m? As they are not in free verse,
which I do not appreciate as I should, they
affected me very much; and I feel they will tell
you, far more than my letter, why I am a little
worried about Susan.

Young Mr. Kane informed me, when he was here on
Sunday, that you and Professor Farmer are well. He
seems a nice boy, though still a little crude
perhaps; nothing offensive. I am confined to the
room to-day by a slight cold of no consequence; I
hope I may not pass it on to Susan. Kindly give my
love to Sonia, if you should see her, and to
little Ivan. I trust the new housekeeper I
obtained for you is reasonably efficient, and that
Tumps is not proving too great a burden. I am,

Respectfully yours,
MALVINA GOUCHER.

The inclosed "copy of some lines" affected me quite as much as they had
Miss Goucher, and it was inconceivable to me that Susan, having written
them, could have tossed them away. As a matter of fact she had not. Like
Calais in the queen's heart, they were engraven in her own. They were
too deeply hers; she had meant merely to hide them from the world; and
it is even now with a curious reluctance that I give them to you here.
The lines bore no title, but I have ventured, with Susan's consent, to
call them

_MENDICANTS_

_We who are poets beg the gods
Shamelessly for immortal bliss,
While the derisive years with rods
Flay us; nor silvery Artemis
Hearkens, nor Cypris bends, nor she,_

_The grave Athena with gray eyes.
Were they not heartless would they be
Deaf to the hunger of our cries?_

_We are the starving ones of clay,
Famished for deathless love, no less._

_Oh, but the gods are far and fey,
Shut in their azure palaces!_

_Oh, but the gods are far and fey,
Blind to the rags of our distress!_

_We pine on crumbs they flick away;
Brief beauty, and much weariness._

And the night I read these lines a telegram came to me from New York,
signed "Lucette Arthur," announcing that Gertrude was suddenly dead....

THE FIFTH CHAPTER

I

I AM an essayist, if anything, trying to tell Susan's