pessimism.

"Don't be foolish, Dave. You have done a fine piece of work. Oh! You can
smile, if you want to. I know I am nothing but a girl--I mean a
woman--but since early girlhood I have lived in an atmosphere of art,
which is nothing but truth expressed in all its beauty. I think I have
always understood the big things in painting and in music,
instinctively, and in this book I find a melody that uplifts me, a riot
of splendid color which appeals to me, because it is all true."

"Gracious! My dear Frances!" I said, laughing. "I fear that, if you are
ever tempted to read it again, you will meet with a great loss of
illusion."

But she laughed also, her low sweet voice coming clear and happy.

"I--I had been feeling so badly, David, and the moment I set foot in
your dear 'Land o' Love' I was glad again to be alive. My baby looked
more beautiful than ever to me, and the years that are to come, more
hopeful. Dear friend, I am so glad and proud that a man like you has
come into my life!"

For a second only I looked at her, and then my eyes fell. I was glad
indeed of her words, but I felt that her regard and affection would be
all I should ever obtain from her. The love of so glorious a creature
was never meant for a little scribbler, but how splendid a thing it was
for a man to have been able to gain her esteem, to have succeeded in
having her call him, trustfully, by his first name and permit him to
sit beside her in the little room where she spends so many hours and
croons to her baby!

"Dr. Porter says that my throat is doing ever so well," she told me,
after a moment of silence. "He sees no objection to my beginning to sing
a few scales. I must keep very carefully to the middle of my register,
so that I may put no undue strain on my voice. Oh! David! I have always
doubted that it would ever come back. Isn't it queer? Since I finished
the book, I feel uplifted, hopeful. Indeed, I am beginning to believe
that some day I shall sing again, just as I did when----"

A little cloud passed over her face, that darkened it for a moment. She
was evidently thinking of the beautiful days that could never come back.
But after a time it disappeared and she sat in her chair, with hands
folded in her lap upon which the book still rested, looking at me in her
sweet friendly way. Then, suddenly, the little cloud came again and she
leaned forward, swiftly.

"Did--did you see Mr. McGrath?" she asked.

"He sent for me last night,