I wouldn't try to explain to any one
else, but I think you'll understand. Forgive me if I analyze you a
little, and don't interrupt, please."

She passed her hand over her face slowly, a shade wearily.

"There are times when I come near loving you: for what you are, not
for what you are to me. You are natural, you're strong; but you lack
something I feel to be necessary to make life completely happy--the
ability to forget all and enjoy the moment. I have watched you for
years. It has been so in the past, and will be so in the future. Other
men who see me, men born to the plane, have the quality--call it
butterfly if you will--to enjoy the 'now.' It appeals to me--I am of
their manner born." Their eyes met and she finished slowly, "It's
injustice to you, I know; but I can't answer--now."

They sat a moment side by side in silence. The dancers were moving
more swiftly to the sound of the Virginia reel.

Ellis reached over and took her hand, then bent and touched it softly
with his lips.

"I will wait--and abide," he said.

THE CUP THAT O'ERFLOWED: AN OUTLINE

I

In a room, half-lighted by the red rays of a harvest moon, a woman lay
in the shadow; face downward, on the bed. It was not the figure of
youth: the full lines of waist and hip spoke maturity. She was sobbing
aloud and bitterly, so that her whole body trembled.

The clock struck the hour, the half, again the hour; and yet she lay
there, but quiet, with face turned toward the window and the big, red
harvest moon. It was not a handsome face; besides, now it was
tear-stained and hard with the reflection of a bitter battle fought.

A light foot tapped down the hallway and stopped in front of the door.
There was gentle accompaniment on the panel to the query, "Are you
asleep?"

The woman on the bed opened her eyes wider, without a word.

The step in the hall tapped away into silence. The firm, round arm in
its black elbow-sleeve setting, white, beautiful, made a motion of
impatience and of weariness; then slowly, so slowly that one could
scarce mark its coming, the blank stupor that comes as Nature's
panacea to those whom she has tortured to the limit, crept over the
woman, and the big brown eyes closed. The moon passed over and the
night-wind, murmuring lower and lower, became still. In the darkness
and silence the woman sobbed as she slept.

In the lonely, uncertain time between night and morning she awoke; her
face and the pillow were dam