould have liked him quite so much?" she asked herself honestly. 

"I don't 'spose you could ever--ever bring yourself to think of him, honey? It would be a mighty good thing in some ways. "

Gabriella, being in a candid mood, pondered the question withoutsubterfuge or evasion. "Of course I've passed the sentimental age, " sheanswered. "If Mr. O'Hara had been poor, I suppose I should never havethought of him; but his money does make a difference. It stands forsuccess, achievement, and ability, and I like all those qualities. Thenhe is rough in many ways, but he isn't a bit vulgar. He has genuinecharacter. There is absolutely no pretence about him. "

"You could catch him in a minute, " replied Miss Polly hopefully, animated by the inveterate match-making instinct of her class. 

Gabriella laughed merrily. "Oh, yes, I might capture him if I wentquesting for him. I am not a child. But put that out of your headforever, Miss Polly. I have given him clearly to understand that theremust be no nonsense, though, for the matter of that, I doubt if heneeded the warning. There is an Alice. "

"I reckon it would take more than an Alice to stand in the way if youwanted him, " insisted the little seamstress, possessed by an obstinateconviction that fate could provide no happiness apart from marriage. 

"Perhaps. But you see I don't want him. " Gabriella had become perfectlyserious, and to Miss Polly's amazement a hint of petulance showed in hermanner. "Everything of that kind was over for me long ago. I never thinkof love now, and if I did there wouldn't be but one--but one--"

"I know, honey, " agreed Miss Polly, suddenly softened, "and I'd giveanything on earth if you and Arthur could come together again. "

"It wouldn't be any use. I made my choice, and I have had to abide byit. He could never forgive me--". She stopped as if she were choking, and Miss Polly said sympathetically:

"Well, I wish he had a chance to, that's all. Why don't you run down toRichmond for a few days this spring to see your folks? Your ma and allwould be so glad to see you, and it ain't as if you had the children tokeep you back. The thing that worries me, " she added with feeling, "isthe thought of your spendin' the summer here without the children. IfArchibald goes to camp from school and Fanny joins Jane at the WhiteSulphur Springs as soon as her school is out, you won't have them atall, will you?"

"No, but they will be happy; that is the only thing that matters. "

"It seems all wrong to me. What do you get out of life, honey?"

"What do any of us get out of it, dear little Miss Polly, except the joyof triumphing? It's overcoming that really matters, nothing else, and itis the same thing to you and to me that it is to the man downstairs. Iam happy because in my little way I stood the test of struggle, and soare you, and so is Mr. O'Hara. "

"But you're young yet, and it ain't natural for you to live as you'redoin'. Lots of women marry when they're older than you are. "

"Oh, yes, if they want to--"

For a minute the little seamstress rattled her newspaper while shelooked at her without replying. Then, after folding the paper, andremoving her spectacles, she asked grimly: "Can you look me in the eyes, Gabriella, and tell me that you ain't still hankerin' after Arthur?"

The blush of a girl made the business-like Gabriella appear as young andas piquantly feminine as her daughter. 

"No, Miss Polly, I cannot, " she answered with incomparable directness;"I have loved Arthur all my life. "

"That's just what I thought all along, and yet you went off and marriedsomebody else. " Excited by the unexpected confession, Miss Polly wasquivering with sympathy. 

In that supreme instant of self-revelation Gabriella answered thisaccusation as if it had been uttered by her remorseful conscience. "Butthat wasn't love, " she said slowly; "it was my youth craving experience;it was my youth reaching after the unknown, the untried, theundiscovered. We all go questing for adventure one way or another, Isuppose, but it was not the reality. "

"I wonder what is, " said Miss Polly in a whisper; "I wonder what is, Gabriella?"

"That, " replied Gabriella softly, "is what I am still trying todiscover. "

CHAPTER IX

THE PAST

It was the morning of Gabriella's thirty-eighth birthday, and she wasstanding, with her hat on, before the window of her sitting-room, gazingwith dreaming eyes at the young leaves on the elm tree. The day's workwas ahead of her, but for a little while, standing there by the openwindow, she gave herself, with a sense of pleasure, of abandonment, tothe rare luxury of regret. Out of her whole year it was the one daywhen, for a few hours, she permitted herself to think sadly of the pastand the future, when she cherished in her heart something of the gentlemelancholy of her mother's retrospective philosophy. 

In the street, beyond the narrow yard, where the grass lay like a veil, there was a curious deadening of sounds, as if the traffic had becomesuddenly muffled in the languorous softness of spring. Out of thisimaginary stillness floated the sharp twittering of sparrows and thebright laugh of a child at play in one of the neighbouring yards. Abovethe grim outlines of the city the sky shone divinely clear and blue, flecked by a single cloud, soft as an eagle's feather, which drifted ina mist of light above the horizon. The city, beneath that azure sky, borrowed the transparent brightness of an object that is imprisoned incrystal. White magic had transformed it for an hour, and the street, the houses, the shining elm tree, and the distant frowning brows of theskyscrapers, all seemed as unreal as the vivid yet impalpable images ina dream. And into this world of crystal there drifted, like the essenceof spring, the dreamy fragrance from the window box filled with whitehyacinths. 

While she stood there Gabriella thought pensively of many things. Shethought of the day's work before her, of the gown she was designing forMrs. Pletheridge, of Fanny's latest lover, the brother of a schoolmate, of the clothes she should send the child to the White Sulphur Springs, of her mother, and of Jane's eldest daughter, Margaret; and then veryslowly, with the scent of the hyacinths drowning all merely prosaicmemories, she began to think hopelessly and tenderly of Arthur Peyton. She thought of him as he had looked on the day when she had told him ofher engagement of the sympathetic expression in his eyes, and of hisbeautiful manner, which she had felt at the time she could never forget. Well, after eighteen years she had not forgotten it. Compared withArthur, all other men seemed to her as unreal as shadows. "How couldMiss Polly imagine that I'd think of Ben O'Hara after a love like that?"she reflected indignantly. 

And then, perhaps because for a shadow he was so solidly substantial, she became aware that O'Hara's image was trespassing upon the hallowedsoil of her reverie. To be sure, she had seen a great deal of him sinceGeorge's death, when he had been so wonderfully considerate and helpful. Scarcely a day had passed since then that he had not brightened by somereminder of his friendship. They had spent long evenings together; andoccasionally, accompanied by the delighted Miss Polly, they had gone todinner at a restaurant and later to a concert or a play. That he hadbeen almost too kind it was impossible for her to deny; but she hadtried her best to repay him--she had, when one came to the point, doneas much as she could to remedy the defects of his education. At firstshe had given zest, sympathy, eagerness, to her self-appointed task ofmaking him over; then, as the months went by, a sense of doubt, ofdiscouragement, of approaching failure, had tempered her enthusiasm, andat last she had realized that her work, except in the merest details, had been ineffectual and futile. The differences, which she had regardedas superficial, were, in reality, fundamental. It was impossible to makehim over because he was so completely himself. He stood quite definitelyfor certain tendencies in democracy, and by no ingenious manipulationcould she twist him about until he presented the sham appearance ofmoving in the opposite direction. For the logic of her failure wasperfectly simple--he couldn't see, however hard he tried, the things shewanted him to look at. The difficulty was far deeper than a mere matterof finish, or even of education--for it was, after all, not one ofmanner, but of material. Day by day she had realized more clearly thatthe problem confronting them was one which involved their differentstandards of living and their individual philosophies. The things whichshe regarded as essential were to him only the accidental variations oflife. He had lived so long in touch with the basic realities--with vastspaces and the stark aspect of desert horizons, with droughts, andwinds, and the unquenchable pangs of thirst and hunger, with the vitalissues of birth and death in their most primitive forms--he had lived solong in touch with the simplest and most elemental forces of Nature, that his spirit, as well as his vision, had adjusted itself to atrackless and limitless field of view. No, what he was now he mustremain, since to change him, except in trivial details, was out of herpower. 

And of course he had his virtues--she would have been the last to denyhim his virtues. Whenever she applied the touchstone of character, sherealized how little alloy there was in the pure gold of his nature. Hewas truthful, he was generous, he was brave, kind, and tolerant; but hisvirtues, like his personality, were large, flamboyant, and withoutgradations of colour. Custom had not pruned their natural luxuriance, nor had tradition toned down the violence of their contrasts. They wereexperimental, not established virtues, as obviously the expression ofthe man himself as was his uncultivated preference for red geraniums. For he possessed, she admitted, a sincerity such as she had not believedcompatible with human designs--certainly not with human achievement. According to the code of the sheltered half of her sex--according to theinflexible code of her mother and Jane--he was not a gentleman. Helacked breeding, he lacked taste, he lacked the necessary education ofschools; but in other ways, in ways peculiarly his own, she wasbeginning dimly to realize that he possessed qualities immeasurablylarger than any superficial lack in his nature. In balance, moderation, restraint--in all the gracious attributes with which Arthur was endowedin her memory, in all the attributes she had particularly esteemed inthe past--she understood that O'Hara would undoubtedly fall below herinherited standards. But, failing in these things, he had been able tocommand her respect by the sheer force of his character. Though he had, as he had confessed to her, gone down into hell, she could not talk tohim for an hour without recognizing that he had never lost a naturalchivalry of mind beside which the cultivated chivalry of manner appearedas exotic as an orchid in a hothouse. Even Arthur, she was aware, wouldhave lied to her for her own good; but she would have trusted O'Hara tospeak the truth to her at any cost. In this, as well as in his practicalefficiency, and his crude yet vital optimism, he embodied, she felt, thetriumphs and the failures of American democracy--this democracy of uglyfact and of fine ideals, of crooked deeds and of straight feeling, oflittle codes and of large adventures, of puny lives and of heroicdeaths--this democracy of the smoky present and the clear future. "Ifthis is our raw material to-day, " she thought hopefully, "what will thefinished and signed product of to-morrow be?"

