can not save us both."

CHAPTER 5

ON the Monday morning following the Ames reception the society columns
of the daily papers still teemed with extravagant depictions of the
magnificent affair. On that same morning, while Haynerd sat gloomily
in the office of the Social Era, meditating on his giant adversary's
probable first move, Carmen, leaving her studies and classes, sought
out an unpretentious home in one of the suburbs of the city, and for
an hour or more talked earnestly with the timid, frightened little
wife of Congressman Wales. Then, her work done, she dismissed the
whole affair from her mind, and hastened joyously back to the
University. She would have gone to see Ames himself. "But," she
reflected, as she dwelt on his conduct and words of the previous
Saturday evening, "he is not ready for it yet. And when he is, I will
go to him. And Kathleen--well, I will help her by seeing only the real
child of God, which was hidden that night by the veil of hatred and
jealousy. And that veil, after all, is but a shadow."

That evening the little group of searchers after God assembled again
in the peaceful precincts of the Beaubien cottage. It was their third
meeting, and they had come together reverently to pursue the most
momentous inquiry that has ever stimulated human thought.

Haynerd and Carmen had said little relative to the Ames reception; but
the former, still brooding over the certain consequences of his brush
with Ames, was dejected and distraught. Carmen, leaning upon her
sustaining thought, and conceding no mite of power or intelligence to
evil, glowed like a radiant star.

"What are you listening to?" she asked of Haynerd, drawing him to one
side. "Are you giving ear to the voices of evil, or good? Which are
you making real to yourself? For those thoughts which are real to you
will become outwardly manifested, you know."

"Bah! He's got us--tight!" muttered Haynerd, with a gesture signifying
defeat. "And the insults of that arrogant daughter of his--"

"She did not insult me," said Carmen quickly. "She could not, for she
doesn't know me. She merely denounced her concept of me, and not my
real self. She vilified what she thought was Carmen Ariza; but it was
only her own thought of me that she insulted. Can't you see? And such
a concept of me as she holds deserves denouncing, doesn't it?"

"Well, what are we going to do?" he pursued testily.

"We are going to know," she whispered, "that we two with