Cecil was humbly silent. "I heard in Mercer that Joseph Lavendar was very attentive to some Mrs. Pendleton," Mrs. Drayton digressed. "Who is she?" "I beg your pardon?" said Cecil. "Which is Mrs. Pendleton? Oh, that little body? Very nice looking, I'm sure. I hope Mr. Lavendar will be happy. She must be introduced to the Colonel; it will please her. Cecil, my dear, how is your husband?” Cecil's pause to remember was filled by Mrs. Drayton's expression of opinion about Roger Carey, which turned her niece restless, and made her say that reminded her that she must go and speak to Mrs. Pendleton, if her aunt Maria would excuse her? "It's the Colonel's example, you see," she said indolently; and Mrs. Drayton told her husband, afterwards, that she really believed there was good somewhere in poor Cecil. I always felt that that child's privilege in living in your house would some time express itself in her life, my dear," said Mrs. Drayton adoringly. Mrs. Pendleton was plainly nervous at Mrs. Shore's attentions, but, with a view to being interesting, she did her best to say pleasant things; and as it was a peculiarity of this amiable woman that she could never say pleasant things to one person without saying unpleasant things of some other person, her conversation was generally interesting. How pretty Molly was, how much prettier than any of the Old Chester children! How charming Mrs. Shore's dress looked! What a pity that dear Susan Carr had not a handsome dress! She hoped Mrs. Shore would not mind if she told her how beautifully she walked. "So gracefully, dear Mrs. Shore. I wish our dear Lyssie had your walk. I hope you are not offended at my speaking out? I never flatter, but I am very impulsive, and speak right from my heart; I shall outgrow it, no doubt.' Cecil's involuntary smile and instant gravity made the somewhat mature widow feel uncomfortable, so she made haste, nervously, to speak of other things. She wondered when dear Dr. Lavendar was going to print his book? He had been so long about it! For her part, she thought it was not well to be too long in writing a book; there was danger in polishing it too much; did not Mrs. Shore think so? "It is apt to make it shorter," said Cecil. "Exactly!" Mrs. Pendleton agreed eagerly; "that's just it." And then she said, modestly, that she would like to present Mrs. Shore with a copy of her poems. "There's nothing in them that a child may not read," said Mrs. Pendleton. "Ah, I'm not like the authors of to-day, Mrs. Shore. I would never write anything that could not be put into the hands of the youngest child.” "Adults must appreciate that," Cecil told her, so cordially that Mrs. Pendleton was encouraged to patter on about her "works" for the next ten minutes. She confessed that she was about to print another book, which she had named "so much depends upon the name," she explained - which she had named Thoughts. ply. "But whose?" said Mrs. Shore sim 66 "Oh, I shall not sign my name," Mrs. Pendleton answered, not catching, perhaps, the significance of the question; "I sha'n't even put Amanda P.,' though that would insure the book attention from all the readers of the poems. I shall just say, Thoughts: by a Lady. Don't you think that is a nice, ladylike title?" "I never heard anything more ladylike," Cecil assured her warmly; and Mrs. Pendleton told several persons, afterwards, that poor dear Cecil had a good heart, she was sure. As for Cecil, she felt her endurance at an end. She excused herself on the ground of wishing to speak to some one, and, unfastening one of the long French windows which opened upon the piazza, stepped out into the August night. 66 "Dear me," she said, "I beg your pardon!" Alicia and Roger, standing by the balustrade, laughed: Lyssie, with pretty consciousness; Roger, with the embarrassment that is angry at being embarrassed. "Why, Lys, Lys!" Cecil remonstrated, smiling and coming out into the shadows where the lovers stood, "is this the way you entertain Miss Susan's company? Mr. Carey, you won't endear yourself by carrying Lyssie off." "I ought to go in," Alicia said penitently; and then, with shy authority, "Roger, you must n't I mean, Ceci, don't say 'Mr. Carey.' Roger, it is n't 'Mrs. Shore;' it's 'Cecil.'" "Oh, Mrs. Shore thinks me too quarrelsome for such friendliness," Roger returned, frowning. Cecil simply ignored the suggestion; she said something about the heat and being bored to death. Poor little Alicia looked blankly at them. "Why won't they?" she thought. "Why don't they like each other more?" Lyssie was stumbling very early in her life of love upon that rock of offense, "Why do they not love each other, when I love them and they love me?" But in love two things which are equal to a third are not necessarily equal to each other, and two hands which, from opposite sides, give themselves to one friend fail sometimes to enter into a friendly clasp on their own account. Too often, with vehement futility, the middleman insists that these two hands must and shall clasp each other, and his endeavor results only in pain to all three. "I must go in, but you need n't; stay out here with - It's cooler here. Ceci, entertain him, won't you?" "It is Mr. Carey who entertains me," Cecil answered, and Roger felt hot. He said to himself that he would much rather go in with Alicia, but of course he must not leave Mrs. Shore alone confound it! "Sha'n't I get you a wrap?" he said stiffly. "No, thank you." She sat down on the balustrade, leaning her head back against one of the big wooden columns that supported the porch roof; the light from the house fell on her white throat. 