"Gabriella, ain't these lovely?"

Whirling out of the sunshine, she saw Miss Polly holding a rustic basketof primroses and cowslips. "Mr. O'Hara wants to know if he may speak toyou for a minute before you go out?"

"Oh, yes, I'm not in a hurry this morning. " Then Miss Polly disappearedand an instant later the vacant space in the doorway was filledexuberantly by O'Hara. 

"I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday, " he began, alittle shyly, a little awkwardly, though his face was flushing withpleasure. 

"The flowers are wonderful!" For a minute, while she answered him, heseemed to be a part of the unreal intense brightness of the worldoutside--of that magic world where the elm tree and the grass and thesunny street were all imprisoned in crystal. He diffused a glowingconsciousness of success, a sanguine faith in the inherent goodness ofexperience. For, as she had discovered long ago, O'Hara was one of thosewho stood not for the elimination of struggle, but for the completeacceptance of life. He had sprung out of ugliness, he had livedintimately with evil; and yet more than any one she had ever known, heseemed to her to radiate the simple, uncalculating joy of living. He wasthe strongest person she knew, as well as the happiest. He had neverevaded facts, never feared a risk, never shirked an issue, never lackedthe hardy, adventurous courage of battle. In his own words, life hadnever "found him a quitter. "

He stood in front of her now, fresh, smiling, robust, with his look ofsuddenly arrested energy, and the dark red of his hair, which was stillmoist from his bath, striking a vivid note against the cool grays andblues of the background. The sunshine, falling through the open window, warmed the ruddy tan of his face, and made his eyes like pools of clearlight in which the jubilant spirit of the spring was reflected. "Afterall, it isn't what one does, it is what one is, that matters, " shethought while she looked at him. "At the end, as Miss Polly said, it ischaracter, not circumstances, that counts. "

"I've been all over New York this morning looking for that basket, " hesaid. Though he had been so eager to make light of his services to herin her trouble, she was amused from time to time by a childlike vanitywhich prompted him to impress her with the value of small attentions;and this she was swift to recognize as the opposite of Arthur'sdelicacy. It was the only littleness she had observed in O'Hara sofar--this reluctance to hide his smaller lights under a bushel--and inits place, it was amusing. Here was an obvious instance where natureunassisted by training appeared to fall short. 

"They couldn't be lovelier if you'd gone all over the world, " sheresponded sincerely. 

Before answering her he hesitated a moment, and she watched pityinglythe struggle he was making toward an impossible self-expression. Thething he wanted to say, the thing struggling so pathetically in theinarticulateness of his feeling, would not, she knew, be uttered inwords. 

"You are the first woman I ever wanted to send flowers to, " he saidpresently; and added with abject infelicity: "It's strange, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's strange, " she assented pleasantly. Though his words wereineffectual, she was aware suddenly of a force before which she felt avague impulse of flight. Now, if ever, she understood that she must keeptheir relations as superficial as she had always meant them to be--thatshe must cling with all her strength to the comfortable surface ofappearances. "But you haven't had many women friends, have you?"

"I've wanted to give other things, " he went on hurriedly; "but notflowers. I never thought of flowers until I met you. "

"That's nice for me. " She was growing nervous, and in her nervousnessshe precipitated the explosion by venturing rashly: "But there's Alice, too, isn't there, to like them?" Her voice was firm and friendly. Oncefor all she intended him to understand how aloof she stood from anysentimental advances. 

"Alice?" For an instant his response hung fire, enveloped in a fog ofperplexity. Then, with an air of dispelling the cloud, he made avigorous gesture of denial, and moved nearer to her with the swiftnessand directness of a natural force. "Why, Alice was you! You were Aliceall the time!" he exclaimed energetically. 

"You mean--" She checked herself in alarm, paralyzed the next instant bythe tremendous, unexpected blow of her discovery. 

"So you thought there was somebody else!" The delight in his face kepther silent, amazed, incapable of explanation. His arm was stilloutstretched, as if he were brushing aside the last flimsy barrierbetween them, and his voice, with its unrestrained and radiant joy, stirred some faintly quivering echoes in the secret depths of her being. It was as if the jubilant spirit of spring had flowered suddenly in hislook. 

"There wasn't anybody else. " He came still nearer, and she stood there, startled, incredulous, powerless either to retreat or to prevent theinevitable instant that was approaching. "At least, there wasn't anybodyI ever knew named Alice except a school teacher when I was a kid. Shewas good and she was pretty like you, and I used to dream about herafter school, and every evening at dusk I would go out of my way tospeak to her in Sixth Avenue. Once she told me that she'd wait for me togrow up and get rich so I could marry her, and after I went out toArizona I used to think about her a lot. When I came on you suddenly, standing there in the dusk with your hands full of lilacs, it all cameback to me because you, looked like her, with your dark hair and yourtall slenderness. Then before I knew what I was, doing I called you byher name. I oughtn't to have done it, " he finished ecstatically, "butI'm jolly glad now that I did. "

So he also, the man of action and of enterprise, he, the worker and theadventurer, so he also cultivated his garden of dreams!

"I didn't know--I didn't know--" she found herself murmuring faintly inprotest. 

"But you know now!" His voice rang out exultantly, and, though she feltthat the thing she feared and dreaded was coming upon her, she stillstood there without moving a step, without lifting a hand, mesmerized, enchanted, by the force of the man. "You know now, " he repeated. "Youknow now, Gabriella, and you knew all along. "

It was true. In spite of her surprise, in spite of her shrinking, inspite of her evasion, she confessed it in her heart. She had known allthe time. Something deep down in her, something secret and profound andclairvoyant, had discerned the truth from the beginning. 

"No! no!" she cried out sharply, for, mistaking her silence, he hadstooped to her with the directness which impelled all his movements, which so easily brushed aside and discarded intervening encumbrances, and had kissed her on the lips. 

For an instant, in the merciless tenderness of his arms, her resistancemelted from her. Beneath the crash of the storm she did not think, shedid not struggle, she did not murmur. Her consciousness seemedsuspended, and with her consciousness, her memory, her judgment, evenher passionate unshaken loyalty to the love of her youth. Then, afterthe moment of weakness, of passive submission, it was as if her soul andbody caught fire at a flash, and a quiver of anger ran through her, enkindling her glance and nerving her spirit. 

"But I do not love you! I never meant that I loved you!" she cried. 

At her words his arms dropped to his sides, and he stood as if turned tostone, with only his questioning eyes and the vivid red of his hairseeming alive. There was no need now for her to struggle. At her firstmovement to escape he had released her and drawn to a distance. 

"You don't love me?" he stammered. "Why, I saw it. I've seen it forweeks. I see it now in your face. "

"You see nothing--nothing. " She denied it bitterly. "I liked you as afriend. I did not think of this. I never suspected it. I don't love you. I don't love you in the least. "

He was very still. The jubilant spirit of the spring had ebbed away fromhis look, and even in the height of her anger she was struck by thechange in his face. 

"I don't believe you, " he said gravely after a minute. "I don't believeyou. "

"You must believe me. I don't love you. I have never thought of youexcept as a friend. I have loved another man all my life. "

Her voice rose accusingly, triumphantly, and so fervent was her lookthat she might have been repeating a creed. It was as if she hoped byconvincing him to persuade her own rebellious heart of the truth sheproclaimed. 

Now at last he understood. She had been lucid enough even for thecrystalline lucidity of his thought. 

"I am sorry. I made a mistake, " he said quietly, and after the exultantnote of a few moments ago there was a dull level of flatness in hisvoice. "I am sorry. There don't seem to be anything else that I can sayor do, but--but it wouldn't have happened if I had understood--" Hepaused, looked at her closely for a minute, and then added stubbornly, with an echo of the old confidence in his tone: "I still don't believeit. "

"It is true, nevertheless. " She was trembling with indignation, and thisindignation, in spite of her natural fairness, was not directed againstherself, against her own blindness and folly. Though she knew that shewas to blame, she was furious, not with herself, but with O'Hara. He hadinsulted her, and she resolved bitterly that she would never forgivehim. Even now, whenever she was silent, she could still feel his kiss onher mouth, and the vividness of the sensation stung her into passionateanger. She was no longer the reasonable and competent Gabriella, who hadso successfully "managed her life"; she was primitive woman in the gripof primitive anger; and balance, moderation, restraint, had flown fromher soul. The very mystery of her feeling, its complexity, itssuddenness, its remorselessness--these emotions worked together todeepen the sense of insult, of injury, with which she burned. 

"It is true, and you have no right to doubt it. You have no right. " Shecaught her breath sharply, and then went on with inexcusable harshness:"Even if there hadn't been any one else, I should never--I could neverin the world--"

Her loss of self-control gave him an advantage, which he was either toogenerous or too stupid to perceive. "Well, forget all about it. I amgoing now, " he answered quietly. 

While she watched him moving away from her, she was conscious of aninexplicable longing to stab him again more deeply before she lost himforever. It was intolerable to her that he should leave her while shewas still indignant, that he should evade her just resentment by thenatural cowardice of flight. 

"I can't forget it, " she said; "how can you expect me to?"

