TANNER. And now, Mrs. Ransome, I suppose I’ll have to make the entry as though it had happened an hour or so ago. I know I may seem soft-hearted about it. But I feel I am doing my duty. This may save your daughter from a life of degradation. I think the end justifies the means. But first, let me ask you, who knows that the ceremony wasn’t performed before he died? MRS. RANSOME. Only me—an’ her father—an’ my sister outside. TANNER. Can she be relied upon to hold her tongue? MRS. RANSOME. She surely can, sir. TANNER. Well, you understand this is a very serious thing for me to do. If it becomes public I shall be faced with a very unpleasant situation. MRS. RANSOME. Oh, I promise you, Mr. Tanner, not a soul will know of it. We’ll take our dyin’ oaths, sir, all of us. TANNER. All right. But first let me lend your daughter this prayer-book. (_Takes prayer-book out of pocket; addressing Janet._) Here’s a prayer-book, Miss Ransome. I’ll go with your mother now into the back-parlor, and meanwhile I want you to read over this prayer. Try to seek its inner meeting. Come, Mrs. Ransome, you can carry the register, and we’ll come back later and discuss the funeral arrangements. MRS. RANSOME (_Takes the marriage register_). Oh, Mr. Tanner, I don’t know how to thank you. TANNER. Well, Mrs. Ransome—I shall expect your husband to send us something for our new mission to spread Christianity amongst the Chinese. (_Exit Tanner and Mrs. Ransome. Janet closes the door. She walks towards the couch, looks at the prayer-book, then at the couch. She flings the prayer-book to the other end of the room, smashing some of the ornaments on the mantle-shelf, and throws herself upon the side of the couch, sobbing wildly._) SLOW CURTAIN. “The Immutable” MARGARET C. ANDERSON In a world where flippancies arrange an effective concealment of beauty there are still major adventures in beauty to be had beneath the grinning surface. One of them is the discovery of those rare persons to whom flippancies are impossible—those splendid persons who take life simply and greatly. Several months ago I tried to write an impression of Emma Goldman, from an inadequate background of having merely heard two of her lectures. Since then I have met her. One realizes dimly that such spirits live somewhere in the world: history and legend and poetry have proclaimed them, and at times we hear of their passing; but to meet one on its valiant journey is like being whirled to some far planet and discovering strange new glories.