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tentment. Her husband asks advice. He is immensely rich. I advise poverty, but he thinks that worse than ennui. There are no moral tonics for these people. You shall and you must are not in their drug-shops. That is the malaria of excessive wealth.

Case 131. "This will interest you," I said, "in the light of our recent talk. It is the last I shall trouble you with."

L——— at thirty-five marries a woman of fortune and attractions, an only child. By degrees she insists with tears and entreaties on absorbing his life in her own. He cannot leave her a day without difficulty; has by degrees given up his sports, his outdoor pursuits, and at last is driven or decoyed into abandoning his business, which is not a necessity, as she is rich and lavishly generous. Her capacity for attachment is abnormally strong. Her case is one of jealousy carried to the extent of hating a rival in his pursuits or his tastes. She must be his life and adequate. This implies vast belief in herself. Of other women she is not jealous. Under this narrowing of existence he is failing in health of mind and body, and thinks himself a traitor to her. He is dissatisfied with a too merely emotional life. The woman sometimes absorbs the man; the man rarely captures the totality of the woman. Either is unwholesome. He consults me. I predict for him a sad failure unless he consents to declare his independence and is willing to discipline her into happiness. He will be unlikely to take my advice.

At this point Clayborne broke in with a "Really, my dear North," he said, "how much more of this is there?"

I laughed. "This is by no means all, but I shall not ask you to hear more. There is material for a dozen novels in these notes."

“That is an admirable reason for going no further. I never read novels. I tried to once, but I found that it made me desire to go beyond facts in my own work."

To go beyond facts?" said St. Clair. "It seems to me that imagination controlled by reason ought to be indispensable to the true historian."

"Oh, your picturesque historian? We know him. Good night, Mrs. Vincent."

With this our evening ended. But as I went out Mrs. Vincent said: "Come in to-morrow; I want you to help a friend of mine. It is and it is not a medical question."

I said I would come, and, turning, noticed a queer smile on the features of Vincent.

XVI.

"Is she old or young?"

"I decline to say. You will be amused and puzzled."

This time Mrs. Vincent was mouse-colored, and clad in some stuff of silvery sheen where it caught the light. The flowers were vivid orchids, which looked like embroidered jokes or grotesque floral caricatures.

"I want first," she said, "to talk a little about your character doctor. Is not every true and clever physician more or less what he tries to be?" "Yes."

"And people confess to you?" "Ah, too much—too much!"

She was silent a moment, and then said: "I ought to hesitate about putting burdens on one already weighted heavily, but it so chances that a woman—indeed, women— I esteem need help which you know how to give. And — oh, I meant to explain, but here comes Mrs. Leigh."

As she spoke a large, handsome woman entered. She was known to me by name, and, in fact, was one of my kindred, but so far back as to give me no claim of distinct relationship. Nor had we ever met, because she had been for many years in Europe.

After I had been presented, she and Mrs. Vincent fell into talk, and thus gave me a chance to observe that the newcomer was clearly a woman somewhat peculiar and positive, who had seen much of many societies, and was evidently of a not rare type of the woman of the world.

Presently Mrs. Vincent said: "I promised to talk to Dr. North of your difficulty, but perhaps, as he is here, and you too, it were better you said to him directly what you want."

"I would rather have done so through you, my dear. But, in fact, I am troubled. I distrust my own opinions, and I want to be just to my daughter."

"I am at your service," I said.

"You do not know my daughter Alice? Of course you could not.”

66

Suppose you state your difficulty." "Alice is twenty-four- Do tell him, my dear. My opinion is worthless."

66

Gladly," said Mrs. Vincent. "Alice is a woman of unusual force of character. As life has gone on she has acquired a strong belief that a woman of fortune and intellect (for she is more than merely intelligent) should have some distinct career. She has seen much of the gay world, and it does not satisfy her cravings. Like Hamlet, neither men nor women delight her. And now, coming home to live, she has grown depressed and unhappy. Occupations without definite aims dissatisfy her, and while she per

You are good to come so early," said our forms every duty to her home circle and to sohostess. "Sit down."

ciety, which she measurably likes, she has a

strong sense that these do not competently fill her life. No one knows better than I what this means. I had once this disease, and pretty badly the hunger for imperative duties."

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'And you," I said, much interested —“you were cured?"

"Yes; by marriage. It is what you call a heroic remedy. But not all women marry, and Alice has so far been hard, in fact impossible, to please. She has my sympathy because I once did have ambitions for a distinct career. They are lost now in the perfect gratification which I have in seeing the growth and increasing usefulness of my husband's life. It contents me fully, but it might not have done so. I pity profoundly the large-minded woman who, craving a like satisfaction, finds too late that the man in whose life she has merged her own is incapable of living up to her ideals."

"Well," said Mrs. Leigh, "you are no doubt correct, but Alice is Alice, and no one else, and Frederick Vincents are not common, and-"

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"Go on, dear. Best to tell your own story." Oh, Alice says she can endure it no longer, and now she proposes to-really, Anne, it is awful. She wants to study medicine, and, oh, you do not know Alice. She is so determined. At last I promised to inquire about it. It is too distressing. And what can I do? I am like a baby when she talks to me. She is so obstinate, and then I get tired and say, 'Have it your own way,' and after that we both cry, and in two or three days it is all to be gone over again, just as I think I am done with it. Marry her! If I only could. And now what do you advise?" said Mrs. Leigh, turning

to me.

I was a little puzzled, and hesitated. At last I said: "Tell me first, Mrs. Vincent, what do you think of this matter? It is not to be settled by my own views. I do not know Miss Leigh, and you do."

"Yes; but I have tried to put you in possession of her peculiarities. Would you say, let her do as she desires, or would you be positive in refusal? She will yield, but she will hate it."

"Could I see her?" I said.

"Yes; she is dining out, but will be here very soon. She is to call for her mother." "If, my dear Anne, she knew that we had been discussing her-she is capable, the dear child, of anything."

ceases to be interesting to some women. If the position has in it nothing ridiculous to a woman, then she is either in danger or is a mere coquette."

6

"I do not profess to comprehend Alice," said Mrs. Leigh. "The boys I can manage, and Maude; but once when Alice was very little she said, 'Mama, was the Centurion a woman?' Of course I said, 'No; and why do you ask so silly a question? Because he just said," Do this," and "Go," and "Do that," and never gave any reasons; and that is the way you do.' Of course I punished her, but that was useless. Once, after I had put her on bread and water for a day, she told me the Bible said. that' man shall not live by bread alone.' So I told her she had water too. When I came to let her out that evening, she said, 'I'm so sorry, mama; I did not think about the water, and I forgot I was a girl; the Bible says a man.' Now we never argue."

I caught Mrs. Vincent's eye for a moment. It was intelligent and telegraphic. I began to feel curious about this reasoning child, and the woman evolved out of such a childhood.

"I can see," returned our hostess, "how difficult it must have been to manage a being like that, and one too, as I recall Alice, so affectionate and so sensitive.”

"O my dear Anne, sensitive hardly expresses it. My children have been brought up on system, and a part of it has been absolute certainty of punishment. But if I punished Ned, and he needed it pretty often, Alice was in tears for a day, 'And, would I punish her?' And one day she was sure that would hurt Ned worse. Well, at last I took her at her word, and then Ned was in a rage, and declared he would kill himself if I ever struck her again." "But par

"Struck!" said Mrs. Vincent.

don me."

Oh, they were mere children. I do not at all share your views about education; and then, dear, you have no experience-none."

"That is true," said Mrs. Vincent, quietly.

She was vastly tender about all little ones, as some childless women are. Pausing a moment, she added: "Our only excuse for talking so intimately of my dear Alice is because I want Dr. North to understand the person for whom we seek his advice. Few people are as little likely to misunderstand us as he."

"Indeed, Anne, if he can see through Alice,

"Even of a love-affair," said Mrs. Vincent, he will be very clever." merrily.

"Of anything else but that. Men are delightful to Alice until they become interested; then, as she says, she becomes disinterested." "There is some truth in that," cried our hostess. "The moment a man is interested he

"No one," I returned, "can easily apprehend character from mere description, and you seem to me to have, and to have had, a very complex nature to deal with."