66 'Did you ever know anything so stupid?" she said. Roger frowned, and appeared not to understand. Cecil laughed a little under her breath. "You do it very well, Mr. Carey." "Do what very well? I'm enjoying myself, if that's what you mean. Miss Carr's kindness in planning pleasure for Lyssie of course makes it pleasant for me." "Do you think, in contrast to my remark, that your flagrant goodness is quite polite?" she said, and turned her face away and seemed to forget him. What was the evil thing about her that made him ashamed of his simple and obvious love-making?—for he was tingling with the embarrassment of having been, as it were, discovered. He was angry with her in a brutal way that made him feel that impulse of the very fingers to punish her. Cecil turned and looked at him with interest. "You speak of virtue as though it were a discovery you had made," she said, in her slow voice; "but, do you know, I too, in my humble way, have thought that Miss Susan meant to give pleasure? Only that does not prevent me from finding the occasion stupid." If she had not been sitting there before him, the lines of her gracious figure seen faintly in the half-light, and her white throat melting into the lace that filled the bosom of her dress to her waist, his anger might have lasted; but he could not be angry as he looked at her, and he could not take his eyes away from her. His admiration began to speak in his voice, in the warmer tone, the softer words; but he made his fault-finding raillery instead of rudeness. He teased her, and contradicted her, and laughed at her. When she defended herself, he answered with a man's good-humored contempt of a woman's opinion, which, while it made her confused and petulant and half irritated, gave her also that strange pleasure, which only strong women know, of coming, as it were, to heel. In the midst of it Philip came along the porch, and Cecil called to him to know what time it was. "Isn't it almost time to go home?" she entreated. "Oh, Philip, what bomb have you been exploding at the rectory? Dr. Lavendar assailed me because of your views about marriage. Really, it does seem hard that I should be held responsible for your opinions!" "It's nearly ten. You won't go before supper, of course?" "Ten! I thought it was two. Oh, must we stay for supper? Mr. Carey, you'll have to," she ended maliciously, "for Lys won't want to leave until the last moment. How you will appreciate Old Chester's idea of a salad!" This time Roger Carey had no protest for the violated hospitality. "I'll try what influence can do. Perhaps we can get away right after supper." tated Dr. Lavendar? Do tell us. Your ideas are always so amusing." 66 If I amuse you, I have not lived in vain. Carey, will you bring Mrs. Shore in?" "No, no! You must tell us first, Philip. Come! here is Mr. Carey; he's in a most receptive state of mind on the subject of matrimony. Are you going to reform marriage or abolish it?" "There is room for reform," he said; then, as though impatient at his own evasion, he added, "I was talking about that man Todd and his wife. I told Dr. Lavendar I thought they ought to be separated." 66 Yes, he did n't approve of me," Philip answered, pulling a red carnation down into his buttonhole. "I suppose he thought you were advocating free love," Cecil said lightly. "Fancy Dr. Lavendar's dismay! I have what might be called a respectful dislike for Dr. Lavendar, but I'm sorry for the poor old gentleman's distress. It was too bad in you, Philip." "Upon my word, the Shore family. needs a missionary!" Roger declared. "Do you remember the night you told me you thought the little Todd woman ought to leave her husband, Mrs. Shore? I did n't know that Philip shared your perverted views." Philip looked at his wife quickly. "You think so, too?" "Why, certainly I do. I'm sorry to shock you, Mr. Carey, but I believe the world would be much better off if divorce were easier. In fact, I think it's "What is this thing which has agi- a pity people have to wait until they actually come to blows before they can separate." "There are blows and blows," Roger said, in that tone which meant, "You are charming, but you are not to be taken seriously." "Some people's fists would be luxury compared to other people's tongues." "Ah well," Cecil commented, "the great thing is to be able to be articulate in one's woes. We are too polite, even when we use our tongues. The husbands and wives who throw dishes at each other are the really happy people. They are articulate; they have all the relief of expression." nature, I admit," said Philip; "deplorable, but necessary." If the law "Never!" Roger declared, with the joyous dogmatism of the man whose argument has no personal bias. "It's hard on the innocent, sometimes. frees a woman from a wretch, it's a pity that she can't marry some good fellow and be happy; but the individual has got to be subservient to the race. Divorce seems to me like suicide, not inherently or specifically wrong, but socially vicious; both lower just a little the moral tone of society. Besides, our progress is in direct proportion to our idea of the sacredness of marriage; and even the innocent "Might n't you call it action?" Roger must n't tamper with that ideal sacredsuggested. ness. They've got to suffer, that's all. It's a pity, but they've got to suffer.” Philip shook his head. "The idealism of the individual is what has made progress, and that may imply a theory of marriage which