For an instant he seemed on the point of smiling. Then, turning, at thedoor, he walked back to where she was standing, and said gravely: "WhenI came in here it was to ask you to marry me, and, if it's the last wordI ever speak, I thought you understood--that you knew how I felt. I waseven fool enough to think you would be willing to marry me. That's all Ican say. I haven't any other excuses. "

For the second time he went to the door, opened it, and then turningquickly, came back again. "I am not the sort to change, and I shan'tchange about this. You are a free woman, and if you ever feel that youmade a mistake, if you ever want me or need me, you can just come to me. I shan't stop caring for you, and if you choose to come, I'll bewaiting. I believed you were meant for me when I first saw you--and Ibelieve it now. In spite of all you say, I am going to keep on believingit--"

He went out, closing the door softly, and five minutes later, feelingextraordinarily young, she watched him pass through the gate, and walkas buoyantly as ever in the direction of Broadway. While she lookedafter him she wondered suddenly why novelists always dropped theirheroines as soon as they passed twenty-seven? "If I'd been in a play, they'd have put me in the background, dressed in lavender, and made melook on and do fancywork, " she thought humorously, "but this is reallife, and I've just had a real love scene on my thirty-eighth birthday. He couldn't have been more romantic if I'd been Fanny, " she mused withan agreeable complacency. "It's only in books and plays that people stopfalling in love when they pass the twenties. I don't believe they everstop in real life. I believe it goes on forever. " And glancing at theglass, she added truthfully: "I want love more to-day than I wanted itwhen I was twenty--and so does Ben O'Hara. "

A sensation of stifling, as if her throat were closing together, oppressed her suddenly, and picking up her hand-bag, she ran downstairsand out of the house. 

By the time she reached Broadway her anger had ebbed, but theoppression, the feeling that she was being slowly smothered, was stillin her throat and bosom. After all, seen in the sober light of reason, why had she been so indignant? There had been a misapprehension; he hadthought that she was in love with him, and thinking so, he had kissedher. That was the case plainly stated; and what was there in this tosend a burning, rush of anger to her heart? What was there in this thathad made her turn and insult him? For the first time in her life she hadlost her temper without cause, and had raged, she told herself sternly, like a fury. And beneath her rage she had been conscious always of somevague, incomprehensible disloyalty to Arthur--of a feeling of, humiliation, of self-reproach, which appeared ridiculous when sheremembered that she had been kissed against her will and withoutwarning. But, in spite of this, she knew intuitively, with a knowledgedeeper than reason, that the glory of her Dream had paled in the momentwhen she lay in O'Hara's arms. 

A subtle change had come over the spirit of spring since she had leftthe elm tree and the emerald veil of the grass. It was no longerjubilant, but languorous, wistful, haunting, as if it eternally pursued, through the fugitive seasons, an immortal and ineffable beauty. Theenchanted crystal had been shattered in an instant, and she saw lifenow, not imprisoned in magical sunshine, but gray, sordid, monotonous, as utterly hopeless as the faces thronging in Broadway. Yet not manymonths ago she had seen in these, same faces the inward hope, the joy insadness, the gaiety in disappointment, which had brightened the worldfor her. Then she had been aware of an invisible current flowing fromthe crowd to herself; but to-day this shining current was broken orturned aside, and she felt detached, adrift, and distrustful of thefuture. That mental correspondence with the mood of the crowd, with thelife of the city, which had come to her first on the brilliant morningin September, and then again when she walked home with O'Hara in thewinter's dusk--which had released a new faculty in her soul, and hadgiven her a fresh perception of human responsibilities--this haddeserted her so utterly that she could barely remember its miraculousvisitation. Then her personal life had seemed to become a part of thelife of the street, of the sky, of the mysterious city outlined againstthe gray background of dusk. To-day she walked alone and withoutsympathy through the crowd. Her feet dragged, and she felt dully thatshe had lost her share in both the street and the sky. The very faces ofthe men and women around her--those lethargic foreign faces whichcrowded out the finer American type--awoke in her the sensation ofhopeless revolt which one feels before the impending destruction ofhigher forms by masses of inert and conscienceless matter. She thoughtgloomily: "I have lost the vision--there is no hope either for me or forAmerica except in the clear vision of the future. " And while she spokethere passed over her the vague feeling of loss, of something missing, as if a precious possession had slipped from her grasp. 

Her morning's work was unusually trying, and at one o'clock, when sheput on her hat before going out to lunch, she asked herself dejectedly:"What can be the matter with me? Before I go home I'll take a taxicaband drive up Riverside for an hour. If only the children were here, Ishould not feel so depressed. " She remembered regretfully that Archibaldand Fanny would be away all summer; and then from thinking of herchildren, she passed by almost insensible degrees of despondency tomeditating pensively about Arthur Peyton. What a wreck, what aninconceivably stupid wreck she had made of her happiness!

As she entered the outer showroom on her way to the street, she heardthe voice of Miss Murphy attuned to a cooing pitch, and glancing arounda little, painted cabinet, filled with useless ornaments, which stood inthe centre of the floor, she beheld a dazzling head of reddish goldbefore one of the elaborately decorated French mirrors. While sheadvanced the red-gold waves, worn with extreme flatness over a foreheadof pearly whiteness, were submerged for a minute in the smallest androundest hat in the shop, and from a fashionable figure, reminding hervaguely of an ambulatory dressmaker's model, there issued a high, fluting note of delighted ejaculation. 

"This is just exactly what I've been looking all over New York for! Now, isn't it too funny for anything that I should have found it right herethe very minute I came in?" As Gabriella's face flashed back from themirror the fashionable figure sprang suddenly to life, and the voice, still fluting delightedly, exclaimed:

"Why, Gabriella! Where on earth did you come from?"

For a minute sheer amazement kept Gabriella clinging helplessly to theridiculous cabinet, from the top of which an artificial rose-bush seemedto shower artificial pink petals down on her head. Then, recoveringherself, with a sharp effort of will, she went forward a few stepsbeyond the shelter of the cabinet, and said composedly:

"How do you do, Florrie? I did not recognize you at first. "

For it was Florrie herself, Florrie in the flesh, Florrie, glowing, sparkling, prosperous, victorious. Her figure, conforming to the latestmode, had lost its pinched protuberances, and was long, slender, sinuousin its perfection of line. Beneath the small round hat, her hair, glossywith brilliantine, was like melted gold in the large loose waves whichrevealed the rosy tips of her ears. She was thirty-nine, and she lookedscarcely a day over twenty-five. The peach-blossom texture of her skinwas as unlined by care or pain as if she had spent the last ten yearsimmured in a convent; for in this case, at least, Gabriella realizedwhile she looked at her, the retribution which awaits upon sinners hadbeen tardy in its fulfilment. 

As she moved toward her, without noticing the friendly hand that Florrieheld out, Gabriella was conscious of an ironical inclination to laugh. Though she felt no bitter personal resentment against Florrie--for, after all, Florrie had not been able to hurt her--there struggled in herbosom an indignation more profound, more moving, than any merelypersonal emotion could be. Her resentment was directed not againstFlorrie, but against some abstract destiny which had permitted Florrieto have her way without paying the price. For on the pinnacle of adestructive career, unsinged by the conflagration she had so carelesslystarted, Florrie was poised securely, crowned, triumphant, rejoicing. Onher dazzling height, successful and happy, she was as far removed as onecould imaginably be from the repentant Magdalen of tradition. The memoryof George's face as it looked in death, floated before the austeremental vision of Gabriella, and she reflected grimly that tradition wasnot always the mirror of life. For in this one case at least, the man, not the woman, had been the victim of natural law, and Florrie, foolthough she was, had shown herself at the hour of requital to be strongerthan fate. By that instinctive wisdom, which is so much older, so muchtruer than civilization, she had triumphed over the ordination of life. In refusing to suffer she had blunted every weapon with which Naturemight have punished her in the end. Not by virtue, since she had none, but by pure insensibility, she had escaped the wages of sin. She was asensualist whose sensuality, hard, metallic, glittering, encased herlike armour. 

At Gabriella's approach Miss Murphy fluttered off cooingly in thedirection of a fresh customer, and only the festively garlanded Frenchmirror witnessed the meeting of the two who had been schoolgirlstogether. Swift as an arrow there shot through Gabriella's mind, "Iwonder what Ben O'Hara would think of her?" Then she checked thedangerous flight of her fancy, for she remembered that O'Hara's thoughtsabout anything no longer concerned her. 

"Are you buying a hat?" inquired Florrie curiously. 

"No, I belong here. I am Madame Dinard. "

"You don't mean it! I never should have believed it! The idea of yourbeing a dressmaker. That's why you look so smart, I suppose. You're thesmartest thing I've seen anywhere, but you look older, Gabriella. "

"Well, you don't. " It was perfectly true. Except for the gaudydecorations and the twanging accents of the arrogant young women, Gabriella might have imagined herself in the last century atmosphere ofBroad Street in the middle 'nineties. 

"I must tell you about the things I use. " Florrie was always generous. "But, I declare if I'd known this place was yours, I'd have got my hatshere ages ago. Of course I knew it was dreadfully swell, but I thoughtthe prices were beyond anything. "

"They are, " responded Gabriella with business-like brevity, while sheglanced about for the flitting Miss Murphy. 

"Look here, Gabriella, I hope you don't bear me any malice, " Florrieburst out solicitously, for her frankness, like her sensuality, waselemental in its audacity. "You oughtn't to if you know what I saved youfrom, " she proceeded convincingly. "Anyway, we were chums long beforeeither of us ever thought about a man, and I didn't really do you a bitof harm. It wasn't as if you cared about George, was it?"

"No, it wasn't as if I'd cared about him. " Gabriella was answering theappeal as truthfully as if Florrie had been the most excellent of hersex. "You didn't harm me in any way--not in any way, " she repeated withfirmness. 

