Things were never quite so shocking as
they seemed to one's youthful imagination. The world was made up of
compromises. Good was mixed with evil everywhere. The domestic idea, as
Hadria called it, might be, in its present phase, somewhat offensive,
but it could be redeemed in its application, in the details and
"extenuating circumstances." Valeria could not warn Hadria too earnestly
against falling into the mistake that Valeria herself had made. She had
repudiated the notion of anything short of an ideal union; a perfect
comradeship, without the shadow of restraint or bondage in the
relationship; and not having found it, she had refused the tie
altogether. She could not bring herself to accept the lesser thing,
having conceived the possibility of the greater. She now saw her error,
and repented it. She was reaping the penalty in a lonely and unsatisfied
life. For a long time her work had seemed to suffice, but she felt now
that she had been trusting to a broken reed. She was terrified at her
solitude. She could not face the thought of old age, without a single
close tie, without a home, without a hold upon her race.

She ended by entreating Hadria not to refuse marriage merely because she
could not find a man to agree with her in everything, or capable of
entering into the spirit of the relationship that perhaps would unite
the men and women of the future. It was a pity that Hadria had not been
born a generation later, but since she had come into the world at this
time of transition, she must try to avoid the tragedy that threatens all
spirits who are pointing towards the new order, while the old is still
working out its unexhausted impetus.

This reiterated advice had begun to trouble Hadria. It did not convince
her, but Valeria's words were incessantly repeating themselves in her
mind; working as a ferment among her thoughts.

The letters from Miss Du Prel and the Professor were to her, a source of
great pleasure and of great pain. In her depressed moods, they would
often rather increase her despondency, because the writers used to take
for granted so many achievements that she had not been able to accomplish.

"They think I am living and progressing as they are; they do not know
that the riot and stir of intellectual life has ceased. I am like a
creature struggling in a quicksand."

On the Professor's letter, the comments were of a different character.

He had recommended her to read certain books, and reminded