physical nature. Nobody knows exactly to what
extent any of us are responsible for the lives of others, and how far
our mere existences may be derogatory to our fellow-beings. Harry was
visibly brighter.

"You don't look half as tired as you did, father," Maria said.

"I don't feel so tired," replied Harry. "It has rested me to hear you
read. Remember what I have told you, dear, about bonds--always bonds,
and never stocks, for a woman."

"Yes, father," said Maria. Then she added, "I am going to save all I
can when I begin to earn."

"Your aunt Maria will only ask you enough board to make it possible
for her to pay the bills? You know she has only a hundred a year to
live on. Of course your uncle Henry lets her have her rent free, or
she couldn't do it, but she is a fine manager. She manages very much
as your mother did." As he spoke, Harry looked around the luxurious
apartment and reflected that, had his first wife lived, he himself
could have saved, and there might have been no need for this little,
delicate girl to earn her own living. He sighed, and the weary look
settled over his face again.

Maria rose. "Father," said she, "Annie has gone out, and so has
Hannah, and I am going out in the kitchen and make a cup of that
thick chocolate that you like, for you."

"It is too much trouble, dear."

"Nonsense!" said Maria. "I would like to do it, and it won't take a
minute. There is a good fire in the range."

While Maria was gone, Harry sat gazing out of the window. He had
always now, when he looked out of a window, the sensation of a man
who was passing in rapid motion all the old familiar objects, all the
landmarks of his life, or rather--for one never rids one's self of
that particular optical delusion--it was as if they were passing. The
conviction of one's own transit is difficult to achieve. Harry gazed
out of the window, and it was to him as if the familiar trees which
bordered the sidewalk, the shrubs in the yard, the houses which were
within view, were flitting past him in a mad whirl. He was glad when
Maria entered with the chocolate, in his own particular cup, and a
dainty plate of cheese sandwiches.

"I thought perhaps you could eat a sandwich, father," she said. "I
don't believe you had anything decent for lunch in New York."

"I didn't have much," said Harry. He did not add, what was the truth,
that lately he had been stinting himself on his luncheons in the
effort to save a little more of his