MRS. TREMAIN.
And Woman, with a flaming torch,
Sings, heedless, in a powder-mine.
Her careless smiles they warp and scorch
Man's heart, as fire the pine.
Cuts keener than the thrust of lance
Her glance.
The trouble about this story is that it really has no ending. Taking an ocean voyage is something like picking up an interesting novel, and reading a chapter in the middle of it. The passenger on a big steamer gets glimpses of other people's lives, but he doesn't know what the beginning was, nor what the ending will be.
The last time I saw Mrs. Tremain she was looking over her shoulder and smiling at Glendenning as she walked up the gangway plank at Liverpool, hanging affectionately on the arm of her husband. I said to myself at the time, "You silly little handsome idiot, Lord only knows what trouble you will cause before flirting has lost its charm for you."
