ered.
Sit down and talk to me, while I drink it. Then I will go to sleep,
and you can take off your driving gear."

But she found it impossible to sleep; she had so much to tell, and so
much to show. And suddenly she raised herself from an open trunk, and
holding out a case of Apostle spoons, said, "These are a present from
Rose. When did you hear from her?"

"She has written very seldom to me lately. But I thought perhaps she
had been influenced by her mother. That would be quite natural. Did
you see her?"

"Yes."

The reply had in it a touch of anger. Adriana looked up, but was
silent.

"I saw her--in Edinburgh."

"Is she happy?"

"I suppose she is happy in her way; for she indulges her every mood
and temper to her heart's desire."

"How is Antony?"

"God alone knows. To speak plainly, Rose is enough to drive him to
destruction of some kind or other. Her vagaries, her depressions, her
frivolities, her adoration of him one day and her hatred of him the
next day, are beyond my comprehension. She prides herself on doing
outrageous, unconventional things, and poor Antony feels that he must
stand by her in them. My heart ached for the man."

"There is nothing really wrong, though?"

"Well, Yanna, there is always a dreadful debasement of nature,
following violations of popular morality. Antony's face of calm
endurance made my heart ache. Its patience, and its unspoken misery,
reminded me constantly of a picture by Carlo Dolci, called _The
Eternal Father_."

"How could any one dare to paint the face of God?"

"In this case the painter has been penetrated with an awful reverence.
And, Yanna, what do you think his idea of the Divine Father was? A
grand human face, full of human grief and loneliness and patience, the
eyes sad beyond tears, as if there were an unutterable sorrow in the
Eternal Heart."

"How strange!"

"No. If God is Love, how can He be ineffably happy and glorious while
his sons and daughters are wandering away from Him and the whole world
is broken-hearted? It did me good, it comforted me, to think of a God
who could suffer; and I am sure it had done Antony good, for it was he
who told me, when I was in Florence, to be sure and go to the Gallery
and see the picture."

"I hope Rose is not taking wine."

"I saw nothing of the kind. But I suspect much from her variable
temper--and other things."

Then they were both silent. Miss Alida lifted some lace and went with
it to a certain drawe