in the spring did
she relapse periodically into such a condition of mind.

"Never," she answered.

"Did you never feel that you cared about anybody--in that way?"

"Never."

It was incredible! It was appalling! But it really had happened! Love,
which filled the world, was not the beginning and the end, as it ought
to be, of every mortal existence. Subtract it from the universe and
there was nothing left but a void, yet in this void, life seemed to
move and feed and have its being just as if it were really alive. People
indeed--even women--would go on, like Kesiah, for almost sixty years,
and not share, for an instant, the divine impulse of creation. They
could exist quite comfortably on three meals a day without ever
suspecting the terrible emptiness that there was inside of them.
They could even wring a stale satisfaction out of this imitation
existence--this play of make-believe being alive. And around them all
the time there was the wonder and the glory of the universe!

Then Kesiah turned suddenly from the radiator, and there was an
expression in her face which reminded Molly of the old lady with the
bonnet trimmed with artificial purple wistaria she had seen on the
train--an expression of useless knowledge and regret, as though she
realized that she had missed the essential thing and that it was life,
after all, that had been to blame for it. For a minute only the look
lasted, for Kesiah's was a closed soul, and the smallest revelation of
herself was like the agony of travail.

"If you don't mind, dear, will you carry these sheets to Patsey for
Angela's bed," she said.

At the time Gay had been only half in earnest when he promised to take
Molly to Old Church, and he presented himself at breakfast next morning
with the unspoken hope in his heart that she had changed her mind during
the night. When she met him with her hat on, he inquired facetiously if
she contemplated a journey, and proceeded to make light of her response
that the carriage was ordered to take them to the station.

"But we'll starve if we go there," he urged, "the servants are
scattered, and the luncheon I got last time was a subject for bad
language."

"I'll cook you one, Jonathan. I can cook beautifully," she said.

The idea amused him. After all they could easily get back to dinner.

"I wonder if you know that you are a nuisance, Molly?" he asked,
smiling, and she saw that she had won. Winning was just as easy with
Jonathan as it