nd with the original?"

"I failed."

The face before him was radiant; but down in his heart the small voice,
growing very faint, still whispered, "Coward--traitor--fool."

That evening Harry Lawton found him sitting gloomily before the window
looking out upon the shadows that were gathering in the little garden
beneath. As the door opened he glanced up and nodded without speaking.

"Circe came?"

Again the artist nodded.

"And conquered?"

Another nod.

"Did you suppose for a moment that she wouldn't?"

No answer.

Lawton assumed a dignified attitude, and began with mock earnestness:

"Oh, wise man--thou who knowest so well the heart and the face of
Nature--how little thou knowest of thine own soul!"

A shade of anguish swept over the artist's face, but he made no reply.

"Most gentle and gifted man! Last night I listened long and patiently to
the scintillating wisdom of your wonderful brain. Let me now speak,
while you, in turn, give ear.

"When, last night, you showed me the portraits and told me their
history, I foresaw this moment. You are plunged into despair at the
contemplation of your own weakness. You have been abusing your soul
with hard names. Now, I would whisper to you with great gentleness that
what you observed to me last night, about the sunlight and shadow of
every life, is true; and that the brightness of the sun cannot
illuminate, but only intensifies the blackness of the shade. Pursuing
the same line of reasoning, I add that flowers bloom in the sunlight,
while mushrooms thrive in the darkness. That because man is fond of
mushrooms is no reason why he should be deprived of flowers. That
because your purer and spiritual self reaches out for the stainless
lily, is no reason why your material and grosser nature should be left
starving. Because you are for a time intoxicated with Evelin March is no
reason why, in your calmer and nobler existence, you should not love
truly and sinlessly, Eva Delorme.

"I am aware that my logic is not wholly in accord with generally
accepted theory. It accords much more nearly, perhaps, with universal
practice--of course I refer only to men in the single walks of life. It
is well known that all men after marriage are irreproachable. And when
you have plucked your stainless lily, you, like the rest, will subsist
only upon its fragrance. But really, for the present, I cannot see that
your affair with Miss March in any way conflicts with your sentiments
fo