es and young enjoyment. They danced at night in their green
dresses and scarlet bean-blossom caps. They were encored by the shrewd
Glasgow audience, who recognized the beauty and freshness and spirit of
the four Jumping Beans. They walked through the gray Glasgow weather
down Sauchiehall Street and stared at the gay shopwindows. They walked
through wind-swept Kelvin Grove. They laughed at nothing, and gossiped
about nothing, and ate large teas and smoked cigarettes and lolled in
arm-chairs and read absurd stories and listened to Mrs. McMeikan's
anecdotes with hardly concealed mirth. Nor did Mrs. McMeikan care a jot
how much they laughed at her, "sae bonny was their laughter."

Everybody in the pantomime was very kind and very pleasant to Jenny.
Everybody gave her chocolates and ribbons and photographs signed "Yours
sincerely Lottie, or Amy, or Madge, or Violet." Everybody wanted her to
be as happy and jolly as possible. She was a great favorite with the
gallery boys, who whistled very loudly whenever she came on. She was
contented and merry. She did not feel that Winnie or Valerie or even
Eileen was trying to keep her down. She knew they were loyal and was
fond of them, but not so fond of them as they of her. Eileen, however,
thought she should be snubbed now and then.

Jenny was at a critical age when she went to Glasgow. It was the time of
fluttering virgin dreams, of quickening pulses and heartbeats
unaccountable. If Jenny had been at a high school, it would have been
the age of girlish adorations for mistresses. She might have depended
on the sanctifying touch of some older woman with sympathy. She might
have adopted the cloistral view of human intercourse, that light-hearted
world of little intimate jokes and sentimental readings and pretty
jealousies for the small advantage of sitting next some reverend mother
or calm and gentle sister.

However, it is not to be supposed that the transition from childhood to
womanhood was altogether unmarked. There were bound to be moments of
indestructible languor when she was content to be adored herself. Had
she met Abelard, Abelard could have made her an Heloise. They existed
truly enough, the passionate fevers and deep ardors of adolescence. They
flowed up in momentary caresses and died as soon in profound shynesses.
Now was the time to feed the sensuous imagination with poetry and lull
the frightened soul with music. She should have been taken to enchanted
lands.

But th