ne in deep perplexity. From time
to time he raised his hand and stroked his back hair. And as he walked
Eden continued, but her tone was gentler than before:

"Father, you can never know. As you say, there are things of which it is
not well to speak. But let me tell you: In marrying I thought my husband
like yourself, one whom I could believe, whom I could honor, and of whom
I should be proud. He was too old for me, people said. But my fear was
that I should seem too young for him. Others insisted that I knew
nothing of him, and all the while I hoped that he would not find me
lacking. I wanted to aid, to assist. I was ambitious. He seemed
possessed of the fibres of which greatness is the crown. I saw before
him a future, a career which history might note. I dreamed that with the
wealth which he had acquired and the power that was in him, he could win
recognition of men and fame of time. It would be pleasant, I thought, to
be the helpmate of such an one. How did it matter that he was an alien
if I were at home with him? Father, I was proud of him. I was glad to be
younger than he. What better guide could I find? Yes, I was glad of his
years, for I had brought myself to think that when two people equally
young and equally favored fall in love, it is nature that is acting in
them. Whereas I loved not the man, but the individual, and that, I told
myself, that is the divine. That is what I thought before marriage, and
now I detect him in a vulgar intrigue. Is it not hideous? It took him
six months to walk through my illusions, and one hour to dispel them.
See, I have nothing left. Nothing," she added pensively, "except
regret."

She remained silent a little space, then some visitation of that
renegade Yesterday that calls himself To-morrow, seemed to stir her
pulse.

"Father," she pleaded, "tell me; I can be free of him, can I not? You
will keep him from me? you will get me back my liberty again?"

Mr. Menemon had resumed his former place at the table, and sat there,
his head still bent. But at this appeal he looked up and nodded
abstractedly, as though his attention were divided between her and
someone whom he did not see.

"You are overwrought," he said. "Were you yourself, you would not speak
in this fashion about nothing."

A sting could not have been more sudden in its effect. She gasped; a
returning gust of anger enveloped her. She sprang from her seat as
though impelled by hidden springs. "Nothing?" she cried.