tment for her lost years, came
poor Harriet's hopes and ambitions, the tragic plea of a woman who must
substitute for the optimism and energy of youth the grim determination
of middle age.

"I can do good work," she finished. "I'm full of ideas, if I could get a
chance to work them out. But there's no chance here. There isn't a woman
on the Street who knows real clothes when she sees them. They don't even
know how to wear their corsets. They send me bundles of hideous stuff,
with needles and shields and imitation silk for lining, and when I
turn out something worth while out of the mess they think the dress is
queer!"

Mrs. Page could not get back of Harriet's revolt to its cause. To her,
Harriet was not an artist pleading for her art; she was a sister and a
bread-winner deserting her trust.

"I'm sure," she said stiffly, "we paid you back every cent we borrowed.
If you stayed here after George died, it was because you offered to."

Her chin worked. She fumbled for the handkerchief at her belt. But
Sidney went around the table and flung a young arm over her aunt's
shoulders.

"Why didn't you say all that a year ago? We've been selfish, but we're
not as bad as you think. And if any one in this world is entitled to
success you are. Of course we'll manage."

Harriet's iron repression almost gave way. She covered her emotion with
details:--

"Mrs. Lorenz is going to let me make Christine some things, and if
they're all right I may make her trousseau."

"Trousseau--for Christine!"

"She's not engaged, but her mother says it's only a matter of a short
time. I'm going to take two rooms in the business part of town, and put
a couch in the backroom to sleep on."

Sidney's mind flew to Christine and her bright future, to a trousseau
bought with the Lorenz money, to Christine settled down, a married
woman, with Palmer Howe. She came back with an effort. Harriet had two
triangular red spots in her sallow cheeks.

"I can get a few good models--that's the only way to start. And if you
care to do hand work for me, Anna, I'll send it to you, and pay you the
regular rates. There isn't the call for it there used to be, but just a
touch gives dash."

All of Mrs. Page's grievances had worked their way to the surface. Sidney
and Harriet had made her world, such as it was, and her world was in
revolt. She flung out her hands.

"I suppose I must do something. With you leaving, and Sidney renting her
room and sleeping on a