s perfume; with the bird, perhaps the
scarlet or snowy feathers upon its breast. Among human beings
who have the rare divine dower of clear individuality the
crown and cap of distinction differs. In her--for me, at
least--the consummate fascination is not in her eyes, though I
am moved by the soft glory of their light, nor in the lovely
oval contour of her sweet, healthily pallid face. No, it is
in her mouth--sensitive, strong yet gentle, suggestive of all
the passion and suffering and striving that have built up her
life. Her mouth--the curve of it--I think it is, that sends
from time to time the mysterious thrill through her audiences.
And I imagine those who know her best look always first at
those strangely pale lips, curved in a way that suggests
bitterness melting into sympathy, sadness changing into
mirth--a way that seems to say: "I have suffered--but, see!
I have stood fast!"

Can a life teach any deeper lesson, give any higher inspiration?

As I was saying, the last time I saw her she was about to
enter her automobile. I halted and watched the graceful
movements with which she took her seat and gathered the robes
about her. And then I noted her profile, by the light of the
big lamps guarding her door. You know that profile? You have
seen its same expression in every profile of successful man or
woman who ever lived. Yes, she may be happy--doubtless is
more happy than unhappy. But--I do not envy her--or any other
of the sons and daughters of men who is blessed--and
cursed--with imagination.

And Freddie--and Rod--and Etta--and the people of
Sutherland--and all the rest who passed through her life and
out? What does it matter? Some went up, some down--not
without reason, but, alas! not for reason of desert. For the
judgments of fate are, for the most part, not unlike blows
from a lunatic striking out in the dark; if they land where
they should, it is rarely and by sheer chance. Ruth's parents
are dead; she is married to Sam Wright. He lost his father's
money in wheat speculation in Chicago--in one of the most
successful of the plutocracy's constantly recurring raids upon
the hoardings of the middle class. They live in a little
house in one of the back streets of Sutherland and he is head
clerk in Arthur Sinclair's store--a position he owes to the
fact that Sinclair is his rich brother-in-law. Ruth has
children and she is happier in them than she realizes or than
her discontented face an