poetic? Oh, thou that pinest in the imprisonment of the
Actual and criest bitterly to the gods for a kingdom wherein to rule and
create, know this of a truth: the thing thou seekest is already with thee,
'here or nowhere,' couldst thou only see"?

Ah, well, she could not. She still is crying to the gods and spelling her
name "Alys." Her cleverness must have an outlet, and, with worse than no
husband to lavish it upon, she scatters it to the four winds of heaven
and gets herself talked about as "queer."

May Brandt has bitten into her apples of Sodom, and the taste of ashes is
bitter indeed to her. She knows now that Brandt never loved her, and did
love Alice. I do not know whether she thinks he still cares for Alice or
not. May never had much beauty to lose, but she looks worn and unhappy,
and watches Alice with a degree of feeling which would appear vulgar to me
if I did not know just how miserable she is. She is hopelessly plain now,
and Alice is still like a tall, stately lily. Brandt devours her with his
eyes, but Alice makes him keep his distance.

Sallie Cox has been diplomatic and harmless enough to make Alice forgive
her, and they are quite good friends; but Alice is magnificent in her
scorn of Brandt's wife, who almost cowers in her presence.

Poor May! I wish I could take that look of suffering from her little
pinched, three-cornered face for just one hour. But how could I? How could
anybody who knew all about it?

She does not understand Alice in all her moods and vagaries, and Alice
does not condescend to explain herself even to her friends. I do not
believe that Alice and Brandt have ever spoken on the subject which
occupies three minds whenever they two are thrown together. Yet I imagine
it would be a relief to May if she were told that. However, she is
scarcely noble enough to believe it, even if Alice herself should tell
her. But Alice never will. She never gives it a thought. Brandt, too, has
honor, though, even if he had not, Alice would have it for him and forbid
a word.

It is a fortunate thing for some people's chances for a future life that
there are a reasonable number of consciences distributed through the
world, although it would be an Old Maid's suggestion that sometimes they
be allowed to drive instead of being used as a liveried tiger--for
ornament and always behind. It is a great pity that people who are
supplied with them--and well-cultivated consciences too--have not the
courage to