“But, Horace, this is no theology. That is what I think so dreadful about it. If people would only not make a religion of it and accept the utterance of the so-called spirits for their guide in spiritual maters.” “It seems to me spirits should be good guides in spiritual matters,” said Mr. Wylie, smiling. “Horace, Mr. Smalley said that, as a rule, false religions always led to sexual immorality; that we would find the history of spiritism associated with divorces and worse. Husbands separating from their wives, wives from their husbands, minds becoming unbalanced, business neglected, and a general lowering of the whole social fabric, mentally and morally. You know, Horace, many spiritists are free-lovers.” “I am surprised that my wife has permitted herself to listen to such utterances. Hereafter, I prefer you do not go to hear Rev. Mr. Smalley. I will take you with me.” “And I will _not_ go with you to any more of those horrid seances!” said Mrs. Wylie. “Very well. I shall not compel you to do so. But this childish anger and lack of self-control is very distasteful to me. I hope I may not have a repetition of it.” Mr. Wylie arose and left the room, while his wife threw herself upon a sofa and shed tears of anger and grief over this experience of marital infelicity. A small wedge may divide in halves a tree, but when divided no power on earth can unite them as closely as before; and little cracks in the soil of home life may form a place for germ deposits in which dissensions, strife, and all manner of unpleasantness are bred. Mrs. Wylie would not have confessed to her dearest friends that her life the succeeding winter was less happy than before, but it was true she felt a growing estrangement between herself and husband. He was, possibly, as kind and indulgent as ever, treating her as a fond parent might treat a wayward child, but she missed the old-time confidences and evening talks. Probably there had never been that true unity of soul with soul that should constitute the real marriage, but Elinor Wylie’s husband had always seemed so proud of her, and fond, that until this winter she had felt no lack in his affection. But, alas, so small a thing will turn and divide a shallow stream, and when turned, how far apart the separate branches may run. And the ideal marriage of true unity of thought and purpose is so rarely consummated. Hence the world of divided lives. Mrs. Wylie felt that they were drifting away from each other, and every wife knows what that may be. To feel the division growing wider and wider, deeper and more impassable, and be impotent to stop it.