"That's just the way I told mother you'd look at it. I knew you werealways so broad-minded even as a girl. Then there isn't any reason weshouldn't be friends just as we used to be. "

Gabriella shook her head, polite but implacable in her refusal. "Itisn't what you did to me, Florrie, " she answered gently, "it's what youare that I can't forgive. I can imagine that a good woman might doalmost anything--might even run off with another woman's husband, butyou aren't good. You wouldn't be good if you'd spent your life in aconvent. "

A quick flush--the flush of temper--stained the pearly whiteness ofFlorrie's skin. "Oh, of course, if you don't want to, " she retorted, alittle shrilly, though she tried to subdue her rebellious voice to thepitch of Fifth Avenue. "I only thought that being a working woman, youwouldn't have so very many friends, and you might get lonely. I hadseats at the opera every night last winter, and time and again I'd havebeen glad to have given them to you. Then, too, I might have been ableto bring you some custom. I know any number of rich women who don'tthink anything of paying a thousand dollars for a dress--"

Her insolence was so evidently the result of anger that Gabriella, without interrupting the flow, waited courteously until she paused. 

"No, you cannot do anything for me, Florrie. " Though Gabriella's voicewas crisp and firm, her face looked suddenly older, and little lines, stamped by weariness and regret, appeared at the corners of her stillbrilliant eyes. "I don't wish you any harm, " she went on more softly. "If you were in trouble I'd do what I could for you, but somehow I don'tseem able to forgive you for being what you are. Would you like to lookat anything else?" she inquired in her professional tone. "Miss Murphyis waiting to show you some hats. "

Her cheeks were burning when she passed out of the ivory and gold door, saluted deferentially by the attendant in livery. "The effrontery!" shethought, "the barefaced effrontery!" and then, as her eyes fell onFlorrie's trim little electric coupé beside the curb, she exclaimedmentally, recalling George's animated perplexity about the pearlnecklace, "I wonder how in the world she does it?"

The meeting with Florrie appeared to her, as she walked home thatafternoon, to be the last touch needed to push her into a state of utterdespondency. The oppressive languor of the day had exhausted herstrength, and when she left Dinard's she felt too indifferent, toospiritless even for the drive in the Park. It was still light when shegot out of the stage at Twenty-third Street, and while she strolledlistlessly down the blocks on the West Side, she had again that curioussensation of smothering which had come to her after her talk withO'Hara. 

At the corner of Sixth Avenue a young Italian, with the face of a poet, was roasting peanuts in a little kerosene stove beside a flickeringtorch which enkindled the romantic youth in his eyes. Farther away someragged children were dancing to the music of a hand-organ, which groundout a melancholy waltz; and from a tiny flower stall behind the stand ofa bootblack there drifted the intense sweetness of hyacinths. An oldnegro, carrying a basket of clothes, passed her in the middle of theblock, and she thought: "That might have been in Richmond--that and thehand-organ and the perfume of hyacinths. " A vision of Hill Streetfloated before her--the long straight street, with the sudden drop ofragged hill at the end; the old houses, with crumbling porches andcountless signs: "Boarders Wanted" in the windows between the patchedcurtains; the irregular rows of tulip poplar, elm, or sycamore treesthrowing their crooked shadows over the cobblestones; the blades ofgrass sprouting along the edges of the brick pavement--the vision ofHill Street as she remembered it twenty years ago in her girlhood; andthen the image of her mother's face gazing out beneath the creamyblossoms and the dark shining leaves of the old magnolia tree. "Everything must have changed, I'd hardly recognize it, " she thought. "Nobody we know lives on that side now, mother says. Yes, it has been along time. " She sighed, and then a little laugh broke from her lips, asshe remembered that Charley, who had recently been West on a businesstrip, had brought home the good news that Richmond was as progressive asDenver. "At least it seems so to Charley, " Mrs. Carr had hastened toadd, "but you know how proud Charley is of all our newness. He saysthere is not a street in the West that looks fresher or more beautifulthan Monument Avenue, and I am sure that is a great comfort. CousinJimmy says it shows what the South can do when it tries. "

"I'd like to go back, " mused Gabriella, walking more and more slowly. "Ihaven't been home for eighteen years, and I am thirty-eight to-day. "With the fugitive sweetness of the hyacinths there rushed over her againthe feeling that life was slipping, slipping, and that she was missingsomething infinitely precious, something infinitely desirable. It wasthe panic of fleeting youth, of youth unsatisfied, denied, and stillinsatiable. 

As she entered the gate she saw that O'Hara's windows were dark, andwhile a sigh of relief escaped her, she felt a swift contraction of herthroat as if she had become suddenly paralyzed and was unable toswallow. "I hope he has gone, " she said to herself in a whisper. "If hehas gone, everything will be so much easier. " But even to herself shecould not explain what it was that would be made easier. Her relief wasso vague that when she endeavoured to put it into words it seemed todissolve and evaporate. 

Miss Polly was watering the flowers in the window box, and turning, withthe green watering-pot in her hand, she stared at Gabriella in silencefor a minute before she exclaimed anxiously: "Mercy on us, Gabriella, what on earth, is the matter?"

"Nothing. I've had a hard day, and I'm tired. "

"Well, you lie right straight down as soon as you take off your hat. Ideclare you look ten years older than you did this morning. "

"I have seen Florrie for a minute. "

"I reckon that was enough to upset anybody. Did she say she was sorry?"

"Sorry! She looked as if she had never been sorry for anything in herlife. She was handsomer than ever--don't you remember how much youalways admired her figure?--and she didn't look a day over twenty-five. I don't believe she has ever known what it is to feel a regret. "

"Well, you just wait, honey, " responded Miss Polly consolingly, "youjust wait. She'll be punished yet as sure as you're born. "

"Oh, I'm not waiting for that. I don't wish her to be punished. Whyshould I? She is what she is. "

"Do you s'pose she knows about George?"

"I doubt it. She didn't speak of his death. She is quite capable offorgetting that she ever knew him, and if she does, think of him, it isprobably as a man who betrayed her innocence. You may be sure she hastwisted it all about until every shred of the blame rests on somebodyelse. Florrie isn't the only woman who is made like that, but Ibelieve, " she reasoned it out coolly, "that it is her way of keeping heryouth. "

Miss Polly had put down the watering-pot, and she came presently with abottle of camphor to the sofa where Gabriella was lying. "Are you sureyou wouldn't like me to rub your head?" she inquired. "Dinner will beready in a minute, but I shouldn't change my dress if I were you. "

Gabriella rose slowly to a sitting position, and then stood up while shepushed the camphor away. "I hate the smell of it, " she answered; "itmakes me think of one of Jane's attacks. And, besides, I don't need it. There is nothing in the world the matter with me. " A moment later, toMiss Polly's unspeakable amazement, she sank down again, flung her armsover the back of the sofa, and burst into tears. 

"Well, I never!" ejaculated Miss Polly, rooted to the spot. "Well, Inever!" In the ten years she had lived with Gabriella she had never seenher cry--not even after George's flight--and she felt as if the solidground on which she stood had crumbled without warning, and left herinsecurely balanced in space. "Something certainly must be wrong, for itain't like you to give way. Are you real sure you ain't got a painsomewhere?"

Shaking her head, and swallowing her sobs with an effort, Gabriella roseto her feet. "I'm just tired out, that's all, " she said, strangelyhumble and deprecating. 

"You must have been working too hard. It ain't right. " For a minute ortwo the little seamstress brooded anxiously; then guided by aninfallible instinct, she added decisively: "It's been a long time sinceyou've seen your ma, and she's gettin' right smart along. Why don't yourun down home for a few days while the flowers are blooming?"

A change passed over Gabriella's face, and drying her eyes, she lookeddown on Miss Polly with a lovely enigmatical smile. 

"I wonder if I might?" she said doubtfully. 

"There ain't any earthly reason why you shouldn't. To-morrow's Friday, and they can get along without you at Dinard's perfectly well till thefirst of the week. "

"Oh, yes, they can get along. I was only wondering"--a faint breezestole in through the window, wafting toward her the scent of wetflowers--"I was only wondering"--her eyes grew suddenly radiant, andlifting her arms, she made a gesture as of one escaping from bondage--"Iwas only wondering if I might go to-morrow, " she said. 

CHAPTER X

THE DREAM AND THE REALITY

At the upper station a little group stood awaiting her, and as the trainpulled slowly to the platform, Gabriella distinguished her mother'spallid face framed in the hanging crape of her veil; Jane, thin, anxious, anæmic, with her look of pinched sweetness; Chancy, florid, portly, and virtuously middle-aged, and their eldest daughter Margaret, a blooming, beautiful girl. Alighting, Gabriella was embraced by Mrs. Carr, who shed a few gentle tears on her shoulders. 

