firmly whilst she smiled in the loving
old eyes.

'Of course, Auntie dear, it is theory. But still it is a theory which I
hold very strongly!' . . . Here a thought struck her and she said
suddenly:

'Did you ever . . . How many proposals did you have, Auntie?' The old
lady smiled; her thoughts were already diverted.

'Several, my dear! It is so long ago that I don't remember!'

'Oh yes, you do, Auntie! No woman ever forgets that, no matter what else
she may or may not remember! Tell me, won't you?' The old lady blushed
slightly as she answered:

'There is no need to specify, my dear. Let it be at this, that there
were more than you could count on your right hand!'

'And why did you refuse them?' The tone was wheedling, and the elder
woman loved to hear it. Wheedling is the courtship, by the young of the
old.

'Because, my dear, I didn't love them.'

'But tell me, Auntie, was there never any one that you did love?'

'Ah! my dear, that is a different matter. That is the real tragedy of a
woman's life.' In flooding reminiscent thought she forgot her
remonstrating; her voice became full of natural pathos:

'To love; and be helpless! To wait, and wait, and wait; with your heart
all aflame! To hope, and hope; till time seems to have passed away, and
all the world to stand still on your hopeless misery! To know that a
word might open up Heaven; and yet to have to remain mute! To keep back
the glances that could enlighten; to modulate the tones that might
betray! To see all you hoped for passing away . . . to another! . . . '

Stephen bent over and kissed her, then standing up said:

'I understand! Isn't it wrong, Auntie, that there should be such
tragedies? Should not that glance be given? Why should that tone be
checked? Why should one be mute when a single word might, would, avert
the tragedy? Is it not possible, Auntie, that there is something wrong
in our social system when such things can happen; and can happen so
often?'

She looked remorseless as well as irresistible in the pride of her
youthful strength as with eyes that blazed, not flashing as in passion
but with a steady light that seemed to burn, she continued:

'Some day women must learn their own strength, as well as they have
learned their own weakness. They are taught this latter from their
cradles up; but no one ever seems to teach them wherein their power lies.
They have to learn this for themselves; and the process and