"She struck me as being remarkably lively," said Clarence.

"Oh, yes, but there are lively people who have secret sorrows. Look,
there she is walking with Arthur toward the lake."

Clarence smiled for a moment.

"Perhaps fate may see fit to link them together," he said.

"Oh, no, I don't think so! I can't imagine it."

"Grafton's a fine fellow, isn't he?"

"I'm glad you like him so well, Clarence. He's just like my brother, you
know. We had such an earnest talk Sunday night. He made me feel, oh, I
don't know how. But do you know, my life isn't consecrated to God,
Clarence; is yours?"

They were walking under the stars of the open night, and Clarence looked
thoughtful for a moment, then answered unhesitatingly:

"No, Beth. I settled that long ago. I don't think we need to be
consecrated. So long as we are Christians and live fairly consistent
lives, I think that suffices. Of course, with people like Arthur Grafton
it is different. But as for us we are consecrated to art, you know, in
the shape of writing. Let us make the utmost of our talents."

"Yes, we are consecrated to art," said Beth with a sigh of relief, and
began talking of Marie.