Destiny marches, not by great leaps but with a thousand small and painful steps, and here and there

d her illusions, and it was of illusions that Harmony's veil had been woven. To Anna Gates, worn with a thousand sleepless nights, a thousand thankless days, withered b

h had lost their myster

d which she flung strange bombshells of theories, shafts of distorted moralities, personal liberties, irrespon

nity it was doubtful whether she would have had the strength of her convictions. Men love theories, but seldom have the courage of them, and Anna Gates wa

was now

r to see Harmony's eyes widen with horror at one of her radical beliefs. Nothing pleased her more than to pit her ind

y cold, and remained at home. Harmony had been practicing, and at the end she played a little winter song by some modern composer. It breathed all the purity

ed some such feeling. She was

lly. "It sounds rather silly. I always think I can

leman who writ

served. And that he ha

dee

, one always feels it, exactly as in books-

ictio

laugh," Harm

think of the rotten way things go

Of course there are bad peop

and you and

plenty of

ou call a

ated, then we

rable

bstitute the code of a gentleman for the Mosaic

ed, puzzled

very man, a man took a dozen wives. To-day in our part of the globe there is one woman-and a fifth over-fo

ed single women were always presumed to be thus by choice and to regard with certain tolerance those weaker sisters who had married. Anna, on the contrary, was frankly a derelict, frankly regretted her maiden condition and railed with bitte

erty in the name of the freedom of the individual. Harmony found all her foundations of living shaken, and though refusing to accept Anna's theories, found her faith in he

ssed Anna was regretful enoug

I'm a theorist, pure and simple, and theorists are the anarchists of society. There's only one

ngly early, and a letter from the Big Soprano for Harmony from New York. The Big Sop

d have said I'd sung in opera in Europe and at least have had a hearing at the Met. But I didn't, and I'm back at the church again and glad to get my old salary.

dawn curling her hair. He was rather a disappointment-small and blond, with light blue eyes, and almost dappe

uld swallow for the lump in my throat, by myself. I was homesick enough in old Wien, but I am just as homesick now that

the situation was unpleasant and decide to leave? What if a reckless impulse, recklessly carried out, were to break up a

e, to justify himself, to make an idiot of himself generally. He alm

ad night, as nights go. She had gone through the painful introspection which, in a thoroughly good girl, always follows such an outburst

hand, Harmony, having read the Litany through in the not particularly religious hope of getting to sleep, was dreaming placidly. It wa

reparing. Anna, radical theories forgotten and wearing a knitted shawl against drafts,

e, to be cooked with cle

may set the table. And try

viously the wretched business of yesterday wa

ed. "You-you haven't been very

I

eating eggs vigorously. "Harmony is always f

said good-ev

say, 'Good-ev

I did

did

d-evening

nk y

wal of his yesterday's promise, abasement, regret.

hen I am in very great favor, you

Peter, dear,"