Part 167 (1/2)

”Yes--I knew it--but it is different now. You know when you are _married_--”

Mrs. Weatherstone looked far away through the wide window. ”I do know,”

she said.

Diantha reached a strong hand to clasp her friend's. ”I wish I could give it to you,” she said. ”You have done so much for me! So much!

You have poured out your money like water!”

”My money! Well I like that!” said Mrs. Weatherstone. ”I have taken my money out of five and seven per cent investments, and put it into ten per cent ones, that's all. Shall I never make you realize that I am a richer woman because of you, Diantha Bell Warden! So don't try to be grateful--I won't have it! Your work has _paid_ remember--paid me as well as you; and lots of other folks beside. You know there are eighteen good imitations of Union House running now, in different cities, and three 'Las Casas!' all succeeding--and the papers are talking about the dangers of a Cooked Food Trust!”

They were friends old and tried, and happy in mutual affection. Diantha had many now, though none quite so dear. Her parents were contented--her brother and sister doing well--her children throve and grew and found Mama a joy they never had enough of.

Yet still in her heart of hearts she was not wholly happy.

Then one night came by the last mail, a thick letter from Ross--thicker than usual. She opened it in her room alone, their room--to which they had come so joyously five years ago.

He told her of his journeying, his lectures, his controversies and triumphs; rather briefly--and then:

”My darling, I have learned something at last, on my travels, which will interest you, I fancy, more than the potential speed of all the guinea-pigs in the world, and its transmissability.

”From what I hear about you in foreign lands; from what I read about you wherever I go; and, even more, from what I see, as a visitor, in many families; I have at last begun to grasp the nature and importance of your work.

”As a man of science I must accept any truth when it is once clearly seen; and, though I've been a long time about it, I do see at last what brave, strong, valuable work you have been doing for the world. Doing it scientifically, too. Your figures are quoted, your records studied, your example followed. You have established certain truths in the business of living which are of importance to the race. As a student I recognize and appreciate your work. As man to man I'm proud of you--tremendously proud of you. As your husband! Ah! my love! I am coming back to you--coming soon, coming with my Whole Heart, Yours!

Just wait, My Darling, till I get back to you!

”Your Lover and Husband.”

Diantha held the letter close, with hands that shook a little. She kissed it--kissed it hard, over and over--not improving its appearance as a piece of polite correspondence.

Then she gave way to an overmastering burst of feeling, and knelt down by the wide bed, burying her face there, the letter still held fast. It was a funny prayer, if any human ear had heard it.

”Thank you!” was all she said, with long, deep sobbing sighs between.

”Thank you!--O--thank you!”

The End

OUR OVERWORKED INSTINCTS

Instinct is a good thing in its place. We, in common with other animals, have instincts, especially in our racial youth; but as reason waxes, instinct wanes. At present, thanks to the development of the brain and even the beginnings of education, we have few instincts left.

What we have, we work pretty hard.

Among both men and women, the most primal instincts are still deified.

The instinct of self-preservation, which in every species is promptly subordinated to race preservation, we solemnly hail as ”Nature's First Law!” It may be first, as creeping comes before walking, but is no more honorable for that!

Then there is the s.e.x instinct, a good second to this first, an ancient, useful and generally pleasant incentive to action; but we, in our simplicity, have set up this contributive impulse as the Lord of Life.

”The Life Force,” we call it; when it is only one form of expression for the Life Force, and a limited one.

Self-preservation does very well to keep the cards on the table, and race preservation goes on giving us a new deal, but neither of them alone, nor both of them together, is The Game.