little girl went to
school with all the little girls on the Hill and was asked to attend
their parties. Her name was Penelope, after George's mother, who had
never expected it--the name being so old-fashioned--and was
correspondingly delighted and had given her much jewelry already.

Eleanor, in so far as she mentioned Molly at all, had expressed her
opinion that to live with Mrs. Julia Carter Sykes was the most
respectable thing Molly had yet done, and added that there were
exceptional opportunities in more ways than one for the woman who held
that position--would perhaps even have called on her there, but Molly
never asked her to. Kathryn, to her parents' surprise, developed a
stodgy but unblinking antagonism to her sister, for what she called
Molly's lowering of her sense of what was due to herself, and said
coldly that she had no doubt her sister's life was easier now, but that
it was un-American.

Un-American it may have been, but easier it assuredly was not. Unlike
the factory-girls and clerks for whose benefit Mrs. Julia Carter Sykes
gave readings from her unpublished works, Molly's hours were not
limited, and her responsibility grew as her executive ability became
increasingly manifest. The thousands of women to whom the celebrity's
manifold occupations, publicities, hospitalities and charities were an
endless wonder and discussion might have marvelled less had they been
able to follow Molly's crowded days and nights and peep through the
littered desk and scribbled calendar of her study.

To amusement and interest, succeeded fatigue and interest, and to
these, fatigue alone. Each hurried, various day became a space of time
to be got through, merely, and Mrs. Julia Carter Sykes's heavy sigh as
she curled into her wicker-inset Circassian-walnut bed was no more
heartfelt than her secretary's. If Molly had ever envied Mrs. Julia,
she had long ceased to, and indeed, on that final afternoon when she
laid her dark, braided head on her arms and cried on her desk, she felt
as sorry for the authoress as for herself.

Mr. Julia Carter Sykes (as many of his friends called him) sat opposite
her, biting his nails. He was well dressed, fond of auction-bridge,
and travelled abroad in the interests of some vaguely comprehended firm.

"This will just about kill the madam," he said despondently.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sykes, but I really must--I must," Molly gulped.

"It isn't money, is it?" he asked. "Because though I'm