"Gabriella, my child, I thought you would never come back to us, " shelamented; "and now everything is so changed that you will hardlyrecognize it as home. "

"Well, if she can find a change that isn't for the better, I hope she'llpoint it out and let me make a note of it, " boasted Charley, withhilarity. "I tell you what, Gabriella, my dear, we're becoming a numberone city. Everything's new. We haven't left so much as an old bricklying around if we could help it. If you were to go back there to HillStreet, you'd scarcely know it for the hospitals and schools we've gotthere, and as for this part of the town--well, I reckon the apartmenthouses will fairly take your breath away. Apartment houses! Well, that'swhat I call progress--apartment houses and skyscrapers, and we've gotthem, too, down on Main Street. I'll show them to you to-morrow. Yes, by George, we're progressing so fast you can hardly see how we grow. Why, there wasn't a skyscraper or an apartment house in the city whenyou left here, and precious few hospitals. But now--well, I'll show you!We're the hospital city of the South, and more than that, we're becominga metropolis. Yes, that's the word--we're becoming a metropolis. If youdon't believe me, just watch as we go up Franklin Street to MonumentAvenue. I suppose you thought of us still as a poor folksy littleSouthern city, with a lot of ground going to waste in gardens and greenstuff. Well, you just wait till you see Monument Avenue. It's thehandsomest boulevard south of Washington. It's all new, every brick ofit. There's not a house the whole way up that isn't as fresh as paint, and the avenue is just as straight as if you'd drawn it with a ruler--"

But the change in the city, Gabriella reflected while she embraced Jane, was as nothing compared to the incredible change in Charley himself. Middle-age had passed over him like some fattening and solidifyingprocess. He was healthy, he was corpulent, he was prosperous, conventional, and commonplace. If Gabriella had been seeking, withHogarthian humour, to portray the evils of torpid and self-satisfiedrespectability, she could scarcely have found a better picture of thecondition than Charley presented. And the more Charley expanded, themore bloodless and wan Jane appeared at his side. Her small, flat facewith its yellowish and unhealthy tinge, its light melancholy eyes, andits look of lifeless and inhuman sanctification, exhaled the driedfragrance of a pressed flower. So disheartening was her appearance toGabriella that it was a relief to turn from her to the freshness ofMargaret, handsome, athletic, with cheeks like roses and the naturalgrace of a young animal. 

"Oh, Aunt Gabriella, I hadn't any idea you were like this!" cried thegirl with naïve enthusiasm. 

"You thought of me as gray-haired and wearing a bonnet and mantle?"

"No, not that, but I didn't dream you were so handsome. I thought motherwas the beauty of the family. But what a wonderful dress you have on!Are they wearing all those flounces around the hips?"

"There is no doubt about it, you are getting a lot better looking as yougrow older, " observed Charley, with genial pleasantry. 

"She keeps herself up. There is a great deal in that, " remarked Jane, and the speech was so characteristic of her that Gabriella tossed backgaily:

"Well, I'm not old, you know. I am only thirty-eight. "

"She married so young, " said Mrs. Carr mournfully. "I hope none of yourgirls will marry young, Jane. Gabriella must be a warning to them and toclear little Fanny. "

"But you married young, mother, and so did I, " replied Jane, a trifletartly. 

For some incommunicable reason Jane's sweetness had become decidedlyprickly. Charley's reformation had left her with the hurt andincredulous air of a missionary whose heathen have been converted underhis eyes by a rival denomination: and obeying an entirely naturalimpulse, she appeared ever so slightly, and in the most refined mannerpossible to revenge herself on the other members of her family. Thoughshe had of late devoted her attention to the Associated Charities andthe Confederate Museum, neither of these worthy objects provided soagreeable an opportunity for the exercise of her benevolent instincts asdid the presence of a wayward husband in the household. For there couldbe no question of the thoroughness of Charley's redemption. The very cutof his clothes, the very colour of his necktie, proclaimed a triumph, for the prohibition party. 

At last they were packed tightly in the touring car, and Charley, afterimparting directions with the manner of a man who regards himself as thefount of wisdom, began expounding the noisy gospel of progress toGabriella. Mrs. Carr, who had never been active, and was now overseventy, was visibly excited by the suddenness with which she had beenwhisked from the platform, and while they shot away from the station, she clutched her crape veil despairingly to the sides of her face, andfixed her blank and terrified stare on her son-in-law. After a whisperedconference with Jane, Gabriella discovered that her mother was lessafraid of an accident than she was of fresh air. "She's afraid ofneuralgia, " whispered Jane, "but the doctor says the air can't possiblydo her any harm. "

In Franklin Street the trees were in full leaf, and the charming vistathrough which Gabriella looked at the sunset, softened mercifully theimpending symbols of the ironic Spirit of Progress. It was modern; itwas progressive; yet there was the ancient lassitude of spring in thefaint sunshine; and the women passing under the vivid green of the elmsand maples moved with a flowing walk which one did not see in FifthAvenue. On the porches, too, groups were assembled in chairs after theSouthern fashion, while children, in white frocks and gay sashes, accompanied by negro nurses wheeling perambulators, made a springpageant in the parks. Though the gardens had either disappeared ordwindled to mere emerald patches of grass, a few climbing roses, ofmodern varieties, lent brightness and fragrance to the solid, ifundistinguished, architecture of the houses. 

"That's the finest apartment house in the city!" exclaimed Charley, withenthusiasm. "Looks pretty tall, doesn't it? But it's nothing to theheight of some of the buildings downtown. As for changes--well, I hopeJane will take you on Broad Street to-morrow, and then you'll see whatwe're doing. Why, there's not a shop left there now where you used todeal. Brandywine's--you recollect old Brandywine & Plummer's, don'tyou?--isn't there any longer. Got a new department store, with arestaurant and a basement in the very spot where it used to be. Looksharp now, we're coming to a hospital. That belongs to Dr. Browning. Youdon't remember Dr. Browning. After your day, I reckon. He's a youngchap, but he's got his hospital like all the rest, and every bedfilled--he told me so yesterday. But they've all got their hospitals. Darrow--you recollect Darrow who used to be old Dr. Walker'sassistant--well, he's got his, too, just around the corner on the nextstreet. They say he cuts up more people than any man in the South exceptSpendlow--". 

"I miss the old-fashioned flowers, " said Gabriella to her mother in oneof Charley's plethoric pauses. "The microphylla roses and snowballs. "

"Everybody is planting crimson ramblers and hydrangeas now, " respondedMrs. Carr, with something of her son-in-law's pride in the onwardmovement of her surroundings. 

"Here are the monuments!" cried Charley, who had treated each apartmenthouse or hospital as if it were a bright, inestimable jewel in thecity's crown. "You don't see many streets finer than this in New York, do you?"

"It looks very pretty and attractive, " answered Gabriella, as they swungdangerously round a statue, and then started in a race up the avenue, "but I miss the shrubs and the flowers. "

"Oh, there are flowers enough. You just wait till you get on a bit. We've got some urns filled with hydrangeas, that queer new sort betweenblue and pink. But what do you want with shrubs? All they're good for isto get in your way whenever you want to look out into the street. Mrs. Madison was telling me only yesterday that she cut down the lilac bushesin her front yard because they kept her from recognizing the people inmotor cars. Look at that house now, that's one of the finest, in thecity. Rushington built it--he made his money in fertilizers, and the onenext with the green tiles belongs to Hanly, the tobacco trust fellow, you know, and this whopper on the next square is where Albertson lives. He made his pile out of railroad stocks--he's one of the banking firm ofAlbertson, Jacobstein, Moss & Company. Awfully clever fellows, but tootricky for me, I give them a wide berth when I go out to do business--"

"But where are the old people--the people I used to know?"

"Oh, they're scattered about everywhere, but they haven't got most ofthe money. A lot of 'em live up here, and a lot are down in FranklinStreet in the same old houses. "

"Tell me about Cousin Jimmy. "

"He's up here, too. Pussy planned that red brick house with the greenshutters next door to us. I reckon Jimmy is about as prosperous as isgood for him, but he's getting on. He must be over seventy now. He has ason who is a chip of the old block, and his youngest daughter was theprettiest girl who ever came out here. Margaret will tell you abouther. "

"And the Peytons?" Her voice trembled, and she looked hastily away fromthe keen eyes of Margaret. 

"They are still in the old home--at least Arthur lives there with hisCousin Nelly. You know Mrs Peyton died about nine or ten years ago?"

"Yes, I heard it. "

"She was getting on, but it was a great loss to Arthur. Somehow, I couldnever make up my mind about Arthur. He was bright enough as a youngchap, and we used to think he would have a brilliant future; but whenthe time came, he never seemed to catch on. He wasn't progressive, andhe has never amounted to much more than he did when he left college. What I say about him is that he had the wrong ideas--Yes, Jane, I meanexactly what I say, he had the wrong ideas. He doesn't know what he isdriving at. No progress, no push, no punch in him. "

"Why, Charley, " murmured Mrs. Carr reproachfully, while Jane, recoveringher nagging manner with an accession of spirit, remonstrated feelingly:"Charley, you really must be more careful what you say. "

"Oh, fudge!" retorted Charley, with playful rudeness. "You see she's atit still, Gabriella, " he pursued, winking audaciously. "If it isn't onething, it's another, but she wouldn't be satisfied with perfection. Well, here we are. There are the hydrangeas. I hope you're pleased. "

"I declare, those waste papers have blown right back again on the grass, and I had them picked up the last thing before I left, " said Jane in atone of annoyance. 

"Never mind the papers; Gabriella isn't looking for papers, " returnedCharley, while he helped Mrs. Carr out of the motor and up the steps. "So here you are, mother, and the air didn't kill you. "

"I may have neuralgia to-morrow. You never can tell, " replied Mrs. Carr. "I shouldn't worry about the papers, Jane. Nobody can help the way theyblow about. I want Gabriella to see the children the first thing. "

As they entered the house Jane's children, a flock of five girls and twoboys, fluttered up to be introduced, and among them Gabriella discoveredthe composed baby of Jane's tragic flight. It seemed an age ago, and shefelt not thirty-eight, but a thousand. 

After dinner Charley, who had eaten immoderately, unfolded the eveningpaper under the electric lamp in the library, and dozed torpidly whilethe girls plied their aunt with innumerable questions about New York andthe spring fashions. "It will be lovely to have Fanny with us at theWhite Sulphur. I know her clothes will be wonderful, " they chirpedhappily, clustering eagerly about the sofa on which Gabriella wassitting. Jane's children, deriving from some hardy stock of an earliergeneration, were handsome, vigorous, optimistic in blood and fibre, andso uncompromisingly modern that Gabriella wondered how Mrs. Carr, withher spiritual neuralgia and her perpetual mourning, had survived theunceasing currents of fresh air with which they surrounded her. 

