his cheek,
calling him a dear. She was a new kind of Mary. Both of them felt the
better for the happening.

But when Steve came unceremoniously to Mary's apartment that same
evening, and Luke, very amusing and pathetic in his dignity, met him,
innocent of the tornado of emotion sweeping about his nice boyish
self--Mary almost wished the happening had not taken place. For a
moment she feared that Luke would try to take command of the
situation. There was something maternal in Mary's wishing Luke to be
ignorant of the hard things until the ripe time should come. And Luke,
quite willing to be released, since it was a trifle beyond his powers
of comprehension, retired to read a magazine and resolve to be ready
for action at the first sound of a sister's sob!

"I had to come," Steve said, simply. "I've been like the man who never
took time to walk because he had always been so busy running. I want
to walk but I don't know how."

Mary shook her head, really shaking it at herself. "Go away, Steve."

"I shall, after a little. But I had to come now. Her aunt said she saw
you and made quite a time of it. I'm sorry."

"I'm not. We are good friends, in a sense; far better than we have
ever been before. We found we were in accord--after all."

He looked at her in the same helpless fashion Luke had adopted.

"She will divorce you and marry someone else and continue to be a
Gorgeous Girl," Mary finished, quietly. "No terrible fate will
overtake her, nothing occur to rouse or develop her abilities. She
will remain young and apparently childish until she suddenly
reaches the stately dowager age overnight. Gorgeous Girls are like
gypsies--they should either be very young and lissom or old,
crinkled, and vested with powers of fortune-telling--the middle
stage is impossible. I realized this morning that I've been fooling
myself, all the heart in me trying to be 100 per cent efficient,
when I really want to be a Gorgeous Girl--fluffy, helpless--a
blooming little idiot. And I'm glad you have come so I can tell you."

"You don't mean that," he corrected.

"Being incurably honest I am bound to tell tales on myself. Yes, I do
mean it. I'd probably be rushing round for freckle lotion and patent
nose pins, to give me a Greek-boy effect. I'd take to swathing myself
in chiffons and have my hair a different tint each season. I think
every business woman would do the same, too--if she had the chance. We
have to fool ourselves to keep on go