ed in the
same firm manner that Luke was treated when he hinted of making off to
sea.

"She'll spend her life loving Steve O'Valley and slaving for him,"
Trudy had confided to her dozen intimate friends, who never repeated
anything told them. "And he will spend his life being trampled on by
Beatrice Constantine, and after they are married she will be meaner
than ever to him. But he will love her all the more. Honest, business
men make the grandest husbands! College professors are lots harder to
get along with--but business men are as cross as two sticks in their
offices and at home they're so sweet it would melt pig iron."

The first plank in Trudy's platform was to marry a business man as
nearly like Steve O'Valley as possible. The second was--whether or not
she had a stunning home with brick fireplaces--never to spend her days
hanging round them. Her most envied friend lived in New York, and her
life was just one roof garden after another. She had everything heart
could desire--Oriental rugs, a grandfather's clock, a mechanical
piano, bird-of-paradise sprays for her hat, a sealskin ulster, and
plenty of alimony. And in case said business man proved unsatisfactory
Trudy had resolved to exchange him for unlimited legal support at the
earliest possible opportunity.

But she would not trespass upon Mary's platform, which consisted of
loving Steve O'Valley yet knowing of his love for the Gorgeous Girl,
as Mark Constantine had named his daughter. And of course Mary must
have realized that though she might earn three thousand a year as
private secretary she would eternally lock her desk at six o'clock and
trudge home to her mother and the starched window curtains, watch
Luke fall in love and scorn her advice, wash her hemstitched ruffles
and black her boots, and keep her secret as she grew older and plainer
of face!

Trudy often tried to decide just how handsome and how plain Mary was;
it was a matter for argument because the expression of Mary Faithful's
eyes largely determined her charm. She was a sober young person with
thick braids of brown hair and surprising niceties of dress, sensible
shoes, a frill of real lace on her serge dress, no hint of perfume, no
attempt at wearing party attire for business as the rest of the staff
not only attempted but unfortunately achieved. She had honest gray
eyes, the prophecy of true greatness in her face with its flexible
mouth and prominent cheek bones, the sort of woman who woul