"No; she is simple," said Mrs. Vincent, “ and, like such people, very direct. Only,—and you

will pardon me, Helen,- Mrs. Leigh and her daughter are people so different that it is not easy for them to agree in opinion. In all lesser matters Alice yields. In larger matters she is at times immovable, and," she added, laughing, "as my dear Mrs. Leigh is also, and always immovable-”

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"Oh," cried the mama, interrupting her, excuse me, dear Anne, but that is because I am systematic, and system can never be cruel, because people know what to expect. I heard Mr. Clayborne say that, and it struck me as very profound."

"Be sure," I replied, not a little amused, "that I shall regard all you say as a confidence. I must know Miss Leigh personally, and better than your talk can make me know her, before I advise you, and even then I may decline to advise, or my advice may be of little use, to her, at least."

"Too true," remarked Mrs. Leigh. "I know her well, and my advice is of very little use." "I hear the carriage," said Mrs. Vincent. "This very original consultation had better end here. You were at Baden, Helen, were you not?"

"Yes."

"Did you meet the Falconbergs? Vincent is very much attached to them. You know he carried on a suit for the German embassy when Count Falconberg was Chargé. Ah, my dear Alice, how late you are! The dinner must have been very pleasant. Where is Edward? My old friend Dr. Owen North, Miss Leigh."

Instantly I knew, as I rose to meet her, that she understood we had been talking of her. I read with ease the language of her face. One has these mysterious cognitions as to certain people, and even the steadying discipline of society had as yet failed to enable her to preserve that entire control of the features which makes its life an easy masquerade. The trace of annoyed surprise was gone as she said cordially: "I feel that I ought to know you. We crossed your path in Europe over and over years ago, and I used to hear mama regretting that we had not met."

"It was my loss," I returned. "And was the dinner pleasant? us," said Mrs. Vincent.

Do tell

"Yes and no. Too long. All our dinners here are too long. I exhausted one of my neighbors. He was rather ponderous. I tried him on a variety of subjects, but at last we hit, by good luck, on the stock-exchange. It must be a queer sight, and when we women are stock-brokers in the year 2000-ah, I should like to see what it will be then. I know all about bulls, and bears, and puts, and shorts, and margins, and—”

"Alice!" said Mrs. Leigh, severely. "And the other man?" said I. "Ah, he was really a nice boy of twenty. He confided to me his ambitions. Do you not know, Dr. North, the sort of fresh shrewdness a young fellow like that has sometimes? It is delightful, and such a pleasant belief that he knows the world."

"That is like Alice. She is always losing her heart to some boy in his teens," said the mama.

"She ought to know Mr. St. Clair," cried Mrs. Vincent. "He is in his teens, and always will be. And I must be a witch. Indeed, I uttered no spells, but he always comes just at the moment one wants him, unless you expect him at dinner." And so, amidst her laughing remarks, she presented St. Clair to Miss Alice and her astonished mama.

St. Clair was utterly regardless of the conventional in many ways, and especially as to engagements. He might or might not dine with you if he had promised to do so, and these failures, due very often to facility of forgetfulness, were at times quite deliberate, and to appearance selfish, or at least self-full. He would receive a telegram and leave it unopened for a day, and I have seen the drawer of his desk filled with unopened letters.

Now he was in a long, dark-brown velvet jacket, and a spotless, thin white flannel shirt, with a low collar and a disheveled red necktie. As to his hands, they were always perfectly cared for, white, and delicate. The crown of brown, wilful curls over the merry eyes went well with his picturesque disorder of dress, but I could see that Mrs. Leigh set him down at once as a person not of her world. She was as civilly cool as her daughter was the reverse. He stood a moment by Miss Alice in her evening dress, a rosy athlete, blue-eyed, gay, happy, and picturesque, with long Vandyke beard, soft mustache, and an indefinite, careless grace in all his ways. The woman was, as to dress and outside manner, simply and charmingly conventional. I have no art in describing faces. Hers was of a clear white, but the richly tinted lips showed that this was the natural hue of perfect health. As she stood, I saw that this paleness was not constant. Little isles of color came and went, and seemed to me to wander about cheek and neck, as if to visit one lovely feature after another. Yes, she was handsome; that was clear by the way St. Clair tranquilly regarded her. All beauty of form bewildered him into forgetfulness of surroundings.

As he was presented, St. Clair bowed to the matron, shook Mrs. Vincent by both hands, and then, as I said, turned a quiet gaze of delight on the young woman.

