The Spectator., 1914-11-20
CHAPTER III.

uel Hill, my soul is the exact hue of tea with lemon in it, shading of to the color of jam sandwich"
 With petulant little gesture, Iris turned from the window out of which she had been gazing at the slowly darkening city.
 You always spoil my best ideas!" she said. "Why can't you reply sym pathetically? But you shall have tea, of course"
 As she crossed over to seat herself beside him. he noted the shade that clouded her eyes. She settled her self in her corner of the sofa and he leaned over. taking both her hands in his.
 You mustn't be cross." he said, ten derly.
 'I think you owe it to me to be a little more-more romantic! No! That is a poor word to express my meaning. A little more poetic! Why, you don't even look like an artist any more!"
 Don't IF" said he, slowly rising and regarding himself in mirror opposite.
 ''Iris." said he after moment of si- lent inspection, must fellow really have long hair in order to be a good painter. do you think?"
 Don't be absurd!" she answered; i; it isn't that, of course! But it Is something deeper. something more i'm portant, fir. Why, if did not see the lovely things you do with your brush, could not believe you were m artist. You never give out your temperament in any other way. and am hungry for it."
 For what?" he asked. "A lot of silly talk about the color of your soul ? Lord! grille. can't you learn to live those things instead of talking about them? Can't you see that they lose in value if expressed in any but the highest way? One has to keep ones mouth shut in order that all the strength be left for ones hand"
 And apply none of it to daily life?" she cried.
 Live it: don't apply it," he an- swered dryly.
 "One grows by expression!" she de- clared: "by expression of every sort. My fathers friends. lots of the people who come here. are living splendidly inside themselves. and they give it out. and consequently they are inter esting. When I became engaged to 1. you l thought was going to find the same sort of intercourse, only intensi- ned. But you are not what thought you were. and my soul is unsatisfied."
 Look here. dearest" said he lightly, "d0nt go for me the first day you got home. It's long while-two en- tire weeks-since we have been to- gether, and here we go. of the handle, first thing. Let's cut 1t out, and be sweet to each other instead. Tell me about the last couple of weeks. You're not a very satisfactory correspondent, you know. What did you do at the farm?"
 'T walked, and rode horseback. as usual" she replied. There was time for once for me to learn to know my self: to commune with my inner con- sciousness. read Swinburne. Do been blue. like miner"
 Sam Hill helped himself to a fifth tam sandwich before replying. That must have been great; espe- cially the riding" he exclaimed. And that reminds me. Iris, there Is a won- derful horse at the Winter garden. I'll take seats for tomorrow. if you cay %. You'll like 1t. I'm sure. There are some bully acrobats. too."
 With the air of a tragedy queen Miss vanderpool arose and swept to the center of the room. her gray gown ooiling about her feet like clouds of smoke. Very young she looked. and quito like . child dressed up and act ing play. But. to her own mind. she was . woman hurt in her sensitive soul. Withal. she had a certain dig nifty despite her youth. consequent. perhaps. on the position which had been hers since the death of the mother she could scarcely remember.
 "Why. what on earth is the matter?" cried Hill. admiring her immensely. .unspeakably.
 "Matter?" she cried tragically; you ask me that? tell you that my soul is hungry-starved! and you retort with an invitation to a music-hall! It is unthinkable! How can you? You have no sympathy, no understanding. I hate yous There!"
 She tuyhed from him abruptly.
 ''lrisy he cried. springing to her side and putting his arm about her. ~You must not say such things, you silly child. When leave my work want to play-1ust to play like child and . trained horse amuses me; frankly and truly, do like 1t. You hardly ever laugh for sheer merri- mont. It's most neurotic. I'm darned If 1t isn't!"
 'T'm not silly child." cried Iris