"Yes, things have changed. It is the age, " thought Gabriella; andpresently, when Cousin Jimmy and Cousin Pussy came in to welcome her, she repeated: "Yes, it is the age. There is no escaping it. "

"Why, my dear child, you are looking splendidly, " trilled Cousin Pussy, with her old delightful manner and her flattering vision so differentfrom Florrie's. She was still trim, plump, and rosy, though her hair wasnow snow white and her pretty face was covered with cheerful wrinkles. "You're handsomer than you ever were in your life, and the dash of grayon your temples doesn't make you look, a day older--not a day. Somepeople turn gray so very young. I remember Cousin Becky Bollingbroke'shair was almost white by the time she was thirty-five. It runs like thatin some families. But you look just as girlish as ever. It's wonderful, isn't it, Cousin Fanny, the way the women of this generation stay girlsuntil they are fifty? I don't believe you'll ever look any older, Gabriella, than you do now. Of course, I suppose your business hassomething to do with it, but if I met you for the first time, it wouldnever cross my mind that you were a day over twenty-five. "

"Well, well, so little Gabriella went to New York and became adressmaker, " observed Jimmy, who was seldom original, "and she's thesame Gabriella, too. I always said, you know, that she was the sort youcould count on. "

Age, though it had not entirely passed him by, had, on the whole, treated him with great gentleness. He was a remarkably handsome old man, with a distinguished and courtly presence, a head of wonderful whitehair, which looked as if it had been powdered, a ruddy unwrinkled face, and the dark shining eyes of the adventurous youth he had never lost. 

"Of course, she couldn't have been a dressmaker here where everybodyknows her, " purred Cousin Pussy, with her arm about Gabriella, "but inNew York it is different, and they tell me that even titled women aredressmakers in London. "

"Well, she has pluck, " declared Cousin Jimmy, as he had declaredeighteen years ago at the family council. "There's nothing like pluckwhen it comes to getting along in the world. "

Then they sat down in Jane's library, which, contained most of thethings Gabriella associated with the old parlour in Hill Street, andCousin Pussy asked if Gabriella had found many changes. 

"A great many. Everything, looks new to me except this room. The onlything I miss here is the horsehair sofa. "

"I keep that in the back hall, " said Jane. "The town does look differentup here, but the Peytons' house is just as you remember it--even thescarlet sage is in the garden. Miss Nelly plants it still every summer. "

A lovely light shone in Gabriella's eyes, and Cousin Pussy watched ittenderly, while a smile hovered about the corners of her shrewd thoughstill pretty mouth. 

"It has been such a disappointment that Arthur hasn't done more in hisprofession, " she said presently, "but, as I was saying to Mr. Wrenn onlythe other day, I have always felt that dear Gabriella was to blame forit. "

"The trouble with Arthur, " observed Charley, awaking truculently fromhis doze, "is that he's got the wrong ideas. When a man has the wrongideas in these days, he might as well go out and hang himself. "

"Well, I don't know that I'd call his ideas wrong exactly, " reasonedCousin Jimmy, with the judicial manner befitting the best judge oftobacco in Virginia; "I shouldn't call them wrong, but they're out ofdate. They belong to the last century. "

"I always say that dear Arthur is a perfect gentleman of the oldschool, " remonstrated Mrs. Carr, meekly obstinate. "There aren't many ofthem left now, so I tell myself regretfully whenever I see him. "

"And there'll be fewer than ever by the time you Suffragists get yourrights, " remarked Charley, with bitterness, while Mrs. Carr, incensed bythe word, which she associated with various indelicacies, stared at himwith an indignant expression. 

"Charley, be careful what you say, " nagged Jane acridly from her corner. "Now that so many of our relatives have gone in for suffrage, youmustn't be intolerant. "

"I cannot help it, Jane. I shall never knowingly bow to one even if sheis related to me, " announced Mrs. Carr more assertively than Gabriellawould have believed possible. 

"Well, for my part, Cousin Fanny, I can't feel that it hurts me to bowto anybody, " said Pussy, with her unfailing kindness of heart. "Why, Ieven bowed to Florrie Spencer last winter. I wanted to cut her, but Ijust couldn't bring myself to do it when I met her face to face. I hopeyou don't mind, dear, " she whispered to Gabriella. "I suppose I oughtn'tto have mentioned her, but I forgot. "

"Oh, it doesn't matter in the least, " responded Gabriella cheerfully. "Ibowed to her myself the day before I left New York. "

Though she tried to be independent, to be advanced and resolute, shefelt the last eighteen years receding slowly from her consciousness. Thefamily point of view, the family soul, had enveloped her again, and, inspite of her experience and her success, she seemed inwardly as youngand ignorant as on the evening when she broke her engagement to Arthur. The spirit of the place had defeated her individual endeavour. Exceptfor the wall paper of pale gray, and the Persian rugs on the floor, Jane's library might have been the old front parlour in Hill Street, andit was as if the French mirror, the crystal candelabra, the rosewoodbookcases, with their diamond-shaped panes lined with fluted magentasilk, the family portraits, the speckled engravings of the Burial ofLatané and of the groups of amiable children feeding chickens andfish--it was as if these inanimate objects exuded a spiritual anodynewhich enfeebled the will. Across the hall, in the modern pink and graydrawing-room, the five girls were playing bridge with several young menwhom Gabriella remembered as babies, and the sounds of their voicesfloated to her now and then as thinly as if they had come out of aphonograph. "There is nothing better than peace, after all, " shethought, while her, eyes rested tenderly on the simple, affectionateface of Cousin Jimmy. "Goodness and peace, these things are really worthwhile. "

Then the telephone rang gently, and after a minute Margaret, who hadgone to answer it, came in with a roguish smile on her lips. "AuntGabriella, Mr. Peyton wishes to come to-morrow at five, " she said; andthe roguish smile flitted from her lips to the lips of Cousin Pussy, andfrom Cousin Pussy to each sympathetic and watchful face in the group. 

"You may say what you please, " argued Charley, still truculent, "thewhole trouble with Arthur is that he has got the wrong ideas. "

 * * * * *

At five o'clock the next day the family crowded into the touring car foran excursion, and left Gabriella in a deserted house to receive thelover of her girlhood. Before going Mrs. Carr had embraced hersentimentally; Charley had dropped one of his broad jokes on the subjectof the reunion; Jane had murmured sweetly that there was no man on earthshe admired as much as she did Arthur; and the girls had effusivelycomplimented Gabriella on her appearance. Even Willy, the baby ofeighteen years ago, had prophesied with hilarity that "Old Arthur Peytonwasn't coming for nothing. " One and all they appeared to take her partin the romance for granted; and while she waited in the drawing-room, gazing through the interstices of Jane's new lace curtains into theavenue, where beyond the flying motor cars the grassy strip in themiddle of the street was dappled with shadows, she wondered if she alsowere taking Arthur's devotion for granted. She had not seen him foreighteen years, and yet she was awaiting him as expectantly as if hewere still her lover. Would his presence really quiet this strange newrestlessness in her heart--this restlessness which had come to her sosuddenly after her meeting with Florrie? Was it true that her youth wasslipping from her before she had grasped all the happiness that lifeoffered? Or was it only the stirring of the spring winds, of the younggreen against the blue sky, of the mating birds, of the roving, provocative scents of flowers, of the checkered light and shade on thegrassy strip under the maples? Was it all these things, or was it noneof them, that awoke this longing, so vague and yet so unquenchable, inher heart?

A car stopped in the street outside, the bell rang, and she watched thefigure of a trim mulatto maid flit through the hall to the door. Aninstant later Arthur's name was announced, and Gabriella, with her handsin his clasp, stood looking into his face. It had been eighteen yearssince they parted, and in those eighteen years she had carried his imagelike some sacred talisman in her breast. 

"How little you've changed, Gabriella, " he said after a moment ofsilence in which she told herself that he was far better looking, farmore distinguished than she had remembered him. "You are larger than youused to be, but your face is as girlish as ever. "

"And I have two children nearly grown, " she replied with a tremblinglittle laugh; "a daughter who is already thinking of the White Sulphur. "

They sat down in the pink chairs on the gray carpet, and leaned forward, looking into each other's faces as tenderly as they had done when theywere lovers. 

"It's hard to believe it, " he answered a little stiffly, in his dry andgentle voice, which held a curious note of finality, of failure. For thefirst time, while he spoke, she let her eyes rest frankly upon him, andthere came to her, as she did so, a vivid realization of the emptinessand aimlessness of his life. He looked handsomer than ever; he lookedstately and formal and impressive; but he looked old--though he was onlyforty-five--he looked old and ineffectual and acquiescent. The fightingstrength, such as it was, had gone out of him, and the stamp of failurewas on him, from his high, pale, intellectual forehead, where the finebrown hair had retreated to the crown of his head, to his narrowfeatures, and his relaxed slender limbs, with their slow and indolentmovements. He was one of those, she felt intuitively, who had stoodaloof from the rewards as well as from the strains of the struggle, whohad withered to the core, not from age, but from an inherent distrust ofall effort, of all endeavour. For his immobility went deeper than anyphysical habit: it attacked, like an incurable malady, the very fibreand substance of his nature. With his intellect, his training, histraditions, she discerned, with a flash of insight, that he had failedbecause he lacked the essential faith in the future. He had lost, notbecause he had risked, but because he had hesitated, not because he hadloved ease, but because he had feared effort. For fear of a misstep, hehad not dared to go forward; from dread of pain, he had refused theopportunity of happiness. She knew now why he had never come to her, whyhe had let her slip from his grasp. All that was a part of his failure, of his distrust of life, of his profound negation of spirit. 

