e, yet how magnificently he recorded them."

"It is a pity," sighed the Violinist, "that the son did not seek a
different career."

"What difference does it make after all?" remarked the Doctor. "One
never knows when the next generation will step up or down, and, after
all, what does it matter?"

"It is all very well for you to talk," said the Critic.

"I assure you that the great pageant would have been just as
interesting from any other point of view. It has been a great
spectacle,--this living. I'm glad I've seen it."

"Amen to that," said the Divorcee. "I only hope I am going to see it
again--even though it hurts."

VI

THE DIVORCEE'S STORY

ONE WOMAN'S PHILOSOPHY

THE TALE OF A MODERN WIFE

As I look back, I remember that the next night was one of the most
trying of the week.

As we came down to dinner we all had visions of the destruction of
Louvain, and the burning of the famous library. It is hard enough to
think of lives going out; still, as the Doctor was so fond of saying,
"man is born to die, and woman, too," but that the great works of men,
his bequest to the coming generations, should be wantonly destroyed,
seemed even more horrible, especially to those who love beauty, and
the idea of the charred leaves of the library flying in the air above
the historic city of catholic culture, made us all feel as if we were
sitting down to a funeral service rather than a very good dinner.

Matters were not made any gayer because Angele, who was waiting on
table, had rings round her eyes, which told of sleepless nights. And
why? We were mere spectators. We had been interested to dispute and
look on. But she knew that somewhere out there in the northeast her
man was carrying a gun.

Yet all about us the country was so lovely and so tranquil, horses
were walking the fields, and, even as we sat at dinner, we could hear
the voices and the heavy feet of the peasant women as they went home
from their work. The garden had never been more beautiful than it was
that evening, with the silver light of the moon through the trees, and
the smell of the freshly watered earth and flowers.

We had no doubt who was to contribute the story. The Divorcee was
dressed with unusual care for the role, and carried a big lace bag on
her arm, and, as she leaned back in her chair, she pulled one of the
big old fashioned candles in its deep glass toward her, and said with
a nervous laugh:

"I shall have to ask you to le