admiration and flattery from those who cared nothing for her
personally。 She had received in childhood but little of the praise
which love prompts； the tender； indulgent idolatry which； although
dangerous indeed to one's best development； sometimes softens and
humanizes； instead of rendering selfish and arrogant。
Mrs。 Mayhew petted and scolded her child according to her mood；
but was quite consistent in her general neglect。 Mr。 Mayhew was
a tired； busy man； who visited at his own home rather than lived
there。 Thus the growing girl was left chiefly to her own impulses；
and average human nature ensured that the habit of thinking of
herself first and of pleasing herself at all times should be early
formed。 Then； as she saw and became capable of understanding the
homage that waits on mere beauty； the world over； pride and vanity
grew in overshadowing rankness。 The attention she received； however；
was chiefly made up of the bold stare of strangers； and the open
flattery of those who admired her beauty as they would that of a
picture； unconsciously but correctly leaving the impression that
they cared for her only because of her beauty。 That the girl's
nature should grow hard and callous under such influences was what
might have been expected。
Neglect and a miserable sham of an education had dwarfed her mind。
She had been 〃finished〃 by an ultra fashionable school before she
understood the meaning of the studies which she passed over in a
dainty quickstep； scarcely touching the surface。
Her heart and moral nature were almost equally undeveloped。 Hitherto
she had known but little experience tending to evoke gentle feeling
or generous action。 She had confounded the few genuine admirers；
who； infatuated with her beauty； endowed her with all heavenly
graces； awaiting only the awakening hand of their love； with the
heartless or brainless fellows who were not particular about heavenly
graces； provided a girl had a fine figure and a fair face。
When the artist first met her at the concert garden； she was in
truth a modern Undine。 She had feminine qualities and vices； but
not a woman's soul。 She was not capable of any strong； womanly
action or feeling。 Her scheme of life was simple indeed； although
she was learning to be very artful in carrying it out。 It was to
have 〃a good time；〃 as she would phrase it； and at any and every
cost to others。 After wearying of the life of a belle； she proposed
to marry the best establishment that came her way； and became a
leader of fashion。
It would seem that not a few fine ladies carry out this simple scheme
of life； and never receive a woman's soul。 There are Undines at
sixty as well as at sixteen。
The artist had been attracted by her beauty； like so many others；
but unlike others he had not （as was the case with not a few sensible
men） given an admiring glance at the face； and then； recognizing the
fact that there was not a woman back of it； passed on indifferently；
nor had he bestowed upon her imaginary virtues； and much less had
he been satisfied with more flesh and blood。
His manner had been exploring； questioning。 He was looking for
her woman's soul； even though he might find it unawakened； like
the fabled beauty in the mythical castle。
His keen eyes had disturbed her equanimity from the first。 As he
pursued his quest； her undefined fears and misgivings increased。
At last she was compelled to follow his questioning glances； and
look past outward beauty to her real self within。 From that hour
the rank and evil weeds of pride and vanity began to wither。 Honest
self…scrutiny was like a knife at their roots。
But these traits give a transient support like a false stimulant。
As they failed there was nothing to take their placeno faith in
God； no self…respect or self…reliance。 She could not turn to her
own family for sustaining sympathy； such as many fin din their
homes； and which is all the more grateful because not inquisitive
nor expressed in formal terms。 In her selfish pleasure…seeking
life she found that she had made an endless number of acquaintances；
but no friends。 She had not even the resources of a cultivated
mind that could exist upon its own stores through this sudden famine
which had impoverished her world； nor could she think of a single
innocent； attractive； pursuit by which she could fill the weary
days。 She was like a child that had dwelt in a tropical oasis； the
flowers and fruits of which had seemed as limitless as its extent。
She had supposed that the whole world would be like this oasis；
and the only necessity ever imposed on her would be that of choice
from its rich profusion。 But ere she was aware she had lost
herself in a desert； the oasis had vanished like a mirage； and she
had no choice at all。 That which her heart craved with an intensity
which fairly made it ache； seemed as hopeless as a sudden bloom
and fruitage from arid sands。
