fell into the embers. The dying flame took new life and the warm glow
filled the room.

"Is that why people don't buy automobiles?" queried Rose, chiefly
because she did not know what else to say.

"The answer to that is that they do."

"Sounds as if you might have taken it from Alice in Wonderland," she
commented. "Maybe they've had to give each other up," she concluded,
enigmatically.

"People who will give each other up should be obliged to do it," he
returned. "May I leave my violin here? I'll be coming again so soon."

"Surely. I hope you will."

"Good-night." He took her hand for a moment, in his warm, steady clasp,
and subtly, Rose answered to the man--not the violin. She was deathly
white when the door closed, and she trembled all the way up-stairs.

When she saw herself in the mirror, she was startled, for, in her
ghostly pallor, her deep eyes burned like stars. She knew, now. The
woman who had so hungered for Life had suddenly come face to face with
its utmost wonder; its highest gift of joy--or pain.

The heart of a man is divided into many compartments, mostly isolated.
Sometimes there is a door between two of them, or even three may be
joined, but usually, each one is complete in itself. Within the
different chambers his soul sojourns as it will, since immeasurably