id
to me, there are true marriages in which the parties are drawn
towards each other by sexual affinities peculiar to themselves; and
that a union in such cases, is the true union by which they become,
in the language of inspiration, 'one flesh.' I can enter into none
other. When I first met Jessie Loring, a spirit whispered to me--was
it a lying spirit?--a spirit whispered to me--'the beautiful
complement of your life!' I believed on the instant. In that I may
have been romantic."

"Perhaps not!" said Mrs. Denison.

Hendrickson looked into her face steadily for some moments, and then
said--

"It was an illusion."

"Why do you say this, Paul? Why are you so disturbed? Speak your
heart more freely."

"Leon Dexter is rich. I am--poor!"

"You are richer than Leon Dexter in the eyes of a true woman--richer
a thousandfold, though he counted his wealth by millions." There
were flashes of light in the eyes of Mrs. Denison.

Hendrickson bent his glance to the floor and did not reply.

"If Miss Loring prefers Dexter to you, let her move on in her way
without a thought. She is not worthy to disturb, by even the shadow
of her passing form, the placid current of your life. But I am by no
means certain that he _is_ preferred to you."

"He has been at her side all the evening," said the young man.

"That proves nothing. A forward, self-confident, agreeable young
gentleman has it in his power thus to monopolize almost any lady.
The really excellent, usually too modest, but superior young men,
often permit themselves to be elbowed into the shade by these
shallow, rippling, made up specimens of humanity, as you have
probably done to-night."

"I don't know how that may be, Mrs. Denison; but this I know. I had
gained a place by her side, early in the evening. She seemed
pleased, I thought, at our meeting; but was reserved in
conversation--too reserved it struck me. I tried to lead her out,
but she answered my remarks briefly, and with what I thought an
embarrassed manner. I could not hold her eyes--they fell beneath
mine whenever I looked into her face. She was evidently ill at ease.
Thus it was, when this self-confident Leon Dexter came sweeping up
to us with his grand air, and carried her off to the piano. If I
read her face and manner aright, she blessed her stars at getting
rid of me so opportunely."

"I doubt if you read them aright," said Mrs. Denison, as her young
friend paused. "You are too easily discouraged. If