The Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1914)

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TEE ETHICS OF TEE PROFESSION 31 getful of the other's very existence, will run their separate ways for years; then, quite without preliminary, they will verge again. For what? Is there, then, a preconceived scheme of things? Is the checkerboard laid out before this life, and all the moves planned in readiness ? Has each man his destiny awaiting him? Are we the pieces on the board? Or are we the captains of our fate? Who knows? Furthermore, oh, merciful Veil, who wants to know? like the way in which a magnet draws a piece of half-resisting steel in Olive Gordon's approach to Ralph. So intelligible is the language of the eyes, so clarion clear is youth's call to youth, that these two met on a footing perilously close at second sight. What did the life-long devotion of a man like Gordon mean, when young, gray eyes looked passionate adoration into hers? What were issues, and spiritual battles, and laurels dearly bought to the wild "how'd you like to get in on an easy THING — A SURE THING?" It was not many days later when, the doctor's office hours over, the maid presented Mr. Ralph Harris' card, and that gentleman was ushered in, gray eyes roving the room, while his lips explained his errand — the delivery of a letter from his father. "It's business, no doubt," the doctor said, glancing at the envelope, "and I'm very dull when it comes to the technicalities of the Street. If you'll excuse me, my boy, I'll run into the office and master the contents. Ah! here is Mrs. Gordon — she will play hostess in absence of the host." There was something curiously leap of the blood ? What was faith— what was honor — what was the sacramental bond — to this? "It's wonderful," young Harris was breathing, as he detained her hand; "isn't it?" Olive nodded mutely and beckoned him to be seated. "We must see each other often," the insistent young voice went on — "mustn't we?" "We cant"— Olive breathed the words fearfully — "you— you must remember — that I'm married " "That's all I can think of." The note of despair was tragical— to one wise in falling leaves, and changing