The House Where Love Lived

"Aunt Francesca," she said, one day, when the two were sewing on dainty garments destined to adorn Juliet, "do you think Romie will ever come back to me?"

"Not in the sense you mean, dear," replied Madame, gently. "We live in a world of change and things are never the same, even from day to day."

"She made him think I was a tomboy, and now she'll teach him not to love me. Why does she want everything?"

"Some women do, when they marry. Many are not content to be sweetheart and wife, but must take the place of mother and sisters too. But remember, Juliet, when a woman closes a man's heart against those of his own blood, the one door she has left open will some day be slammed in her own face."

"And then--?"

"Then the other doors will swing ajar, turning slowly on rusty hinges, but the women for whom they are opened will never cross the threshold again."

"Why?"

"Because they have ceased to care. There is nothing so dead as a woman's dead love. When the fire goes out and no single ember is left, the ashes are past the power of flame to rekindle."

"Do you think that, after a while, I won't care for Romie any more?"

"Not as you used to--that is impossible even now."

Juliet sighed and hastily wiped away a tear. With a quick, sure stroke, her life seemed to have been divided.