Yet it had its hopeful side. It showed that many were thinking, and, though thought took different trends, all roads eventually lead to the truth. Letters came often from Chrissalyn, but they contained no messages from friends invisible, for she never gave them an opportunity to say anything, after Cartice went away. She was afraid. Sometimes a picture or vision flashed before her, in spite of her avoidance of everything of the kind. If it pertained to her friend she told her; but that was all. Six years had passed with never a sight of the Butterfly’s beloved face, and never a word from the dear people of the unseen world. Cartice had felt their presence often, and knew that they were faithful; but she was hungry for a word from them. Now came a letter from Chrissalyn begging her to spend some weeks with her. It was a particularly girlish and extravagant letter, almost a photograph of the mind of the unregenerate Butterfly of old. She knew a delightful little summer resort where they could go and be out of the sight and sound of work and care of every hue. She had set her heart upon it. * * * * * Arranging for a leave of absence Mrs. Doring soon was on her way. She found her friend in extraordinarily good spirits, and their reunion was of a school-girlish order of delight. After a few hours the years of their separation seemed never to have been. We have all had this experience and wondered at it. After long absence we come back to a familiar spot, and in a little while find it difficult to persuade ourselves that we have ever been away. Perhaps this is a proof that to the true self there is neither separation nor distance, nor past nor future. All is near and all is now. * * * * * The Butterfly had a new assortment of radiant wings--otherwise garments--ready to spread gaily at the springs. One by one she displayed them with childish pleasure, for personal adornment had ever been her fetich. “As we get on a little in years,” she said, “all we can do to head off the enemy, Age, is to make believe we ignore him. Extra paint and feathers are necessary. I’ve had it flung in my face that I’m not so young as I was, but I won’t admit it. Anyhow I’m still young enough to excite envy and jealousy.” Here she laughed with diabolical pleasure. “I intend to make the best of this world and stay in it as long as I can, notwithstanding it’s no paradise. But I have lost some illusions in regard to it. For instance, that of my own irresistible attractiveness. I can draw moths yet, but formerly I thought I could attract men, providing I ever encountered such beings.” Again, night after night, Chrissalyn sat as of old, calling up for her friend’s delight the unseen people who were always ready to respond. When Cartice spoke of the long time that had passed with never a word from one of them, Moreau said: