"Yes, a glorious one."

[Sidenote: Seeing with the Soul]

"I thought so, and that accounts for my being late. I saw a beautiful
sunset--I saw it with my soul."

"Give me your coat, Ambrose." The older woman stood at his side, longing
to do him some small service.

"Thank you, Miriam; you are always kind."

The tiny living-room was filled with relics of past luxury. Fine
pictures, in tarnished frames, hung on the dingy walls, and worn rugs
covered the floor. The furniture was old mahogany, beautifully cared
for, but decrepit, nevertheless, and the ancient square piano,
outwardly, at least, showed every year of its age.

Still, the room had "atmosphere," of the indefinable quality that some
people impart to a dwelling-place. Entering, one felt refinement,
daintiness, and the ability to live above mere externals. Barbara had,
very strongly, the house-love which belongs to some rare women. And who
shall say that inanimate things do not answer to our love of them, and
diffuse, between our four walls, a certain gracious spirit of kindliness
and welcome?

In the dining-room, where the table was set for supper, there were
marked contrasts. A coarse cloth covered the table, but at the head of
it was overlaid a remnant of heavy table-damask, the worn places
carefully hidden. The china at this place was thin and fine, the silver