ion
and analysis--of herself chiefly. She studies her own sensations and
dissects her moods. Her selfishness is of the peculiar sort which should
have kept her from marrying until she found the hundredth man who could
appreciate her genius and bend it into nobler channels. Unfortunately she
married one of the ninety-nine. She is not, perhaps, more selfish than
many another woman, but her selfishness is different. She is mentally
cross-eyed from turning her eyes inward so constantly.

She became engaged to Brandt--a man in every way worthy of her--and they
loved each other devotedly. Then during a quarrel she broke the
engagement, and he, being piqued by her withdrawal, immediately married
May Lawrence, who had been patiently in love with him for five years, and
who was only waiting for some such turn as this to deliver him into her
hands. A poetic justice visits him with misery, for he still cares for
Alice. May, however, is not conscious of this fact as yet.

Alice, being doubly stung by his defection, was just in the mood to do
something desperate, when she began to see a great deal of Asbury, fresh
from being jilted by Sallie Cox. Asbury was moody, and confided in Alice.
Alice was foolish, and confided in him. They both decided that their
hearts were ashes, love burned out, and life a howling wilderness, and
then proceeded to exchange these empty hearts of theirs, and to go through
the howling wilderness together.

Alice came to tell me about it. They had no love to give each other, she
said sadly, but they were going to be married. I would have laughed at her
if she had not been so tragic. But there is something about Alice, in
spite of her romantic folly, (which she has adapted from the French to
suit her American needs,) which forbids ridicule. Nevertheless I felt,
with one of those sudden flashes of intuition, that this choice of hers
was a hideous mistake. The situation repelled me. But the very strangeness
of it seemed to attract the morbid Alice. And it was this one curious
strain of unexplained foolishness marring her otherwise strong and in many
ways beautiful character which prevented my loving her completely and
safely. Nevertheless, I cared for her enough to enter my feeble and futile
protest; but it was waved aside with the superb effrontery of a woman who
feels that she controls the situation with her head, and whose heart is
not at liberty to make uncomfortable complications. I would rather argue
wit