and looked down upon the
flashing waters of the Sound.

"Yes; that's it," she repeated softly--"one must live."

Sam looked at her--but, finding that to do so made speech difficult,
looked hurriedly away. He admitted to himself that it was one of those
occasions, only too frequent with him, when his indignant sympathy was
heightened by the fact that "the woman was very fair." He conceded
that. He was not going to pretend to himself that he was not prejudiced
by the outrageous beauty of Sister Anne, by the assault upon his
feelings made by her uniform--made by the appeal of her profession, the
gentlest and most gracious of all professions. He was honestly disturbed
that this young girl should devote her life to the service of selfish
sick people.

"If you do it because you must live, then it can easily be arranged; for
there are other ways of earning a living."

The girl looked at him quickly, but he was quite sincere--and again she
smiled.

"Now what would you suggest?" she asked. "You see," she said, "I have no
one to advise me--no man of my own age. I have no brothers to go to.
I have a father, but it was his idea that I should come here; and so
I doubt if he would approve of my changing to any other work. Your own
work must make you acquainted with many women who earn their own living.
Maybe you could advise me?"

Sam did not at once answer. He was calculating hastily how far his
salary would go toward supporting a wife. He was trying to remember
which of the men in the office were married, and whether they were
those whose salaries were smaller than his own. Collins, one of the copy
editors, he knew, was very ill-paid; but Sam also knew that Collins was
married, because his wife used to wait for him in the office to take
her to the theatre, and often Sam had thought she was extremely well
dressed. Of course Sister Anne was so beautiful that what she might wear
would be a matter of indifference; but then women did not always look
at it that way. Sam was so long considering offering Sister Anne a life
position that his silence had become significant; and to cover his real
thoughts he said hurriedly:

"Take type-writing, for instance. That pays very well. The hours are not
difficult."

"And manicuring?" suggested Sister Anne.

Sam exclaimed in horror.

"You!" he cried roughly. "For you! Quite impossible!"

"Why for me?" said the girl.

In the distress at the thought Sam was jabbing his stick into the g