Jewel Weed

Madeline was idly turning the pages of a magazine and now she held it

up.

"Look at these illustrations. Aren't they stunning?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Lenox. "I'm growing tired of that kind of

thing. It isn't art; it's a fad. The trouble with most of this modern

work is that it is too smart and fashionable. The clothes are more

important than the people."

"Quite a contrast to ancient art, where the people were everything and

the clothes nothing," Madeline retorted. "After all, I rather like the

modern way. The old Greeks were not a bit more real people. They were

nothing but types."

"And very decapitated and de-legged types," said Mrs. Lenox with a

laugh. "And dirty, too--like the Sleeping Beauty. Do you know, it gives

me the shivers to think of the Sleeping Beauty, lying there for ages,

with dust and cobwebs accumulating on her. I'm sure I hope the prince

gave her a thorough dusting before he kissed her."

"You are horribly realistic, Vera--a person with no imagination."

"I think I have just shown a truly vivid imagination."

"It is the business of imagination to build up a world of loveliness and

order."

"I don't agree with you. I think it is the business of imagination to

project things as they really are. I don't want to slip out from under

reality and see only beauty. Beware, Madeline, or you will degenerate

into a mere optimist."

"Isn't it funny that if your opponent can call you an optimist, he feels

that he has delivered a knock-down blow to all your arguments?" Mrs.

Lenox suddenly pulled herself together and turned toward Lena, who sat

silently drinking her tea and taking no part in the conversation.

"Did you tell me that your mother is an invalid, Miss Quincy?"

"Not exactly; but she can't go about much. It seems to play her out to

walk."

"It must be very hard on her to stay in the house all the time. I wonder

if I might take her to drive with me once in a while?" A scarlet flush

passed over Lena's face at the very idea of her mother's querulous

vulgarity being displayed to this woman, and Mrs. Lenox could not help

seeing her embarrassment.

A little wave of pity swept over the older woman. It must be a cruel

fate to be ashamed of one's surroundings. Mrs. Lenox herself was one of

those serious-minded persons who regard their opportunities as

responsibilities. She waged constant warfare with the dominion of

externals, and believed with all her heart that the life was more than

raiment; but a momentary doubt assailed her as to whether, after all, it

might not be easier to conquer things when one owned them, rather than

when one had to do without them. It has generally been Dives who is

represented as enslaved by the goods of this world. Perhaps Lazarus, if

his heart is absorbed in sordid longing for what others have and he has

not, stands just as poor a chance of the kingdom of Heaven.