one fluttering
impulse, and to live peaceably in this world one must have at least a
grain of leaven in the lump of one's emotion." He chuckled as he ended
and fixed his mild gaze upon the lamp. Being very old, he had come to
realise that of the two masks possible to the world's stage, the comic,
even if the less spectacular, is also the less commonplace.

"So she died of an overdose of medicine," said Laura; "I have never been
told and yet I have always known that she died by her own hand.
Something in my blood has taught me."

Uncle Percival shook his head. "No--no, she only made a change," he
corrected. "She was a little white moth who drifted to another
sphere--because she had wanted so much, my child, that this earth would
have been bankrupt had it attempted to satisfy her."

"She wanted what?" demanded Laura, her eyes glowing.

The old man turned upon her a glance in which she saw the wistful
curiosity which belongs to age. "At the moment you remind me of her," he
returned, "and yet you seem so strong where she was only weak."

"What did she want? What did she want?" persisted Laura.

"Well, first of all she wanted your father--every minute of him, every
thought, every heart-beat. He couldn't give it to her, my dear. No man
could. I tell you I have lived to a great age, and I have known great
people, and I have never seen the man yet who could give a woman all the
love she wanted. Women seem to be born with a kind of divination--a
second sight where love is concerned--they aren't content with the mere
husk, and yet that is all that the most of them ever get--"

"But my father?" protested Laura; "he broke his heart for her."

A smile at the fine ironic humour of existence crossed the old man's
sunken lips. "He gave to her dead what she had never had from him
living," he returned. "When she was gone everything--even the man's life
for which he had sacrificed her--turned worthless. He always had the
seeds of consumption, I suppose, and his gnawing remorse caused them to
develop."

A short silence followed his words, while Laura stared at him with eyes
which seemed to weigh gravely the meaning of his words. Then, rising
hurriedly, she made a gesture as if throwing the subject from her and
walked rapidly to the door.

"Aunt Rosa and Aunt Sophy are coming to dine," she said, "so I must
glance at the table. I can't remember now whether I ordered the oysters
or not."

The old man glanced after her with timid