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. The smoke had penetrated the room in which the baby slept, and the tot had waked and walked into the room. It was then that some psychic impulse transmitted a message to the mother, and amid the gaiety of the ballroom her mind recognized its portent. But her fears were fought with light and banter, and finally conquered. The child was rescued by firemen and brought to the hospital where its father was surgeon. And again, in the ballroom, the persistent message communicated its ominous import to the mother’s mind. She decided to return home. She saw the destruction, called vainly for her child, surmised it had perished in the flames of her selfishness. And amid the ruins of regret, her mind found oblivion. The child stretched forth its hands to its unknowing mother, the child-voice called, and the cry pierced the wreck of the slumber, and the light came to her mind. The father faltered to see the child in the penitent mother’s arms, and he took both little women to his breast while the flame of love consumed the memory of the woman’s dereliction.