Kabanata Kabanata 34 · In this world of ours the activities of animal life seem to be

limited to a plane or circle, as if that were an inherent necessity to

the creatures of a planet which is perforce compelled to swing about

the sun. A fish, for instance, may not pass out of the circle of the

seas without courting annihilation; a bird may not enter the domain of

the fishes without paying for it dearly. From the parasites of the

flowers to the monsters of the jungle and the deep we see clearly the

circumscribed nature of their movements--the emphatic manner in

which life has limited them to a sphere; and we are content to note

the ludicrous and invariably fatal results which attend any effort on

their part to depart from their environment.

In the case of man, however, the operation of this theory of

limitations has not as yet been so clearly observed. The laws

governing our social life are not so clearly understood as to permit

of a clear generalization. Still, the opinions, pleas, and judgments

of society serve as boundaries which are none the less real for being

intangible. When men or women err--that is, pass out from the

sphere in which they are accustomed to move--it is not as if the

bird had intruded itself into the water, or the wild animal into the

haunts of man. Annihilation is not the immediate result. People may do

no more than elevate their eyebrows in astonishment, laugh

sarcastically, lift up their hands in protest. And yet so well defined

is the sphere of social activity that he who departs from it is

doomed. Born and bred in this environment, the individual is

practically unfitted for any other state. He is like a bird accustomed

to a certain density of atmosphere, and which cannot live comfortably

at either higher or lower level.

Lester sat down in his easy-chair by the window after his brother

had gone and gazed ruminatively out over the flourishing city. Yonder

was spread out before him life with its concomitant phases of energy,

hope, prosperity, and pleasure, and here he was suddenly struck by a

wind of misfortune and blown aside for the time being--his

prospects and purposes dissipated. Could he continue as cheerily in

the paths he had hitherto pursued? Would not his relations with Jennie

be necessarily affected by this sudden tide of opposition? Was not his

own home now a thing of the past so far as his old easy-going

relationship was concerned? All the atmosphere of unstained affection

would be gone out of it now. That hearty look of approval which used

to dwell in his father's eye--would it be there any longer?

Robert, his relations with the manufactory, everything that was a part

of his old life, had been affected by this sudden intrusion of

Louise.

"It's unfortunate," was all that he thought to himself, and

therewith turned from what he considered senseless brooding to the

consideration of what, if anything, was to be done.

"I'm thinking I'd take a run up to Mt. Clemens to-morrow, or

Thursday anyhow, if I feel strong enough," he said to Jennie after he

had returned. "I'm not feeling as well as I might. A few days will do

me good." He wanted to get off by himself and think. Jennie packed his

bag for him at the given time, and he departed, but he was in a

sullen, meditative mood.

During the week that followed he had ample time to think it all

over, the result of his cogitations being that there was no need of

making a decisive move at present. A few weeks more, one way or the

other, could not make any practical difference. Neither Robert nor any

other member of the family was at all likely to seek another

conference with him. His business relations would necessarily go on as

usual, since they were coupled with the welfare of the manufactory;

certainly no attempt to coerce him would be attempted. But the

consciousness that he was at hopeless variance with his family weighed

upon him. "Bad business," he meditated--"bad business." But he

did not change.

For the period of a whole year this unsatisfactory state of affairs

continued. Lester did not go home for six months; then an important

business conference demanding his presence, he appeared and carried it

off quite as though nothing important had happened. His mother kissed

him affectionately, if a little sadly; his father gave him his

customary greeting, a hearty handshake; Robert, Louise, Amy, Imogene,

concertedly, though without any verbal understanding, agreed to ignore

the one real issue. But the feeling of estrangement was there, and it

persisted. Hereafter his visits to Cincinnati were as few and far

between as he could possibly make them.