hough he
tried not to see it. She was far more beautiful than when he had first
loved her; but in the days when she was so plain and had worn shabby
dresses there had been an expression about her mouth which he missed
now. The lovely face was still eager with longing, but it had lost the
look of aspiration. Reluctantly, he admitted the change in her. At last
he told her what he felt, that she had ceased to love him. She had
deceived herself so far that she had not realized how idle her excuses
were for putting off the marriage from year to year. When the separation
came she felt a sharp pang--as much of mortification at her own failure
as of wounded love. Yet she consented to the separation, and she seemed
to be happy after it. She thought her life had been tragic, and that she
had made a heroic sacrifice of her love to the necessity which her
genius laid upon her to do a certain work in the world.

I should be afraid to say that she was altogether wrong. There are, no
doubt, some women who are meant to serve the whole world rather than the
little domestic circle. And yet she did give up what she had believed
the best part of herself. And her pictures, though they were admired,
lacked an indescribable something of which her first crude sketches had
given promise. I do not think that, after all, they did very much to
interpret beauty to the world. She had two aims in life, both good, but
she placed the first second, and the second first. Perhaps, on the
whole, she was happier for the choice she made. But she missed something
better than happiness which is always missed by those who make the lower
aim their object--she missed the aspiration for higher happiness.

I have seen many successful lives led by women who as girls showed very
moderate abilities, simply because they had one definite aim. I knew a
girl who became an excellent actress. She was a pretty girl with a
little talent. She was not poor, but she had an ambition to be on the
stage. She had the good sense to see that she was not a genius, but she
also had courage enough to persevere in using the ability she had. For
the first ten years she made so little apparent headway that even among
her acquaintances many people did not know she had ever acted at all. In
the mean time she had studied hard. She knew many popular plays by
heart, and had carefully watched other actresses. She was acquainted
with a number of theatrical people. She had always been at hand when