the carriage, on the way home, he broke out nervously: "I didn't
know you spoke to Varick."

Her voice trembled a little. "It's the first time--he happened to be
standing near me; I didn't know what to do. It's so awkward, meeting
everywhere--and he said you had been very kind about some business."

"That's different," said Waythorn.

She paused a moment. "I'll do just as you wish," she returned pliantly.
"I thought it would be less awkward to speak to him when we meet."

Her pliancy was beginning to sicken him. Had she really no will of her
own--no theory about her relation to these men? She had accepted
Haskett--did she mean to accept Varick? It was "less awkward," as she
had said, and her instinct was to evade difficulties or to circumvent
them. With sudden vividness Waythorn saw how the instinct had
developed. She was "as easy as an old shoe"--a shoe that too many feet
had worn. Her elasticity was the result of tension in too many
different directions. Alice Haskett--Alice Varick--Alice Waythorn--she
had been each in turn, and had left hanging to each name a little of
her privacy, a little of her personality, a little of the inmost self
where the unknown god abides.

"Yes--it's better to speak to Varick," said Waythorn wearily.

"Earth's Martyrs." By Stephen Phillips.

V

THE WINTER wore on, and society took advantage of the Waythorns'
acceptance of Varick. Harassed hostesses were grateful to them for
bridging over a social difficulty, and Mrs. Waythorn was held up as a
miracle of good taste. Some experimental spirits could not resist the
diversion of throwing Varick and his former wife together, and there
were those who thought he found a zest in the propinquity. But Mrs.
Waythorn's conduct remained irreproachable. She neither avoided Varick
nor sought him out. Even Waythorn could not but admit that she had
discovered the solution of the newest social problem.

He had married her without giving much thought to that problem. He had
fancied that a woman can shed her past like a man. But now he saw that
Alice was bound to hers both by the circumstances which forced her into
continued relation with it, and by the traces it had left on her
nature. With grim irony Waythorn compared himself to a member of a
syndicate. He held so many shares in his wife's personality and his
predecessors were his partners in the business. If there had been any
element of passion in the transaction he would have felt less
dete