ed here, one can never get an answer
to the eternal--_What for_?... I shall do a story, sometime, and call
it _Miss What For_.... A young girl who came into the world with
greatness of vitality and enthusiasm, alive as few humans are, and
believing in everything and everybody. Before she was fully grown, she
realized that she was not sought after so much as certain friends whose
fathers had greater possessions. This was terrible. It took long for
her to believe that nothing counted so much as money. It made the world
a nightmare, but she set to work to become her own heiress.... In this
struggle she must at last lose faith. This can be brought about by long
years, smashing blows and incredible suffering, but the result must be
made complete--to fit the title."

"But, why do you try to fit such a poor shivering little title?"

She smiled wearily. "I was trying, perhaps, to picture one of your
spiritual mothers, centres of pure and radiant energy, in one of the
_other_ moments, that the world seldom sees. The power is almost always
turned on, when the world is looking."

She had made him writhe inwardly, as no one else could.

"But there _are_ many such women," she went on, "victims of your
transition period, caught between the new and the old, helpers,
perhaps, of the Great Forces at work which will bring better
conditions; but oh, so helpless!... They may bring a little cheer to
passing souls who quickly forget; they may even inspire genius, as you
say, but what of themselves when they, all alone, see that they have no
real place in the world, no lasting effect, leaving no image, having no
part in the plan of the Builder?"

Bedient arose. Beth saw he was not ready to answer.

"A visit to the galleries is tempting," she said. "It may give me an
idea.... I never had quite such a patron. You are so little curious to
see what I have done, that I sometimes wonder why you wanted the
portrait, and why you came to me for it.... I wonder if it's the day or
my eyes--it's so much easier to talk aimlessly than to work----"

"It's really gray, and the sparrows have decided upon a shower."

She regarded him whimsically.

"And you look so well in your raincoat," he added.

They took the 'bus up the Avenue.... She pointed out the tremendous
vitalities of the Rodin marbles, intimated their visions, and remarked
that he should hear Vina Nettleton on this subject.

"She breaks down, becomes livid, at the stupidity of the world