"Yes, it is hard, " she assented; and there came over her like a suddensense of discomfort, of physical hardship, the knowledge that, in thevery beginning, she was trying to make conversation. Meeting hissympathetic smile--the smile that still delighted the impressionablehearts of old ladies--she told herself obstinately, with desperatedetermination, that she was not disappointed, that he was just as shehad remembered him, dear and lovable and kind and conventional. When sherecalled what he had been at twenty-seven, it appeared inevitable to herthat at forty-five he should have settled a little more firmly into themould of the past, that his opinions should have crystallized andimprisoned his mind immovably in the centre of them. 

She told him what she could about Archibald and Fanny--about her choiceof schools, her maternal pride in Archibald's intellect and Fanny'sappearance, her hopeful plans for the future--and he listenedattentively, with his manner of slightly pompous consideration, while hepassed one of his long narrow hands over his forehead. When she hadfinished her vivacious recital, he began to talk slowly and gravelyabout himself, with the tolerant and impersonal detachment of one whohas reduced life to a gesture, a manner. "I wonder if he has ever reallycared about anything--even about me?" she questioned, after a minute;but while the thought was still in her mind, he mentioned his mother'sname, and it was impossible to doubt the sincerity of his sorrow and histenderness. "I have seemed only half alive since I lost her, " he said;and the words were like a searchlight which flashed over his characterand illumined its obscurities. Did his whole attitude of immobility andnegation result from the depth and the intensity of his feeling, fromthe exquisite reticence and sensitiveness of his soul?

"I know, I know, " she murmured in a voice of sympathy. After all, shewas not disappointed in him. He was as tender, as chivalrous, as nobleas she had believed him to be. The Dream was true; and yet in spite ofits truthfulness, it seemed to evaporate slowly while she sat there inJane's pink satin chair and looked out at the sunlight. Only therestlessness, the inappeasable longing in her heart had not changed. Looking across the hall into the library she could see the old Frenchmirror reflecting the bronze candelabra, with crystal pendants, and thethought flitted into her brain: "It is all real. I am here, talking toArthur. It is every bit true. " But her words failed to convince her, andshe had a curious sensation of vagueness and thinness, as if their low, gentle voices were issuing from shadows. 

"I should like to show you some of our improvements, " he said presently, with a faintly perceptible ripple of animation. "I wonder if you wouldcare to come out in my car? We might go up Monument Avenue into thecountry. "

The idea was delightful, she told him with convincing enthusiasm; andwhile she ran upstairs to put on her hat, he went out to the car, whichwas standing in front of the house. So preoccupied was he with hisreflections, that when Gabriella appeared, he started almost as if hehad forgotten that he was waiting for her. 

The air was as soft and fragrant as summer; the grassy strip under theyoung maples was diapered with sunlight, and an edge of rosy gold wastinting the far horizon. As they sped up the avenue Arthur pointed outthe houses to her as possessively as Charley had done the afternoonbefore, and in the pride with which he told her the cost of them sherecognized an admirable freedom from envy or bitterness. If, he had notachieved things, his attitude seemed to say, it was because he had neverbeen in the race, because he had preferred to stand aside and enjoy thereposeful entertainment of the spectator. 

The avenue, which swept on indefinitely after the houses had stopped, dwindled at last to two straight and narrow walks binding the town tothe country with bands of concrete. The pines had fallen in blackenedruins, and where Gabriella remembered thickets of wildflowers there weremasses of red clay furrowed by cart wheels. 

"You see, we're developing all this property now, " observed Arthur, in agratified tone as they whirled past an old field intersected by aconcrete walk which informed the curious that it was "Arlington Avenue. ""Honeysuckle Lane has gone, too, and we're grading a street there now infront of the old Berkeley place. "

"The growth has been wonderful, " said Gabriella, a little pensively;"but do you remember how lovely Honeysuckle Lane used to be? That'swhere we went for wild honeysuckle in the spring. "

"Oh, we'll find plenty of honeysuckle farther out. I gathered a bigbunch of it for Cousin Nelly yesterday. "

For a while they sped on in silence. Arthur was intent on the wheel, andGabriella could think of nothing to say to him that she had not said inJane's drawing-room. When at last they left the desolation ofimprovement, and came out into the natural country, the sun was alreadylow, and the forest of pines along the glowing, horizon was like animpending storm. Once Arthur stopped, and they got out to gather wildhoneysuckle by the roadside; then with the sticky, heavily scentedblossoms in her lap, they went on again toward the sunset, still silent, still separated by an impalpable barrier. "He is just what I thought hewould be, " she thought sadly. "He is just where I left him eighteenyears ago, and yet it is different. In some inexplicable way it isdifferent from what I expected. " And she told herself that the fault washer own--that she had changed, hardened, and become hopelesslymatter-of-fact--that she had lost her youth and her sentiment. 

Suddenly, as if the action had been forced upon him by the steadypressure of some deep conviction, some inner necessity, Arthur turnedhis face toward her, and asked gently: "Gabriella, do you ever think ofthe past?"

Facing the rosy sunset, his features looked wan and colourless, and shenoticed again that he seemed to have dried through and through, likesome rare fruit that has lain wrapped in tissue paper too long. 

She looked at him with wistful and sombre eyes. Now that the desiredmoment had come, she felt only that she would have given her wholefuture to escape before it overtook her, to avoid the inevitable, crowning hour of her destiny. 

"I think of it very often, " she answered truthfully, while she buriedher face in the intoxicating bloom of the honeysuckle. 

"Do you remember my telling you once that I'd never give you up--thatI'd never stop caring?"

"Yes, I remember--but, oh, Arthur, you mustn't--" She sat up with astart, gazing straight ahead into the rose and gold of the afterglow. From the deserted road, winding flat and dun-coloured in the softlight, she heard another voice--the strong and buoyant voice ofO'Hara--saying: "I'm not the sort to change--" and then over again, "I'mnot the sort to change--"

"I suppose it's too late, " Arthur went on, with his patient tenderness. "Things usually come too late for me or else I miss them altogether. That's been the way always--and now--" With his left hand he made alarge, slow, commemorative gesture. 

"You're the best--the kindest--" An urgent desire moved her to stop himbefore he put into words the feeling she could see in his face. Thoughshe knew that it was but the ghost of a feeling, the habit of a desire, which had become interwoven with his orderly and unchangeable custom oflife, she realized nevertheless that its imaginary vividness might causehim great suffering. A vision of what might have been eighteen yearsago--of their possible marriage--rose before her while she struggled forwords. How could her energetic nature have borne with his philosophy ofhesitation, her imperative affirmation of life with his denial ofeffort, her unconquered optimism with his deeply rooted mistrust ofhappiness?

There was beauty in his face, in his ascetic and over-refined features, in his sympathetic smile and his cultured voice; but it was the beautyof resignation, of defeat nobly borne, of a spirit confirmed in thebitter sweetness of renouncement. "It would make an old woman of me tomarry him, " she thought, "an old, patient, resigned woman. "

"Most things have slipped by me, " he resumed presently, while they raceddown a long hill toward the black pines and the fading red of theafterglow. In a marshy pond near the roadside frogs were croaking, while from the darkening fields, encircled with webs of mist, therefloated the mingled scents of freshly mown grass, of dewy flowers, oftrodden weeds, of ploughed earth, of ancient mould--all the fugitive andimmemorially suggestive odours of the country at twilight. And at thetouch of these scents, some unforgotten longing seemed to stir in herbrain as if it had slept there, covered by clustering memories, fromanother lifetime. She wanted something with an unbearable intensity; thevague and elusive yearning for happiness had become suddenly poignantand definite. In that instant she knew unerringly that she was in lovenot with a dream, but with a fact, that she was in love not with Arthur, but with O'Hara. For days, weeks, months, she had been blindly gropingtoward the knowledge; and now, in a flash of intuition, it had come toher like one of those discoveries of science, which baffle investigatorsfor years, and then miraculously reveal themselves in a moment ofinsight. Her first antagonism, her injustice, her unreasonableresentments and suspicions, she recognized now, in the piercing light ofthis discovery, as the inexplicable disguises of love. And she was notold--she was not even middle-aged--she was as young as Fanny, as youngas the eternal, ageless spirit of romance, of adventure. This was lifein her pulses, in her brain, in her heart--life, not pale, not bittersweet, but sparkling, glowing, bubbling like wine. 

At the foot of the long hill Arthur turned the car, and they flew backbetween the dim fields where the croaking of frogs sounded louder in thedarkness. Ahead of them the lights of the car flitted like golden mothsover the dust of the road, and in the sky, beyond the thin veil of mist, the stars were shining over the city. Spring, which possessed the earth, bloomed in Gabriella's heart with a wonderful colour, a wonderfulfragrance. She was young again with the imperishable youth of magic, ofenchantment. To love, to hope, to strive, this was both romance andadventure. 

"Is it too late, then, Gabriella?" asked Arthur, after a long silence, and in his voice there was the sound of suffering acquiescence. 

"I'm afraid it is, dear Arthur, " she answered softly, and they did notspeak again until the lights blazed over them, and they ran intoMonument Avenue. After all, it was too late. What could she have addedto the answer she had given him?

When they reached the house, he did not come in with her, and tearsstained her face while she went slowly up the steps, and stood besideJane's hydrangeas with her hand on the bell. Then, as the door openedquickly, she saw her mother waiting, with an eager, expectant look, atthe door of the library, and heard her excited voice murmur: "Well, dear?"

"We had a lovely drive, mother. Arthur is just as I remembered him, except that he has grown so much older. "

A disappointed expression crossed Mrs. Carr's face. "Is that all?" sheasked regretfully. 

