r best to ruin her health for
life; Mrs. Fullerton wished to know why Hadria, who had all the day at
her disposal, could not spend the night rationally.

"But I haven't all the day, or any part of it, for certain," said
Hadria.

"If you grudge the little services you do for me, pray abandon them,"
said the mother, genuinely hurt.

Hadria entered her room, one evening, tired out and profoundly
depressed. A table, covered with books, stood beside the fire. She gave
the top-heavy pile an impatient thrust and the mass fell, with a great
crash, to the floor. A heap of manuscript--her musical achievement for
the past year--was involved in the fall. She contemplated the wreck
gravely.

"Yes, it is I who am weak, not circumstance that is strong. If I could
keep my mind unmoved by the irritations; if I could quarrel with mother,
and displease father, and offend all the world without a qualm, or
without losing the delicate balance of thought and mood necessary for
composition, then I should, to some extent, triumph over my circumstances;
I should not lose so much time in this wretched unstringing. Only were I
so immovably constituted, is it probable that I should be able to compose
at all?"

She drew the score towards her. "People are surprised that women have
never done anything noteworthy in music. People are so intelligent!" She
turned over the pages critically. If only this instinct were not so
overwhelmingly strong! Hadria wondered how many other women, from the
beginning of history, had cursed the impulse to create! Fortunately, it
was sometimes extinguished altogether, as to-night, for instance, when
every impression, every desire was swept clean out of her, and her mind
presented a creditable blank, such as really ought to satisfy the most
exacting social mentor. In such a state, a woman might be induced to
accept anything!

Hadria brought out two letters from her pocket; one from the Professor,
the other from Miss Du Prel. The latter had been writing frequently of
late, pointing out the danger of Hadria's exaggerated ideas, and the
probability of their ruining her happiness in life. Valeria had suffered
herself from "ideas," and knew how fatal they were. Life _could_ not
be exactly as one would have it, and it was absolutely necessary, in order
to avoid misery for oneself and others, to consent to take things more
or less as they were; to make up one's mind to bend a little, rather
than have to break, in the end.