should hope to be happier in
Benham than here, nor do I agree with you that this is not our proper
sphere. I do not share your sentiments in regard to New York; but
whatever its faults, New York is the place where I have established
myself and am known, and where the abilities which I possess can be
utilized and will be appreciated soonest. Benham is twenty-five years
behind this city in all things which concern art and my professional
life, as you well know."

Selma flushed. "On the contrary, I have reason to believe that Benham
has made wonderful progress in the last five years. My friends there
write that there are many new streets and beautiful buildings, and that
the spirit of the place is enthusiastic and liberal, not luxurious and
sneering. You never appreciated Benham at its true worth, Wilbur."

"Perhaps not. But we chose New York."

"Then you insist on remaining here?"

"I see no reason for sacrificing the fruits of the past five years--for
pulling myself up by the roots and making a fresh start. From a
professional point of view, I think it would be madness."

"Not even to save our happiness?" Selma's eyes swam and her lips
trembled as she spoke. She felt very miserable, and she yearned with the
desire that her husband would clasp her in his arms in a vast embrace,
and tell her that she was right and that he would go. She felt that if
he did, the horror of the past would be wiped out and loving harmony be
restored.

Wilbur's lips trembled, too. He gazed at her for a moment without
speaking, in conflict with himself; then passing his hand across his
forehead, as though he would sweep away a misty spell from his eyes,
said, "Be sensible, Selma. If we could be happy in Benham, we should be
happy here."

"Then you refuse?"

"For the present, yes."

"And I must remain here to be insulted--and a nobody."

"For God's sake, Selma, let us not renew that discussion. What you ask
is impossible at present, but I shall remember that it is your wish, and
when I begin my work at Benham the circumstances and surroundings may be
such that I shall feel willing to move."

Selma turned to the table and took up a book, dissatisfied, yet buoyed
by a new hope. She did not observe the tired lines on her husband's
face--the weariness of a soul disappointed in its most precious
aspirations.

Within the next month it happened that a terrible and unusual fatality
was the occasion of the death of both Mrs. Parsons and he