he finds out what an idiotically useless
sacrifice she has made for art and is a failure as Isolde--she can no
more sing the part than a sick cat--she will run home to her mammy quick
enough."

"Oh, this terrible artistic temperament!" groaned the mother
apologetically. The girl made a cautious movement and waved Arthmann out
of the room. Into the hall she followed, soft-footed, but resolute. He
was gaunt with chagrin. "Where is she?"--he began, but was sternly
checked:

"If you had only flattered her more, and married her before her mother
arrived, this thing wouldn't have happened."

"What thing?" he thundered.

"There! don't be an ox and make a stupid noise," she admonished. "Why,
Meg--she is so dead set on getting that artistic temperament, that
artistic thrill you raved about, that she has eloped."

"Eloped!" he feebly repeated, and sat down on a trunk in the hallway. To
her keen, unbiassed vision Arthmann seemed more shocked than sorrowful.
Then, returning to Isolde's mother, she was not surprised to find her up
and in capital humor, studying the railway guide.

"He believes the fib--just as Dennett did!" Miss Bredd exclaimed,
triumphantly; and for the first time that day Mrs. Fridolin smiled.

THE RIM OF FINER ISSUES

I

There seemed to be a fitting dispensation in the marriage of Arthur
Vibert and Ellenora Bishop. She was a plain looking girl of
twenty-four--even her enemies admitted her plainness--but she had
brains; and the absence of money was more than compensated by her love
for literature. It had been settled by her friends that she would do
wonderful things when she had her way. Therefore her union with Arthur
Vibert was voted "singularly auspicious." He had just returned from
Germany after winning much notice by his talent for composition. What
could be more natural than the marriage of these two gifted persons?

Miss Bishop had published some things--rhapsodic prose-poems, weak in
syntax but strong in the quality miscalled imagination. Her pen name was
George Bishop: following the example of the three Georges so dear to the
believer in sexless literature--George Sand, George Eliot and George
Egerton. She greatly admired the latter.

Ellenora was a large young woman of more brawn than tissue; she had
style and decision, though little amiability. Ugly she was; yet, after
the bloom of her ugliness wore off, you admired perforce the full
iron-colored eyes alive with power, and wondered