bestowed upon
the other vulgar and narrow circumstances of her lot in life, and so
had preferred her mother's sober Presbyterianism to the new and raw
creed of her sire. But one evening, when she was goaded by more than
usual restlessness, Sleeny asked her if she would go with him to a
"sperritual lectur." To escape from her own society, she accepted, and
the wild, incoherent, and amazingly fluent address she heard excited
her interest and admiration. After that, she often asked him to take
her, and in the long walk to and from the Harmony Hall, where the
long-haired brotherhood held their sessions, a sort of confidential
relation grew up between them, which meant nothing to Maud, but bound
the heart of Sleeny in chains of iron. Yet he never dared say a word of
the feeling that was consuming him. He feared he should lose her
forever, if he opened his lips.

Of course, she was not at ease in this life of dreamy idleness. It did
not need the taunts of her father to convince her that she ought to be
doing something for herself. Her millionaire would never come down to
the little house on Dean Street to find her, and she had conscience
enough to feel that she ought to earn her own clothes. She tried to
make use of the accomplishments she had learned at school, but was
astonished to find how useless they were. She made several attempts to
be a teacher, but it was soon found that her high-school diploma
covered a world of ignorance, and no board, however indulgent, would
accept her services. She got a box of colors, and spoiled many fans and
disfigured many pots by decorations which made the eyes of the beholder
ache; nobody would buy them, and poor Maud had no acquaintances to whom
she might give them away. So they encumbered the mantels and tables of
her home, adding a new tedium to the unhappy household. She answered
the advertisements of several publishing companies, and obtained
agencies for the sale of subscription books. But her face was not hard
enough for this work. She was not fluent enough to persuade the
undecided, and she was too proud to sue _in forma pauperis_; she had
not the precious gift of tears, by which the travelling she-merchant
sells so many worthless wares. The few commissions she gained hardly
paid for the wear and tear of her high-heeled boots.

One day at the public library she was returning a novel she had read,
when a gentleman came out of an inner room and paused to speak to the
librarian's as