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hear her heart beat。 Twice； thrice； words died upon her lips。
When was she ever so timid before！ If he would only give her an
encouraging glance！ If he would only turn a little towards her
and relax that haughty； unbending attitude…
〃Mr。 Van Berg；〃 she said at last； in a voice that was constrained
and hard from her effort to be calm； 〃you seem very vindictive
towards that poor little flower。〃
He turned partially towards her and coldly said； 〃Good evening Miss
Mayhew；〃 then； after a second； added carelessly： 〃I admit that
this worm…eaten bud is rather vexatious。 It haswhat is left
of itexquisite color； and in form nature had designed it to be
perfect； but〃 （with a slight contemptuous shrug） 〃you see what it
is；〃 and he tossed it down into the roadway。
Her face was very pale and her voice low； as she answered： 〃And
so you condemn it to be trampled under foot。〃
〃I condemn it！ Not at all。 Its own imperfection condemns it。〃
〃The result is all the same；〃 she replied； with sudden change
of manner。 〃It is tossed contemptuously away to be trodden under
foot。 Dull and ignorant as you discovered me to be； Mr。 Van Berg；
I am not so stupid but that I can understand you this evening。
Imperfect as I am I could pity that unfortunate flower whose
fragrance rose to you like a low appeal for a little consideration；
at least。 Would it not have bloomed as perfectly as the others if
the worm had let it alone？ But； I suppose； with artist； if roses
or human lives are imperfect； that is the end of them。 Misfortune
counts for nothing。〃
Van Berg listened in surprise to these words； and his haughty
complacency was decidedly disturbed。 He was about to reply that
〃Evil chosen and cherished was not a misfortune but a fault；〃 when
she turned from him with more than her former coldness and entered
the house。
An impulse that he would have found difficult to analyze led him
to descend the steps and pick up the symbolic bud； now torn and
withering fast； and to place it between the leaves of his note…book。
If she had only seen this act it would have made a great difference；
but； ever present to her thought； it lay where he had tossed it；
the emblem of herself。
Chapter XXXII。 The Dangers of Despair。
Discouragement and despair are dangerous and often destructive to
character。 This would be especially true of one like Ida Mayhew；
for even in her imperfection she possessed a simplicity and unity
which made it impossible for a part of such moral nature as she
possessed to stand； if another part were undermined or broken down。
The whole fabric would stand or fall together。
She had been a wayward child； more neglected than petted； and
had naturally developed a passion for having her own will； right
or wrong。 As she grew older； her extraordinary dower of beauty
threatened to be a fatal one。 It brought her attention continuous
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 he