anity. "You
are right, Madelene," said she. "Dory _is_ cold."

"But I didn't say that," replied Madelene. "Most of us prefer people like
those flabby sea creatures that are tossed aimlessly about by the waves
and have no permanent shape or real purposes and desires, but take
whatever their feeble tentacles can hold without effort." Del winced, and
it was the highest tribute to Dr. Madelene's skill that the patient did
not hate her and refuse further surgery. "We're used to that sort,"
continued she. "So when a really alive, vigorous, pushing, and resisting
personality comes in contact with us, we say, 'How hard! How unfeeling!'
The truth, of course, is that Ross is more like the flabby things--his
environment dominates him, while Dory dominates his environment. But you
like the Ross sort, and you're right to suit yourself. To suit yourself
is the only way to avoid making a complete failure of life. Wait till
Dory comes home. Then talk it out with him. Then--free yourself and marry
Ross, who will have freed himself. It's quite simple. People are
broad-minded about divorce nowadays. It never causes serious scandal,
except among those who'd like to do the same, but don't dare."

It certainly was easy, and ought to have been attractive. Yet Del was not
attracted. "One can't deal with love in such a cold, calculating
fashion," thought she, by way of bolstering up her weakening confidence
in the reality and depth of those sensations which had seemed so
thrillingly romantic an hour before. "I've given you the impression that
Ross and I have some--some understanding," said she. "But we haven't. For
all I know, he may not care for me as I care for him."

"He probably doesn't," was Madelene's douche-like reply. "You attract him
physically--which includes his feeling that you'd show off better than
Theresa before the world for which he cares so much. But, after all,
that's much the way you care for him, isn't it?"

Adelaide's bosom was swelling and falling agitatedly. Her eyes flashed;
her reserve vanished. "I'm sure he'd love me!" cried she. "He'd give me
what my whole soul, my whole body cry out for. Madelene, you don't
understand! I am so starved, so out in the cold! I want to go in where
it's warm--and--human!" The truth, the deep-down truth, was out at last;
Adelaide had wrenched it from herself.

"And Dory will not give you that?" said Madelene, all gentleness and
sympathy, and treading softly on this dangerous, delicate