Through Flaming Gates
Peeved and piqued, she sat in fretful mood before the fireplace. Perhaps in the fleeting flames she saw the lights and sights of the ballroom. She chided herself for having married a man who was wedded to his professional duties. Of course, she admitted to herself, the hospital required her husband's duties. The brilliance of the ballroom beckoned with boisterous invitation to her yielding thoughts. She put the baby girl to sleep, and went to the ball alone. The lights were bright, the people were merry and she was happy. But at home a great record was writing itself on the walls, writing mother's negligence in writhing flames. The fire in the hearth, left to its own mischievous irresponsibility, had set the house ablaze.
