to that time of life when a young man and a girl who have
known each other always, are apt to drop the familiar Christian
name, and not take up anything else if they can help it. The time
when they carefully secure attention before they speak, and then use
nothing but pronouns in addressing each other. A girl, however, says
"Mr." a little more easily than a man says "Miss." The girl has
always been "Miss" to the world in general; the boy grows up to his
manly title, and it is not a special personal matter to give it to
him. There is something, even, in the use of it, which delicately
marks an attitude--not of distance, but of a certain maidenly and
bewitching consciousness--in a girl friend grown into a woman, and
recognizing the man.

"I don't see, exactly, Mr. Sunderline," said Marion. "Why shouldn't
a girl do the best she can? Will she be any the worse for it
afterwards? Why should the wives be all spoilt, any more than the
husbands?"

"Real work wouldn't spoil; only the sham and the show. Don't do it,
Marion. I wouldn't want my sister to, if I had one--there!"

He had not meant so directly to answer her question. He came to this
end involuntarily.

Marion felt herself tingle from head to foot with the suddenness of
the negative that she had asked for and brought down upon herself.
Now, if she acted, she must act in defiance of it. She felt angrily
ashamed, too, of the position in which his words put her; that of a
girl seeking notoriety, for mere show's sake; desiring to do a sham
work; to make a pretension without a claim. How did he know what her
claim might be? She had a mind to find out, and let him see. Sister!
what did he say that for? He needn't have talked about sisters, or
wives either, after that fashion. Spoilt! Well, what should she save
herself for? It was pretty clear it wouldn't be much to him.

The color died down, and she grew quiet, or thought she did. She
meant to be very quiet; very indifferent and calm. She lifted up her
eyes, and there was a sort of still flash in them. Now that her
cheek was cool, they burned,--burned their own color, blue-gray that
deepened almost into black.

"I've a good will, however," she said slowly, "to find out what I
_can_ do. Perhaps neither you nor I know that, yet. Then I can make
up my mind. I rather believe in taking what comes. A bird in the
hand is worth two in the bush. Very likely nobody will ever care
particularly whether I'm spoilt or not. And if I