t an intoxicating thrill of pride must come to him who,
having confidence in his own powers, makes the attempt and succeeds.

Perhaps if Louise had been strong enough to fight this cruel battle out
with herself as Rachel would have done, and win as Rachel would have won,
she might have been able to choose differently. She might then, strong in
her own strength, marry a man of lesser personality, a younger man, and
they two could have adjusted their lives to each other gradually. Now it
must be Louise who would be adjusted, and Norris Whitehouse was just the
man to know the curious fact that the more fiery and impetuous a woman
is, the more easily, if she is in love, will she mould herself to
circumstances. The more untamed and unbending she seems, the more helpless
will she be under the strong excitement of love or grief.

A strong-minded woman is easier to persuade than a weak one. The grander
the nature the greater its pliability towards truth. The longer I sat and
gazed into the opposite box the clearer it grew in my mind that the
suddenness of this venture did not imply rashness, but serene-eyed faith
only, and such faith would captivate Louise King more than would love. The
only impossible thing about it to a sceptical Old Maid was that it was
the man who was proving himself such a hero, and who was upsetting my
favorite theory that men never understand emotional women. Still, it was
not difficult to except as unusual a man like Norris Whitehouse, and yet
have my theory hold good. In imagination I leaped forward to the peaceful
outcome of this turbulent beginning, and overlooked the way which led to
it. I found myself hoping, with painful intensity, that this venture in
which Norris Whitehouse and I had embarked would prove successful. I had
known and loved Louise King all her life. I had loved her dear mother
before her, and the beautiful daughterhood of this girl had always touched
me as the highest and sweetest type I ever had known. I did not want to be
the one to bring her face to face with her first great sorrow, although I
dared not interfere to less purpose. For

"'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls,
And matter enough to save one's own.
Yet think of my friend and the burning coals
We played with for bits of stone."

They could not know that I had had anything to do with it; yet, if ill
came of it, I should blame myself all the rest of my life.

Not long afterwards they were m