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discontent. For months he had known the woman he condemned, and in his inner being there had been aroused for her, a strange interest. To him, she had unfolded many of her artistic dreams, but he did not comprehend, for he had been nurtured in a narrow school, and had embraced in his smooth and successful career, but few of fierce experiences. Nor was he completely assured of the sincerity of his motive. A dim, shadowy belief was slowly forcing its way through his consciousness that he had spoken for other purposes than the mere desire to uplift and purify public taste. He had learned to realize, inconsistent as it may seem, that the woman was really noble of heart and character, but his education and environment made him believe that she was debasing the noble gifts with which Nature had endowed her, and he was preaching as much to the individual woman as he had apparently been preaching to the public mind. The complex nature of his attitude to the great question troubled him, and a furrowed brow and anxious eye told a tale of mental agony. Now that he had spoken, he was filled with a grave doubt as to the righteousness of his conduct, and he was paying the penalty of all men who are sensitively moulded. Then the thought came to him that he was using his pulpit, not for mankind but for himself, and he questioned his right to such a course of action. He could not, and would not, deny to himself that the artist possessed for him an enormous attraction. A vague dream had often come to him that he could breathe into her soul nobler and purer dreams, but he put it away each time with a weaker struggle against the passion that slowly made its inroads into his soul. She was a Bohemian. She broke all links in the chain of custom and