ng to be beautiful, or accomplished, or even, she was
afraid, agreeable; she found that such hard work with most people.
She was not ever--and that conclusion rested closely upon these
foregoing--to be married, and have a nice husband and a pretty
house, and go down stairs and make snow-puddings and ginger-snaps of
a morning, and have girls staying with her, and pleasant people in
to tea; like Asenath Scherman. She couldn't write a book,--that,
perhaps, was one of her premature decisions, since nobody knows till
they try, and the books are lying all round, in leaves, waiting only
to be picked up and put together,--or paint a picture; she couldn't
bear parties, and clothes were a fuss, and she didn't care to go to
Europe.

She thought she should rather like to be an old maid, if she could
begin right off, and have a little cottage out of town somewhere, or
some cosy rooms in the city. At least, she supposed that was what
she had got to be, and if that were settled, she did not see why it
might not be begun young, as well as married life. She could not
endure waiting, when a thing was to be done.

"Aunt Frances," she said one day, "I wish I had a place of my own.
What is the reason I can't? A girl can go in for Art, and set up a
studio; or she can go to Rome, and sculp, and study; she can learn
elocution, and read, whether people want to be read to or not; and
all that is Progress and Woman's Rights; why can't she set up a
_home_?"

"Because, I suppose, a house is not a home; and the beginning of a
home is just what she waits for. Meanwhile, if she has a father and
a mother, she would not put a slight on _their_ home, or fail of her
share of the duty in it."

"But nobody would think I failed in my duty if I were going to be
married. I'm sure mamma would think I was doing it beautifully. And
I never shall be married. Why can't I live something out for myself,
and have a place of my own? I have got money enough to pay my rent,
and I could do sewing in a genteel way, or keep a school for little
children. I'd rather--take in back stairs to wash," she exclaimed
vehemently, "than wait round for things, and be nothing! And I
should like to begin young, while there might be some sort of fun in
it. You'd like to come and take tea with me, wouldn't you, Aunt
Frank?"

"If it were all right that you should have separate teas of your
own."

"And if I had waffles. Well, I should. I think, just now, there's
nothing I should li