t? Especially when the university's
farms and workshops and factories give every student, man and woman, a
chance to earn a good living. I tell you Adelaide, the time is coming
when every kind of school except kindergarten will be self-supporting.
And then you'll see a human race that is really fine, really capable, has
a real standard of self-respect."

As Madelene talked, her face lighted up and all her latent magnetism was
radiating. Adelaide, for no reason that was clear to her, yielded to a
surge of impulse and, half-laughing, half in tears, suddenly kissed
Madelene. "No wonder Arthur is mad about you, stark mad," she cried.

Madelene was for a moment surprised out of that perfect
self-unconsciousness which is probably the rarest of human qualities, and
which was her greatest charm to those who knew her well. She blushed
furiously and angrily. Her and Arthur's love was to her most sacred,
absolutely between themselves. When any outsider could observe them,
even her sister Walpurga, she seemed so much the comrade and
fellow-worker in her attitude toward him that people thought and spoke of
their married life as "charming, but cold." Alone with him, she showed
that which was for him alone--a passion whose strength had made him
strong, as the great waves give their might to the swimmer who does not
shrink from adventuring them. Adelaide's impulsive remark, had violated
her profoundest modesty; and in the shock she showed it.

"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Adelaide, though she did not realize
wherein she had offended. Love was an unexplored, an unsuspected mystery
to her then--the more a mystery because she thought she knew from having
read about it and discussed it and reasoned about it.

"Oh, I understand," said Madelene, contrite for her betraying expression.
"Only--some day--when you really fall in love--you'll know why I was
startled."

Adelaide shrank within herself. "Even Madelene," thought she, "who
has not a glance for other people's affairs, knows how it is between
Dory and me."

It was Madelene's turn to be repentant and apologetic. "I didn't mean
quite that," she stammered. "Of course I know you care for Dory--"

The tears came to Del's eyes and the high color to her cheeks. "You
needn't make excuses," she cried. "It's the truth. I don't care--in
_that_ way."

A silence; then Madelene, gently: "Was this what you came to tell me?"

Adelaide nodded slowly. "Yes, though I didn't know it."

"Why te