"I can't imagine even you idealizing Aunt Rosa," said Laura, "but that I
suppose is the way life equalises things."

"That way or another, and the worst it can do for us is to return us our
own dreams in grotesque and mutilated forms. That will most likely be
your portion, too, my child, for life has hurt every poet since the
world began, and it will hurt you more than most because you are so big
a creature."

Laura stirred suddenly and, after gazing a moment at the fire, turned
upon him a face which had grown brilliant with animation. "I want to
taste everything," she said. "I want to turn every page one after one."

"And yet you live the life of a hermit thrush--you have in reality as
little part in that bustling turmoil of New York out there as has poor
Angela herself."

"But my adventures will come to me--I feel that they will come."

"Then you're happy, my dear, for you have the best of your adventures as
you call them in your waiting time."

She leaned toward him, resting her cheek on his gentle old hand, and
they sat in silence until Mrs. Payne swept down upon them in her sable
wraps and demanded the attendance of her husband.

The hall door closed upon the sisters before Laura had quite come back
from her abstraction, which she did at last with a sigh of relief at
finding herself alone. Then, leaving Uncle Percival nodding in the