ied. She might have had that, too. But she
throws it all away--for novelty, for new sensations. My daughter is a
wanton!"

_"Lucretia!"_

The energy of my ejaculation, the sight of my surprise, brought my
sister back to her normal self. She dropped into her chair again,
looking wan and shocked at her own violence of expression.

"You see how it is," she said humbly. "I am not fit to trust myself
to talk {78} about it. I ought to apologize for my language,
Benjamin,--but that is the way I feel."

I had regained somewhat of my poise and my authority.

"See here, Lucretia, if this thing is to be, you must n't be so bitter
about it. Desire is your daughter. She belongs to us. She has always
been a pretty good girl. We must n't be too hard on her now, even if
she does n't conform to our ideas. Everybody must live their own
lives, you know."

Lucretia threw back her head; her deep-set eyes were burning, and the
color suffused her face again.

"No!" she said sharply. "That must they not. Decent people accept some
of the conclusions of their forebears and build upon the sure
foundation reared by the convictions of their own people. You say she
belongs to us. That is the {79} worst of it! You childless man! Can't
you guess what it would mean to bear, to nourish, to train,--to endure
and endure, to love and love,--and then to have the flesh of your flesh
turn on you and trample on all your sacredest things? It is the
ultimate outrage. God knows whether I deserve it! God forgive me if I
do!"

There was silence in the room. I had nothing more to say. I recognized
at last how far Lucretia in her lonely agony was beyond any trite
placation of mine.

After what seemed an age, she spoke. She was herself again. The
violently parted waves had closed over the life of those far gray
depths, and she offered her accustomed surface to my observation.

"I did not sleep at all last night, Benjamin. Desire was with me
during {80} the afternoon and we talked this thing out. I ought not to
have seen any one so soon, but I came here with the intention of
asking you to reason with her. I see it would do no good if you did.
Things are as they are, and I must accept them. I will go home now. I
am better off there."

She rose, put down her veil, drew on her gloves, and picked up the
shabby shopping-bag, quietly putting aside my hesitating protestations
and suggestions of luncheon.

At the door she turned and proffered a last word of ex