across the narrow way; the
three high windows of the _Speise Saal_ give out upon the old Cathedral
tower beneath which now he rests. Philosophy, curious concerning human
phenomena, eager for experience, unhampered by the limitation Convention
would impose upon all speculation, was in the smoky air.

"Not into future events," remarked the Rev. Nathaniel Armitage, "it
is better they should be hidden from us. But into the future of
ourselves--our temperament, our character--I think we ought to be
allowed to see. At twenty we are one individual; at forty, another
person entirely, with other views, with other interests, a different
outlook upon life, attracted by quite other attributes, repelled by the
very qualities that once attracted us. It is extremely awkward, for all
of us."

"I am glad to hear somebody else say that," observed Mrs. Everett, in
her gentle, sympathetic voice. "I have thought it all myself so often.
Sometimes I have blamed myself, yet how can one help it: the things that
appeared of importance to us, they become indifferent; new voices call
to us; the idols we once worshipped, we see their feet of clay."

"If under the head of idols you include me," laughed the jovial Mr.
Everett, "don't hesitate to say so." He was a large red-faced gentleman,
with small twinkling eyes, and a mouth both strong and sensuous. "I
didn't make my feet myself. I never asked anybody to take me for a
stained-glass saint. It is not I who have changed."

"I know, dear, it is I," his thin wife answered with a meek smile. "I
was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, when you married me."

"You were, my dear," agreed her husband: "As a girl few could hold a
candle to you."

"It was the only thing about me that you valued, my beauty," continued
his wife; "and it went so quickly. I feel sometimes as if I had swindled
you."

"But there is a beauty of the mind, of the soul," remarked the Rev.
Nathaniel Armitage, "that to some men is more attractive than mere
physical perfection."

The soft eyes of the faded lady shone for a moment with the light of
pleasure. "I am afraid Dick is not of that number," she sighed.

"Well, as I said just now about my feet," answered her husband genially,
"I didn't make myself. I always have been a slave to beauty and always
shall be. There would be no sense in pretending among chums that you
haven't lost your looks, old girl." He laid his fine hand with kindly
intent upon her bony shoulder. "Bu