“Of course,” the girl answered, with a sigh. “Isn’t disappointment always fragmentary?” she asked, sadly. “How do you mean?” “Why, happiness is like something complete; and disappointment like something broken off, to me. A story that ends well seems rounded; and one that ends badly leaves you waiting, as you do just after some one dies.” “Is that why you didn’t like my story?” Ray asked, imprudently. He added quickly, at an embarrassment which came into her face, “Oh, I didn’t mean to add to my offence! I came here partly to excuse it. I was too persistent the other night.” “Oh, no!” “Yes, I was. I had no right to an opinion from you. I knew it at the time, but I couldn’t help it. You were right to refuse. But you can tell me how my poem strikes you. It isn’t offered for publication!” He hoped that she would praise some passages that he thought fine; but she began to speak of the motive, and he saw that she had not missed anything, that she had perfectly seized his intention. She talked to him of it as if it were the work of some one else, and he said impulsively, “If I had you to criticise my actions beforehand, I should not be so apt to make a fool of myself.” Mrs. Denton came back. “I ran off toward the last. I didn’t want to be here when Peace began to criticise. She’s so severe.” “She hasn’t been at all severe this time,” said Ray. “I don’t see how she could be,” Mrs. Denton returned. “All that I heard was splendid.” “It’s merely a fragment,” said Ray, with grave satisfaction in her flattery. “You must finish it, and read us the rest of it.” Ray looked at Peace, and something in her face made him say, “I shall never finish it; it isn’t worth it.” “Did Peace say that?” “No.” Mrs. Denton laughed. “That’s just like Peace. She makes other people say the disagreeable things she thinks about them.” “What a mysterious power!” said Ray. “Is it hypnotic suggestion?” He spoke lightly toward Peace, but her sister answered: “Oh, we’re full of mysteries in this house. Did you know that my husband had a Voice?” “A voice! Is a voice mysterious?” “This one is. It’s an internal Voice. It tells him what to do.” “Oh, like the demon of Socrates.” “I _hope_ it isn’t a demon!” said Mrs. Denton. “That depends upon what it tells him to do,” said Ray. “In Socrates’ day a familiar spirit could be a demon without being at all bad. How proud you must be to have a thing like that in the family!” “I don’t know. It has its inconveniences, sometimes. When it tells him to do what we don’t want him to,” said Mrs. Denton. “Oh, but think of the compensations!” Ray urged. “Why, it’s equal to a ghost.” “I suppose it is a kind of ghost,” said Mrs. Denton, and Ray fancied she had the pride we all feel in any alliance, direct or indirect, with the supernatural. “Do you believe in dreams?” she asked abruptly. “Bad ones, I do,” said Ray. “We always expect bad dreams and dark presentiments to come true, don’t we!”