self. We think that our
actions when unseen of mortal eyes resolve themselves into nothingness,
but this is not true. They are woven indefinably into our being, and
shine forth ultimately as the real self, in spite of all our pretences.
One could almost accept the Brahmanistic dogma of a psychic body which
sees and is seen where we dream all to be darkness. There is no other
supposition on which to explain the facts of intuition. So many
individuals have it. They know so well without knowing why they know.

Angela had this intuitive power in connection with Eugene. Because of
her great affection for him she divined or apprehended many things in
connection with him long before they occurred. Throughout her absence
from him she had been haunted by the idea that she ought to be with him,
and now that she was here and the first excitement of contact and
adjustment was over, she was beginning to be aware of something. Eugene
was not the same as he had been a little while before he had left her.
His attitude, in spite of a kindly show of affection, was distant and
preoccupied. He had no real power of concealing anything. He appeared at
times--at most times when he was with her--to be lost in a mist of
speculation. He was lonely and a little love-sick, because under the
pressure of home affairs Carlotta was not able to see him quite so much.
At the same time, now that the fall was coming on, he was growing weary
of the shop at Speonk, for the gray days and slight chill which settled
upon the earth at times caused the shop windows to be closed and robbed
the yard of that air of romance which had characterized it when he first
came there. He could not take his way of an evening along the banks of
the stream to the arms of Carlotta. The novelty of Big John and Joseph
Mews and Malachi Dempsey and Little Suddsy had worn off. He was
beginning now to see also that they were nothing but plain workingmen
after all, worrying over the fact that they were not getting more than
fifteen or seventeen and a half cents an hour; jealous of each other and
their superiors, full of all the frailties and weaknesses to which the
flesh is heir.

His coming had created a slight diversion for them, for he was very
strange, but his strangeness was no longer a novelty. They were
beginning to see him also as a relatively commonplace human being. He
was an artist, to be sure, but his actions and intentions were not so
vastly different from those of other