Gabriella laughed happily. "That is all--only I found out exactly what Iwanted to know. "

For the rest of the week she devoted herself to her mother with asolicitude which aroused in the brain of that melancholy lady seriousapprehensions of a hastening decline; and when her visit was over, shepacked her trunks, with girlish, delicious thrills of happiness, andstarted back to New York. 

"Do you really think I am failing so rapidly, Gabriella?" Mrs. Carrinquired anxiously while they waited for the train on the platform ofthe upper station. 

"Failing? Why, no, mother. You look splendidly, " Gabriella assured her, a little surprised, a little startled. "Why should you ask me such athing?"

"Oh, nothing, dear. I had a fancy, " murmured Mrs. Carr meekly; and thenas the train rushed into view, she kissed her daughter reproachfully, and stood gazing after her until the last coach and the last whitejacket of the dining-car attendants vanished in the smoky sunshine ofthe distance. 

Through the long day, lying back in her chair, with her eyes on theflying green landscape, Gabriella thought of the discovery she had madewhile she was driving with Arthur. The restlessness, the uncertainty, the vague yet poignant longing for an indefinite good, had passed out ofher happy and exultant heart. In obedience to the law of her nature, which decreed that she should move swiftly and directly toward the endof her destiny, she was returning to O'Hara as resolutely, asunswervingly, as she had fled from him. 

"It's strange how little I've ever understood, how little I've everknown myself, " she thought, staring vacantly at a severe spinster, withcrimped hair and a soured expression, who sat before the oppositewindow. "I've gone on in the dark, making mistakes and discoveries fromthe very beginning, undoing and doing over again, creating illusions andthen destroying them--always moving, always changing, always growing innew directions. A year ago I'd have laughed at the idea that I couldlove any man but Arthur--that of all men I could love Ben O'Hara; andto-day I know that he is the future for me--that he is the beginningagain of my youth. A year ago I thought only how I might change him, howI might make him over, and now I realize that I shall never change him, that I shall never make him over, and that it doesn't really matter. Itisn't the vital thing. The vital thing is character, and I wouldn'tchange that if I could. For the rest, I shall probably always wish himdifferent in some ways, just as I wish myself different. I'd like tohave him more like Arthur on the surface, just as I'd like to havemyself more like Fanny. I'd like to give him Arthur's manner just as I'dlike to give myself Fanny's complexion. But it isn't possible. He willalways be what he is now, and, after all, it is what he is--it is notsomething else that I want--"

With a glimmer of the clairvoyant insight which had come to her on thecountry road, she understood that O'Hara was for her an embodied symbolof life--that she must either take him or leave him completely andwithout reserve or evasion. He was not an ideal. In the love she feltfor him there was none of the sentimental glamour of her passion forGeorge. She saw his imperfections, but she saw that the man was biggerthan any attributes, that his faults were as nothing compared to theabundance of his virtues, and that, perfect or imperfect, the tremendousfact remained that she loved him. 

In the opposite chair, the severe spinster had taken a strip of knittedsilk out of her bag, and was working industriously on a man's necktie ofblue and gray. From her intent and preoccupied look, from the nervoustwitching of her thin lips, the close peering of her near-sighted eyes, through rimless glasses which she wore attached by a gold chain to herhair, she might have found in the act of knitting a supreme consolationfor the inexorable denials of destiny. "I wonder if it satisfies her, just knitting?" thought Gabriella. "Has she submitted like Arthur tochance, to the way things happen when one no longer resists? Is shereally contented merely to knit, or is she knitting as a condemnedprisoner might knit while he is waiting for the scaffold?" And while shewatched the patient fingers, she added: "One must either conquer or beconquered, and I will never be conquered. "

It was eight o'clock when she reached New York, and as she drove theshort distance to West Twenty-third Street she began to wonder when sheshould see O'Hara, and what she should say to him. In the end shedecided that she would wait for a chance meeting, that she would let ithappen when it would without moving a step or lifting a hand. Beforemany days they would be obliged to meet in the yard or the hall, andsome obscure, consecrated tradition of sex, some secret strain of hermother's ineradicable feminine instinct, opposed the direct and sensibleway. "As soon as I meet him--and in the end I shall surely meethim--everything will be right, " she thought, with her eyes on thestreets where the spring multitude of children were swarming. And fromthis multitude of children, of young, ardent, and adventurous life, there seemed to emanate a colossal and irresistible will--the will tobe, to live, to love, to create, and to conquer. 

The taxicab turned swiftly into Twenty-third Street, and while itstopped beside the pavement, she saw that Mrs. Squires was standing, with her arms on the gate, staring into the street. As Gabriellaalighted, the woman came forward and said, with suppressed emotion, while she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand: "You came just aminute too late to say good-bye to Mr. O'Hara. "

"Good-bye? But where has he gone?"

"He has gone to Washington to-night. To-morrow he is starting to theWest. "

"When is he coming back? Did he tell you?"

At this Mrs. Squires broke down. "He ain't ever coming back, that's whatI'm crying for. He's given up his rooms, and his furniture all went tothe auction yesterday. He says he's going to live out in Colorado orWyoming for the rest of his life, and he didn't even tell me where Icould write to him. It's a great loss to me, Mrs. Carr. I'd got used tohim and his ways, and when you've once got used to a man, it ain't easyto give him up. "

She sobbed audibly as she finished; and it seemed to Gabriella that alifetime of experience passed in the instant while she stood there, withher pulses drumming in her ears, her throat contracting until shestruggled for breath, and the lights of the city swimming in a nebulousblur before her eyes. Yet in that instant, as in every crisis of herlife, she turned instinctively to action, to movement, to exertion, however futile. While she walked across the pavement to the waiting cab, for the crowning and ultimate choice of her life, she abandoned foreverthe authority and guide of tradition. Tradition, she knew, bade her sitand wait on destiny until she withered, like Arthur, to the vital coreof her nature; but something mightier than tradition, something whichshe shared with the swarming multitude of children in the streets--thewill to live, to strive, and to conquer--this had risen superior to theempty rules of the past. With her hand on the door of the taxicab, shespoke rapidly to the driver: "Drive back to the station as fast as youcan, there is not a minute to lose. "

When the cab started, she leaned forward, with her hands clasped on herknees, and her eyes on the street, where the children were playing. Because of the children, they drove very slowly, and once, when thetraffic held them up for a few minutes, she felt an impulse to scream. Suppose she missed him, after all! Suppose she lost him in the station!Suppose she never saw him again! And beside this possibly it seemed toher that all the other suffering of her life--George's desertion, herhumiliation, her struggle to make a living for her children, theloneliness of the long summers, her poverty and hunger andself-denial--that all these things were merely superficial annoyances. "If we don't go on, I shall die, " she said aloud suddenly; "if we don'tgo on, I shall die, " and when at last the cab started again, she heardthe words like an undercurrent beneath the innumerable noises of thestreet, "If we don't go on, I shall die. "

The taxicab stopped; a porter ran forward to take her bag, and while shethrust the money into the driver's hand, she heard her voice coolly andcalmly giving directions. 

"I must catch the next train to Washington. "

"Have you got your ticket, Miss?"

She stared back at him blankly. Though she saw his lips moving, it wasimpossible for her to distinguish the words because she was stillhearing in a muffled undercurrent the roar of the streets. 

"Have you got your ticket?" They were passing through the station now, and he explained hurriedly: "You can't go through the gate without aticket. "

She drew out her purse, and panic seized her afresh while she waitedbefore the window behind a bald-headed man who counted his change twicebefore he would move aside, and let her step into his place. Then, whenthe ticket was given to her, she turned and ran after the porter throughthe gate and down the steps to the platform. As she ran, her eyeswavered to the long platform, and the little groups gathered beside thewaiting train, which seemed to shake like a moving black and whitepicture. 

"Suppose I miss him, after all! Suppose I never see him again!" shethought, and all that was young in her, all that was vital and alive, strained forward as her feet touched the platform. Except for severalcoloured porters and a woman holding a child by the hand, the place wasdeserted. Then a man stepped quickly out of one of the last coaches, andby his bigness and the red of his hair, she knew that it was O'Hara. Atthe first sight of him the panic died suddenly in her heart, and the oldpeace, the old sense of security and protection swept over her. Herface, which had been lowered, was lifted like a flower that revives, andher feet, which had stumbled, became the swift, flying feet of a girl. It was as if both her spirit and her body sprang toward him. 

At the sound of his name, he turned and stood motionless, as if hardlybelieving his vision. 

"I came back because I couldn't help it, " she said. 

But he was always hard to convince, and he waited now, still transfixed, still incredulous. 

"I came back because I wanted you more than anything else, " she added. 

"You came back to me?" he asked, slowly, as if doubting her. 

"I came back to you. I wanted you, " she repeated, and her voice did notquaver, her eyes did not drop from his questioning gaze. It was all sosimple at last; it was all as natural as the joyous beating of herheart. 

"And you'll marry me now--to-night?"

It was the ultimate test, she knew, the test not only of her love forO'Hara, but of her strength, her firmness, her courage, and of herbelief in life. The choice was hers that comes to all men and womensooner or later--the choice between action and inaction, betweenendeavour and relinquishment, between affirmation and denial, betweenadventure and deliberation, between youth and age. One thought only madeher hesitate, and she almost whispered the words:

"But the children?"

He laughed softly. "Oh, the children are always there. We're notquitters, " and in a graver tone, he asked for the second time: "Will youcome with me now--to-night, Gabriella?"

At the repeated question she stretched out her hands, while she watchedthe light break on his face. 

"I'll come with you now--anywhere--toward the future, " she answered. 

THE END