"Eugene," she expostulated, "we are
too old friends to talk always in veiled
phrases. There is something you have
"Eugene," She Expostulated, "We Are
Too Old Friends to Talk Always in
Veiled Phrases."
to say to me. You are displeased be^
cause I have changed my mindbe
cause I feel that I cannot take that lit
tle journey of ours?"
"You mean that you cannot now, or
that you cannot at any time?"
"I do not kaow," she answered. "You
ask me more than I can tell you. Some
times life seems so stable, a thing one
can make a little chart of and hang
up on the wall, and put one's finger
here and there'Today I will do this,
tomorrow I will feel that'and the
next morning comes and the chart is
in the fire. I wish I understood my
self a little better, Eugene I"
"I believe that I understand you bet
ter, far better, than you understand
yourself," he declared. "That is why
I also believe that I am necessary to
you. I can prevent your making mis
takes."
"Then prevent me," she begged.
"Something has happened, and the
chart is in the fire today."
"You have only," he said, "to give
me this little hand, and I will draw
out a fresh one which shall direct to
the place in life which is best for you.
It is not too late."
She rose from beside him and walked
toward the fireplace, as if to touch the
bell. He watched her with steady eyes
but expressionless face. There was
something curious about her walk. The
spring had gone from her feet, her
shoulders were a little hunched. It was
the walk of a woman who goes toward
the things she fears.
"Stop!" he bade her.
