d a shared life to be satisfied
without them; but not a woman like you."

"I think you idealize me," Milly said smiling a little sadly; "but I
believe in that too. I don't claim at all any remarkable individuality;
but what I have Dick doesn't understand at all, doesn't even see. He
goes blundering about the dullest, most distant parks and preserves of a
castle; that is as near as he ever gets to the castle, such as it is, of
my personality. And he doesn't really care about the castle; it hardly
worries him that he can't find it. There might be wonderful pictures on
its walls, and jewels in its cabinets, and music in its chambers; but
even if he got inside and were able to see and hear, he wouldn't care a
bit about them; he would say: 'Awfully nice,' and look for the
smoking-room. And there," said Milly, pressing her hands together while
her eyes filled suddenly with tears, "there is the little tragedy. For
of course every woman thinks that she has pictures and jewels and music,
and longs--oh longs!--to show them to the one, the one person who will
love to see and hear. And when she finds that no one sees or hears, or
knows, even, that there is anything to look for, then the music dies,
and the pictures fade, and the jewels grow dim, and at last everything
magical vanishes from life and she sees herself, not as an enchanted
castle, but as a first-class house in Mayfair, with all the latest
improvements;--as much a matter of course, as much a convenience, as
unmysterious and as unalluring as the telephone, the hot water pipes and
the electric lighting. It is only as if in a dream--a far, far
dream--that she remembers the castle, and feels, sometimes, within her,
the ruins, the empty ruins."

"Oh--my dear!" breathed Mrs. Drent. It was as if she couldn't help it,
as if, shaken from her passionate reserve, she must show her very heart.
She leaned round the table and took one of Milly's hands. "Don't--don't
let the magic vanish! There's nothing else in life! All the rest is
death. It's only when we are in the castle--with our music and our
pictures and our jewels--that we are alive. You know it; you feel it;
it's what makes the difference between the real and the unreal people.
You are one of the real ones, I saw it at once; you aren't meant to
wither out and to become crisp and shallow. Don't cease to believe in
the pictures, the jewels, the music. They are there. _I_ see. _I_ hear."

"How--_sweet_ of you!" faltered Milly