ale, and what you take for subtlety is
but the blur of uncertain handling. Aha! You look shocked. Have I found
your religion at last?"

"No; my reverence for our national bard is based on reason," rejoined
Esther seriously. "To conceive Hamlet, the typical nineteenth-century
intellect, in that bustling picturesque Elizabethan time was a creative
feat bordering on the miraculous. And then, look at the solemn
inexorable march of destiny in his tragedies, awful as its advance in
the Greek dramas. Just as the marvels of the old fairy-tales were an
instinctive prevision of the miracles of modern science, so this idea
of destiny seems to me an instinctive anticipation of the formulas of
modern science. What we want to-day is a dramatist who shall show us the
great natural silent forces, working the weal and woe of human life
through the illusions of consciousness and free will."

"What you want to-night, Miss Ansell, is black coffee," said Sidney,
"and I'll tell the attendant to get you a cup, for I dragged you away
from dinner before the crown and climax of the meal; I have always
noticed myself that when I am interrupted in my meals, all sorts of
bugbears, scientific or otherwise, take possession of my mind."

He called the attendant.

"Esther has the most nonsensical opinions," said Addie gravely. "As if
people weren't responsible for their actions! Do good and all shall be
well with thee, is sound Bible teaching and sound common sense."

"Yes, but isn't it the Bible that says, 'The fathers have eaten a sour
grape and the teeth of the children are set on edge'?" Esther retorted.

Addie looked perplexed. "It sounds contradictory," she said honestly.

"Not at all, Addie," said Esther. "The Bible is a literature, not a
book. If you choose to bind Tennyson and Milton in one volume that
doesn't make them a book. And you can't complain if you find
contradictions in the text. Don't you think the sour grape text the
truer, Mr. Graham?"

"Don't ask me, please. I'm prejudiced against anything that appears in
the Bible."

In his flippant way Sidney spoke the truth. He had an almost physical
repugnance for his fathers' ways of looking at things.

"I think you're the two most wicked people in the world," exclaimed
Addie gravely.

"We are," said Sidney lightly. "I wonder you consent to sit in the same
box with us. How you can find my company endurable I can never make
out."

Addie's lovely face flushed and her lip quivere