ere any other
world than this we are in now?"

I raised my eyes, and saw my own pale face in the glass over the
mantel above his head.

"What do you see?" he asked, starting up.

I pointed to the glass.

"I begin to think," I said, "there is another world, one peopled
with creatures like those we see there. What are they--base, false,
cowardly?"

"Cowardly," he muttered, "will you make me crush you? Can we lie to
each other? Look!"

He turned me from the glass.

At that moment Helen struck a crashing blow on the piano keys.

"Charles, give me--give me the letter."

He looked vaguely round the floor, it was crumpled in his hand. A side
door shut, and I stood alone. Pinching my cheeks and wiping my lips to
force the color back, I returned to the parlor. Mr. Somers came to me
with a glass of wine. It was full, and some spilled on my dress; he
made no offer to wipe it off. After that, he devoted himself to Alice;
talked lightly with her, observing her closely. I made the tour of the
party, overlooked the whist players, chatted with the talkers, finally
taking a seat, where Helen joined me.

"Now I am going," she said.

"Why don't they all go?"

"Look at Mr. Somers playing the agreeable to Mrs. Morgeson. What kind
of a woman is she, Cass?"

"Go and learn for yourself."

"I fear I have not the gift for divining people that you have."

"Do you hear the wind moan now, Helen?"

She turned crimson, and said: "Let us go to the window; I think it
rains."

We stood within the curtains, and listened to its pattering on the
floor of the piazza, and trickling down the glass like tears.

"Helen, if one could weep as quietly as this rain falls, and keep the
face as unwrinkled as the glass, it would be pretty to weep."

"Is it hard for you to cry?"

"I can't remember; it is so long since."

My ear caught the sound of a step on the piazza.

"Who is that?" she asked.

"It is a man."

"Morgeson?"

"Morgeson."

"Cassandra?"

"Cassandra."

"I can cry," and Helen covered her face.

"Cry away, then. Give me a fierce shower of tears, with thunder and
lightning between, if you like. Don't sop, and soak, and drizzle."

The step came close to the window; it was not in harmony with the rain
and darkness, but with the hot beating of my heart.

"We are breaking up," called Mr. Somers. "Mr. Bancroft's carriage is
ready, I am bid to say. It is inky outside."

"Yes," said Helen, "I am quite ready."

"There a