that you of course know, even if you have
not met her, as you may easily have done, or her daughter, Miss Edith
Fay-Wyman, had not left town last week for their country house,
Rose-In-Flower, at Hyphen-by-the-Sea, a most delightful spot. Mr.
Edes and I have spent several week ends there. I am prevented from
spending longer than week ends because I am kept at home by my two
darling twin daughters. Mrs. Fay-Wyman is a sweet woman and I do so
wish I could have brought her here to-day. I am sure you would at
once fall madly in love with her and also with her daughter, Miss
Edith Fay-Wyman, such a sweet girl, and--" But here Margaret was
unexpectedly, even rudely interrupted by Miss Wallingford, who looked
at her indignantly.

"I never fall in love with women," stated that newly risen literary
star abruptly, "why should I? What does it amount to?"

"Oh, my dear," cried Margaret, "when you are a little older you will
find that it amounts to very much. There is a soul sympathy, and--"

"I don't think that I care much about soul sympathy," stated Miss
Wallingford, who was beginning to be angrily bewildered by her
guest's long sentences, which so far seemed to have no point as far
as she herself was concerned.

Margaret started a little. Again the doubt seized her if she were not
making a mistake, undertaking more than she could well carry through,
for this shy authoress was fast developing unexpected traits.
However, Margaret, once she had started, was not easily turned back.
She was as persistently clinging as a sweet briar.

"Oh, my dear," she said, and her voice was like trickling honey,
"only wait until you are a little older and you will find that you do
care, care very, very much. The understanding and sympathy of other
women will become very sweet to you. It is so pure and ennobling, so
free from all material taint."

"I have seen a great many women who were perfect cats," stated Miss
Martha Wallingford.

"Wait until you are older," said Margaret again and her voice seemed
fairly dissolving into some spiritual liquid of divine sweetness.
"Wait until you are older, my dear. You are very young, so young to
have accomplished a wonderful work which will live."

"Oh, well," said Martha Wallingford, and as she spoke she fixed
pitiless shrewd young eyes upon the face of the other woman, which
did not show at its best, in spite of veil and the velvety darkness
of hat-shadow. This hotel sitting-room was full of garish