nt of view, Jane dear," the stubborn lips
persisted. "But you see it's not my point of view. You're older than
I----"

Jane smiled.

"Hoity toity, Miss! I'm just twenty-eight and you're twenty-four. Age is
not measured by calendars these days."

"I didn't mean that," the girl apologized. "But you're an artist. You're
established and distinguished. You belong to a different world."

Jane Anderson laid her hand softly on her friend's.

"That's just it, dear. I do belong to a different world--a big new world
of whose existence you are not quite conscious. You are living in the
old, old world in which women have groped for thousands of years. I
don't mind confessing that I undertook this job of getting you to pose
for Gordon for a double purpose. I wished to do something to repay
the debt I owe him--but I wished far more to be of help to you. You're
living in the Dark Ages, and it's a dangerous thing for a pretty girl to
live in the Dark Ages and date her letters from New York to-day----"

"I don't understand you in the least."

"And I'm afraid you never will."

She paused suddenly and changed her tone.

"Tell me now, are you happy in your work?"

"I'm earning sixty dollars a month--my position is secure----"

"But are you happy in it?"

"I don't expect to teach school all my life," was the vague answer.

"Exactly. You loathe the sight of a school-room. You do the task they
set you because your father's a clergyman and can't support his
big family. You're waiting and longing for the day of your
deliverance--isn't it so?"

"Perhaps."

"And that day of deliverance?"

"Will come when I meet my Fate!"

"You'll meet him, too!"

"I will----"

Jane Anderson shook her fine head.

"And may the Lord have mercy on your poor little soul when you do!"

"And why, pray?"

"Because you're the most helpless and defenseless of all the things He
created."

Mary smiled.

"I've managed to take pretty good care of myself so far."

"And you will--until the thunderbolt falls."

"The thunderbolt?"

"Until you meet your Fate."

"I'll have someone to look after me then."

"We'll hope so anyhow," was the quick retort.

"But can't you see, Jane dear, that we look at life from such utterly
different angles. You glory in your work. It's your inspiration--the
breath you breathe. I don't believe in women working for money. I don't
believe God ever meant us to work when He made us women. He made
us women for somethi