example has accomplished."

The sincerity of the girl's words made Huntington uncomfortable. At
first it pleased him to discover how genuine was her respect, but as she
continued he found himself embarrassed by the character she gave him.

"I shall begin to think myself somebody if you go on," he expostulated.
"You are crediting me with attributes I don't seem to recognize."

"That is because they come so naturally to you," she explained. "You are
happy because your life is spent in making other people happy. That is
the lesson I learned."

"You were doing that long before I met you, and you are doing it now."

"No," she insisted; "it may have seemed so to you, but I was really
trying to find happiness for myself, and because I was thinking of
myself it didn't come. Since I returned home I've tried your plan, and
so far it has worked splendidly."

"But the supreme test," Huntington asked,--"what is that to be?"

"Oh, I don't know," she answered with an effort to speak indifferently;
"being a girl I suppose it will be my marriage."

"That should be the supreme triumph of your happiness rather than the
test."

"I used to think so but I've changed my mind. I had a vision once of
what I thought marriage ought to be.--We spoke of it in Bermuda, and you
made fun of it, don't you remember? I'm convinced now that it was all
wrong."

"You said that you would marry only a man who would let you contribute
your share to the real life which you would jointly live."

"Yes," Merry answered consciously; "and you laughed at me! But you were
right. I ought not to think so much of myself." She paused a moment.
"The man I really loved probably wouldn't care for me at all," she
continued soberly, her eyes averted. "If I am convinced that I can make
the man I marry happy, then I am more certain of finding happiness
myself. That is making a tremendous compromise with sentiment, but don't
you think it more sensible, after all?"

"Then the supreme test, as I understand it, would be to marry a man you
thought you could make happy whether you cared for him or not?"

Merry nodded her head in affirmation. A sudden suspicion came into
Huntington's mind, and he looked at the girl curiously.

"Has your mother been talking to you upon this subject?" he demanded
with more directness than he had a right to use.

"Why, no," she answered, showing her surprise. "She thinks me too
indifferent to men; but we have never discussed the matter se