"I think we must have met before," he said.

"Indeed," she exclaimed.

"I like your making him promise not to "Yes; I am always sure of that about cer- gamble," said Miss Leigh, gravely. "What a tain people." droll story!"

"That is one of St. Clair's fads," I said. "But as to your table-companions. I know one of them. His sole pleasure is in stock-gambling." "Ah," cried Mrs. Vincent, "I can understand that, and, indeed, all gambling propensities."

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"Anne! my dear Anne!" said Mrs. Leigh. Yes; I should like to gamble if one did not have to lose, which I should hate, or to win, which would be worse."

"And to me it is incomprehensible," said Miss Alice. "I dislike chance."

"What! the dear god Chance?" said St. Clair. "I wish I could shuffle life every morning like a pack of cards."

She looked at him steadily. He was always in earnest. Then she remarked:

"You like all games of chance?"

"Yes; but I never win. I want to think I shall win, but I never want to win."

"And of course you do sometimes?" "Yes, it is like making love. I think I want to win, but I do not, and I am dreadfully afraid if I come near to winning."

Miss Alice looked amused and puzzled. “A rare fancy, I should say. And the money -if you do win? Does it not annoy, embarrass?"

"Oh, I give it away. I prefer to give it back to the man; but I tried that once, and found that it was looked upon as an insult. I had to explain, and it was not very easy."

"I should think not," said I. "I once gambied in stocks indirectly, and with a lucky result. A man lost half of his fortune in X. Y. stock. It fell from 40 to 7 in a month. He became depressed and threatened to kill himself. I did what I could, and assured him that the stock was good and would rise again. I was very young, Miss Leigh, and very sanguine. In a month he came back and said he was himself again, and much obliged for my advice." "What advice?' I said.

"Oh,' he cried, 'you told me the stock was good and would rise, and as I knew you were a friend of the president of the road I determined to act upon your confidence, and so I bought at 7 and 9 all the stock I could afford to carry.'

"Without a word I left him, and, returning with the morning paper, said, 'The stock is 37. Promise me to sell at once.' He said, 'Of course.' Then I made him pledge himself never again to meddle with stocks."

Meanwhile Mrs. Vincent and the mother had been chatting apart, and now the latter rose. "Come, Alice," she said; and then, with the utmost cordiality, " And, Dr. North, let us see you soon, very soon, and often. We are of the same blood, you know. Good evening, Mr. St. Clair; I trust we shall have the pleasure of seeing you again."

St. Clair took no note of the difference in manner to him and to me; I do not think he saw it. He was again absorbed in the study of Alice.

"Oh, with great pleasure," he returned. "And Fred is in the study, Mrs. Vincent, you said? I will join him. Good night."

He went up-stairs, while I descended the staircase with Mrs. Vincent's friends. I put them into their carriage, and went back.

"Shall I need to apologize?" said Mrs. Vincent, when we were again seated. "Indeed, no. What a remarkable girl! And the mother?"

"Oh, better than she seems. There is much sense back of her views as to system in education, and although positive, cruelly tactless, capable, in a word, of incredible social blunders, she is yet a lady, and, moreover, a kindly, charitable woman. People like her. She is handsome still, as you see. But she is not the mama for Alice."

"I did not like her manner to St. Clair," I said.

"The only defense possible for him is to know him. Imagine the effect of that jacket on Mrs. Leigh! It said Bohemia at once."

"And if so, what must be to her social nerves the idea of Miss-Dr. Alice, in fact? Yes; I shrink from it myself," I continued, " and I am not sure that I am wise."

"At least," returned Mrs. Vincent, "it cannot be here a question of right or wrong. There is no wickedness in it. She abandons no duty. The brothers are old enough not to need her. The mother and she do not agree. I mean that they look at life from diverse points of view. Really, they both love and admire each other. Only on large occasions do they approach a quarrel, and Alice is as respectful then as she is determined."

"Not obstinate. Mrs. Leigh is that, I should say."

"Her worst annoyances are what Fred calls Alice's white mice. She has a curious collection of friends, the socially lame, halt, and blind, who adore her, and to pursue a duty is as much a temptation to Alice as a pleasant bit of wickYes; and made a dreadful amount of edness is to some other women. You will like money." her. You are sure to like her."

