ecome somewhat close-mouthed like himself. Eugene
could not help smiling at the lean, slippered subtlety of the man, young
as he was. He was so quiet, so conservative, so intent on all the little
things which make a conventionally successful life. Like a cabinet
maker, he was busy inlaying the little pieces which would eventually
make the perfect whole.

Angela took up the household work, which Mrs. Witla grudgingly consented
to share with her, with a will. She liked to work and would put the
house in order while Mrs. Witla was washing the dishes after breakfast.
She would make special pies and cakes for Eugene when she could without
giving offense, and she tried to conduct herself so that Mrs. Witla
would like her. She did not think so much of the Witla household. It
wasn't so much better than her own--hardly as good. Still it was
Eugene's birthplace and for that reason important. There was a slight
divergence of view-point though, between his mother and herself, over
the nature of life and how to live it. Mrs. Witla was of an easier, more
friendly outlook on life than Angela. She liked to take things as they
came without much worry, while Angela was of a naturally worrying
disposition. The two had one very human failing in common--they could
not work with anyone else at anything. Each preferred to do all that was
to be done rather than share it at all. Both being so anxious to be
conciliatory for Eugene's sake and for permanent peace in the family,
there was small chance for any disagreement, for neither was without
tact. But there was just a vague hint of something in the air--that
Angela was a little hard and selfish, on Mrs. Witla's part; that
Mrs. Witla was just the least bit secretive, or shy or distant--from
Angela's point of view. All was serene and lovely on the surface,
however, with many won't-you-let-me's and please-do-now's on both sides.
Mrs. Witla, being so much older, was, of course, calmer and in the
family seat of dignity and peace.

To be able to sit about in a chair, lie in a hammock, stroll in the
woods and country fields and be perfectly happy in idle contemplation
and loneliness, requires an exceptional talent for just that sort of
thing. Eugene once fancied he had it, as did his parents, but since he
had heard the call of fame he could never be still any more. And just at
this time he was not in need of solitude and idle contemplation but of
diversion and entertainment. He needed companionship