Instead of going down to supper she returned to the solitude of
her own room； but the apathy of the earlier part of the day had
vanished utterly。 Indeed； body ad soul seemed to quiver with pain
like a wounded nerve。 Anger； which had given a brief support；
faded out； and left only shame and despair as in memory she saw
the emblem； representing herself； tossed contemptuously into the
carriage…way by the man she loved。
〃I remember reading；〃 she groaned； 〃when at school； how conquerors
put their feet on the necks of their captives。 He has put his
spurning foot on my heart。 Oh； hateful riddle！ Why should I love
the man that despises me？〃
Her mother； and then Stanton； called at her door and asked her to
come down to supper。
〃No；〃 she said； briefly to each。
〃If you knew what people were saying and surmising you would not
continue to make a spectacle of yourself；〃 said her cousin； through
the closed door。
〃That is one reason why I do not come down；〃 she replied。 〃I'm
not in the mood to make a spectacle of myself。 I have been shown
how one perfect member of society regards me； and I am not equal
to meeting any more faultless people to…night。〃
〃Oh； nonsense！〃 cried Stanton； irritably。 〃You must come down。〃
〃Break in the door then； and carry me down；〃 was the sharp reply。
With a muttered oath he descended to the supper…room； and his
moody and absent manner revealed to Mrs。 Mayhew and Van Berg that
his interview with his cousin had been anything but satisfactory。
For a time the artist seemed rather 〃distrait〃 also； as if a memory
were troubling him。 He often looked around when any one entered；
and his eyes at times rested on Ida's vacant chair。 But he
soon passed under the spell of Jennie Burton's genial talk； which
seemingly glowed with the sunshine that had enveloped her during
her quest of the roses； and the poor girl； who was fairly quivering
with pain because of his significant act and words on the piazza；
was forgotten。
She knew she was forgotten。 The hum of voices； the cheerful clatter
from the lighted supper…room； came up to her darkening apartment；
and only increased her sense of loneliness and isolation。 Her quick
ear caught Van Berg's mellow laugh； evoked by one of Miss Burton's
sallies。
It is a dreary sensation to find one's self wholly forgotten by mere
acquaintances； but to find that we have no place in the thoughts
of those we love； seems in a certain sense like being annihilated。
But for poor Ida was reserved a deeper suffering still； since she
believed that the man she loved did not dismiss her from his mind
indifferently； but rather with aversion and disgust。
She felt her isolation terribly。 To whom could she turn in
her trouble？ The thought of her father was both a reproach and a
humiliation。 He was drifting hopelessly； and almost unresistingly；
towards final wreck； and； so far from seeking to restrain； she
had added to the evil impetus。 She shrank from the very idea of
confiding in her garrulous； superficial mother。 She felt that her
cousin detested as well as despised her。 The flattered girl； who
a little before thought the world was at her feet； now felt friendless
and alone； scarcely tolerated by her own family； and scorned by
others。
Of course she exaggerated the evil of her lot。 The young an
inexperienced are ever prone to look； for the time； on the earlier
misfortunes of their lives as irretrievable。 In after years they
may smile at their causeless despair； but the world is full of
tragedies that to the wise and sober minded had slight cause。
Ida's troubles； however； were scarcely slight； and she； above all
others； was the least fitted to bear trouble and thwarting。 To be
refused anything would be a new and disagreeable experience； but
to be denied that which her heart craved supremely； tended to call
out all the passionate recklessness of her ungoverned； undisciplined
nature。 The child from whom something is taken； will often cast
away in anger all that is offered in its place； and in like hasty
folly many a man and woman； to their eternal regret； have thrown
away life itself。 Suicide is often the product of passion as well
as of despair； the irritable； headlong protest against evils that
might have been and should have been remedied。
As Ida sat alone in her desolation and shame； the thought
of self…destruction had surged up in the lava of other tumultuous
thoughts occasioned by the artist's scorn； and at first she had
shrunk from it with natural and instinctive dread。 But the awful
thought began to fascinate her like a dizzy height from which it
seems so easy to fall and end everything。
In her morbid condition and to her poisoned imagination the act
did not appear so revolting after all。 She had been made familiar
with it in her favorite novels。 She had often seen it simulated
with applause on the stage； with all the melodramatic accessorie