"And he kept his word?" said Mrs. Vin

cent.

"I do already."

"I knew you would. And do make St. Clair call. He never will unless you make him.”

"I will try. I can at least leave his card." "Yes; do. Next week, you know, we are all to take tea at his studio. I am to matronize the party. I want Alice to go, and her mother, but I will see to that. Only he must call, and then a few words to Mrs. Leigh will settle it. She does what I like, and likes what I do, and is, therefore, a model to all my friends."

"I have no need of the example, but I wish you had not asked me to meddle in this doctor business."

"Why?"

"I hardly know."

"And yet, that is unusual with you. I mean, not to be clear as to your reasons. I am sorry; I-"

"Please don't-I am always at your service—always. I will find a chance to talk to Miss Alice."

"Pray do; but be careful. I want her to like you. You know I insist on my friends liking one another. And now you must go. I am tired. Fred is up-stairs."

"No; I must go home. Good night."

XVII.

I SAW none of these people for some days. The Leighs were not at home when I called, and my life went on its usual course of busy hours. Then I remembered Mrs. Vincent's request, and dropped in on St. Clair at his studio. Asking him casually if he had called on Mrs. Leigh, he said, No," and to my surprise, "Would I leave his card?" I said, "Yes; with pleasure," and asked him at what hour was his afternoon tea.

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"Jove!" he exclaimed, "I forgot it. I will see Mrs. Vincent. How do people remember things? I want to have that splendid young woman; and the mama, I suppose, is a sad necessity. How lucky that you came in." "Best to see Mrs. Vincent soon." "I will."

"Now, at once. Change your dress,"―he was in his blouse-" and I will drop you there. And make haste."

I did see him safely into Mrs. Vincent's house, knowing very well that it was as likely as not that he would have forgotten the whole matter had I not reminded him in time. Then I left my carriage and walked to Mrs. Leigh's. As the door opened I met Miss Leigh in the hall, dressed for the street.

“Oh," she said, "you are caught and must come in. I am in no hurry to go out. I am sorry mama is not at home."

"I am at least fortunate," I said, as we VOL. XLIV.-41-42.

turned back along the hall, "in finding you, and you will please to be a trifle blind while I drop St. Clair's cards on the table. Half a dozen friends are needed to perform for him his social duties. He might call on you daily for a week, and then not for six months."

"One must have to make large allowances for a friend like that," she said, as we entered the drawing-room.. "But do you not think that that is a part of the capacity for friendship? I mean knowledge with charity."

"Assuredly. And with all his shortcomings St. Clair is a man to love. What he needs in life is some woman as tender as she is resolute." "Alas for the woman!"

"No. I presuppose the one essential without which the double life is inconceivable—to me, at least. However, this must be left to fate. Mrs. Vincent will ask your mother and you to his studio next week. We are to see his statues, and to have tea."

"But mama will never go," she returned hastily. "I beg pardon, she is engaged,- I mean there will be some engagement,—and I should like to go. Why do not all of you wear brown velvet coats?"

"And have curly hair, and write verses, and carve statues, and look like young Greek athletes! Ah, Miss Leigh, there are drawbacksbelieve me, there are drawbacks. Now a dresscoat would have made this afternoon tea seem so easy and so delightful to a matronly kinswoman of mine."

"You see too much," she cried, laughing. "Yes; so far as mama is concerned, that beautiful, worn velvet jacket was fatal. But perhaps Mrs. Vincent will make mama go. She has a way of smiling mama into or out of anything." Then she paused a little and, coloring, said: "Mama told me last night that she had talked with you and Mrs. Vincent about me. Mama never keeps a secret very long, unless you ask her to tell it, and I was sure that I should hear of it soon or late, for I knew at once the other night that I had been under discussion. Frankly speaking, I did not like it. Now, if you—if you were were a girl, would you have liked it?" I watched her with amusement and honest interest.

"Oh, the delightful possibility of being a girl, and of being discussed by you and Mrs. Vincent! I think I could stand it." "Please do not laugh at me." "I do not."

"But you do, and I am serious. I am not always to be taken lightly. And men are so apt to insist that a woman must be anything but serious."

"But every sermon has a text. About what are you serious?"

"You know. I of course mama told me,

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