Left to himself, Farrell lit a cigarette and filled his glass with wine. The current of his spirits had passed, but he felt extremely comfortable, and very shortly his mind stole after his wife, who was playing softly in the further room. He could see the yellow fabric of the distant curtains gleaming softly in the lamp-light. He had a desire for a certain air, but could not bring himself to interrupt. An atmosphere of content enwrapped him, and he leaned back lazily in his chair. Reflections came to him easily. Surely there was no greater comfort than this serene domestic happiness with its pleasant round of change. He had set Letty's love and his in a place too low for justice. It held a sweeter fragrance, it was touched with higher light, than the commoner affections of common people. A genial warmth flooded his soul, and his heart nestled into the comfort of desire. He was hot with wine, and his whole being thrilled with the content of his own reflections. He asked no better than this quiet ecstacy, repeated though a suave untroubled life. The personal charm of that fine body, the intimate distinctions of its subtle grace, the flow of that soft voice, the sweet attention of that devoted human soul these were his lot by fortune. They conducted him upon a future which was strangely attractive. He had loved her for some months more than a year, and earlier that day he had summoned his bridal thoughts down to a pedestrian level; but how in this hour of sudden illumination, flushed with the kindly influence of his wine, his afternoon fancy seemed to him ungenerously clipt and tame. Letty stood for what was noble in his narrow life; she invited him upon a high ideal way. If he were framed of grosser clay, it was she who would refine the fabric. The thought struck him sharply. He had learned to dispose his error in its proper place, among the sins, and he was not going to assign penalties unduly; but the bare fact came home to him that he was
