quite yourself."

I was struck by the chance significance of her phrase--"Not quite
yourself." No; ever since I had left the house that morning I had not
been quite myself. I had had a momentary glimpse--had for an instant
caught the glint of an angel's wing--but it was gone. I was almost
myself--my old self; yet not quite.

"I didn't mean to be unkind," I muttered. "Don't worry about me. I've
merely had a vision of what might have been, and it's disgusted me. Go
on down to the bridge fiends. I'll be along shortly--if you'll excuse my
clothes."

"Poor boy!" she sighed. "You're tired out! No; don't come down--in those
clothes!"

* * * * *

I laughed a hollow laugh when she had gone. Really there was something
humorous about it all. What was the use even of trying? I did not seem
even to belong in my own house unless my clothes matched the wall paper!
I lit cigarette after cigarette, staring blankly at my silk pajamas laid
out on the bed.

I could not change things! It was too late. I had brought up my son and
daughters to live in a certain kind of way, had taught them that
luxuries were necessities, had neglected them--had ruined them perhaps;
but I had no moral right now to annihilate that life--and their
mother's--without their consent. They might be poor things; but, after
all, they were my own. They were free, white and twenty-one. And I knew
they would simply think me mad!

I had a fixed place in a complicated system, with responsibilities and
duties I was morally bound to recognize. I could not chuck the whole
business without doing a great deal of harm. My life was not so simple
as all that. Any change--if it could be accomplished at all--would have
to be a gradual one and be brought about largely by persuasion. Could it
be accomplished?

It now seemed insuperably difficult. I was bound to the wheel--and the
habits of a lifetime, the moral pressure of my wife and children, the
example of society, and the force of superficial public opinion and
expectation were spinning it round and round in the direction of least
resistance. As well attempt to alter my course as to steer a locomotive
off the track! I could not ditch the locomotive, for I had a trainload
of passengers! And yet--

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. I--successful? Yes, success
had been mine; but success was failure--naught else--failure, absolute
and unmitigated! I had lost my wife and family, and my