necessitates divorce." "You and Lyssie will never throw dishes at each other," Cecil went on gayly," and you'll suffer ever so much more on account of your repression. Philip (I never saw anybody so anxious for his supper!), don't you think it's a pity that people have to come to blows before they can separate? "Yes, I think it's a pity," Philip said al's standpoint. It's a social question, dryly. But a certain reality in his voice touched Roger's meaningless gayety, and made him suddenly interested. "Why, Shore, do you think divorce should be easier?" "Yes; I think it would conduce to a higher morality." "Well, I suppose I'm rather an extremist, but I don't believe in divorce at all." "Ah, but you've never been married," Mrs. Shore reminded him drolly. He had turned his shoulder towards her, and did not notice her remark, even to snub her; he was launched into discussion, and he cared more for discussion than for a pretty woman. "Mind you, I think separation is desirable occasionally, but never divorce. I mean, of course, divorce a vinculo matrimonii, and the right to marry again." "Oh, divorce is concession to human "Ah, but," cried Roger, "that's just where you make your mistake: divorce can't be considered from the individu a race question. If no man lives to himself or dies to himself, still less does he marry to himself; and besides, abstract idealism must always be subjugated to the needs of living." "I don't agree with you, I don't agree with you," Philip said restlessly. "Why, but Shore," the other persisted, "just see where your theory leads you. See what a poor, cheap sort of thing it makes of marriage, a thing dependent on mood." "It is dependent on love," said Philip Shore. "But is n't duty to be considered? Is n't there to be any effort to hold love?" Roger protested. Philip and Cecil both began to speak, and each stopped for the other, both with a certain astonishment in their faces that they thought alike. "Love has nothing to do with effort,” said Philip. "It is absurd to talk about the duty of loving," Cecil declared; and then there was the look at each other, and Cecil laughed. "Love is as unmoral as art; you can't talk about the duty of loving." "Love may have nothing to do with morality," Philip broke in, "but it has everything to do with spirituality. When love has ceased, marriage has ceased, and separation should be permitted." "It would certainly be more agreeable," Cecil said. "But do you think a man and woman, even in our class, should part if they are tired of each other?" Roger Carey made some flippant remark about "theories." He was exceedingly uncomfortable, without quite knowing why. Philip's face, in the dim light on the porch, looked drawn and pale. "I don't know what you mean by a husband and wife being tired of each other.'" "Excellent Philip! I mean bored to death. Were you never bored? Being bored takes the place of having dishes thrown at you in that state of life where it has pleased God to call us. Well, do you think such people ought to part? Heavens! society would tremble to its base; it would be a sort of puss-in-thecorner, would n't it? Everybody would run in every direction. Is that what you think, Philip, really?" "I think a man and woman have no moral right to remain together when they no longer love each other." "Well, I believe I agree with you," Cecil said thoughtfully, "if only for the interest which it would impart to one's immediate circle." Then she took Roger's arm, while he, conscious and uncomfortable, declared, in a tone artificial even to his own ears, that they were both wrong. "Absolutely wrong! Come in and have something to eat. Come down to earth, Shore, and teach your wife better sociology. By Jove, though, would n't the lawyers thrive if your views became general! XVIII. "When you get home, Cecil, I'd like to speak to you, if you 'll be so good. I won't detain you very long." Philip said this as he helped his wife into the carriage, at the close of Miss Carr's festivity. "Very well," she said crossly. Her tolerance of his scrupulous politeness failed her for a moment. In that talk upon the porch, she had had, under her careless gayety of argument, a sudden passionate realization of the dreariness of her life. How tired she was of Philip, but how impossible for she never dreamed of applying the theories she advanced for Eliza to herself—how impossible was any escape from such dreariness! She had a bleak vision of the years before her: the years of hearing him talk to Molly; the years of seeing his face every day at the opposite end of the table; the years of dull, necessary household questions, shall this horse be bought? shall that servant be discharged? - long, level, horrible years! She had a swift, angry remembrance of his " ways," those harmless, unconscious habits of the body which go so far towards making the individual, and which love finds half touching and wholly dear. She recalled his way of cutting open the pages of his stupid quarterlies and reviews; of absently twisting his mustache while he read; of pressing his lips together as though to taste his wine, while putting down his wineglass: all the little mannerisms of the Human suddenly filled her with disgust. Oh, how tired she was of him! Yes, plates as missiles would be far more bearable than this expanse of arid virtue, this monotonous faultlessness. His very courtesy at the carriage door gave her a feeling of irritation. "Get in!" she said impatiently. But he shook his head. "I'm going to walk. I'll be at home almost as soon |