but it's true--your touch positively improves."

He stopped short, and addressed the air above the piano with
passionate conviction. "I stay because, thanks to my wife, I've
savored here fourteen years of more complete reconciliation with
life--I've been vouchsafed more usefulness--I've discovered more
substantial reasons for existing than I ever dreamed possible in the
old life--than any one in that world can conceive!"

Aunt Victoria looked down at her beautiful hands clasped in her lap.
"Yes, quite so," she breathed. "Any one who knows you well must agree
that whatever you are, or do, or find, nowadays, is certainly 'thanks
to your wife.'"

Her brother flashed a furious look at her, and was about to speak,
but catching sight of Sylvia's troubled little face turned to him
anxiously, gave only an impatient shake to his ruddy head--now graying
slightly. A little later he said: "Oh, we don't speak the same
language any more, Victoria. I couldn't make you understand--you don't
know--how should you? You can't conceive how, when one is really
_living_, nothing of all that matters. What does architecture matter,
for instance?"

"Some of it matters very little indeed," concurred his sister blandly.

This stirred him to an ungracious laugh. "As for keeping up only human
ties, isn't a fortnight once every five years rather slim rations?"

"Ah, there are difficulties--the Masonic Building--" murmured Aunt
Victoria, apparently at random. But then, it seemed to Sylvia that