"Oh, well, I shouldn't mind it myself--for a time," Dreda conceded
carelessly. "When one has suffered under the yoke, _it_ would be a kind
of satisfaction to boss it oneself for a change. I'd quite like to be a
headmistress--a horribly strict Head--and make all the girls c-c-ringe
before me--for a term, say; but after that--no thank you! I want a
wider scope for my life than a stupid old school-house."

Mary smiled, in an elderly, forbearing fashion.

"We are all different, dear Dreda. It would not do if we were made
alike. You and I have not the same vocation."

"No; I shall marry," announced Dreda, blandly unconscious of the
inference of her words. "I am one of the old-fashioned womanly
girls--(it says in the papers, `Would there were more of them!')--who
shine best in their own homes. I'm not learned, and I don't pretend to
be; but I can keep house, and order servants about, as well as anybody,
and I intend to be very hospitable and give lots of dinners and parties
and make my husband proud of me by being the best-dressed woman in the
room, and so witty and charming that everything will go with a roar.
That's all I want. I haven't an ambitious nature."

Mary's long upper lip looked longer than ever as she listened to this
egotistical tirade. She was a plain-looking girl, and the lack of
humour in her composition made her somewhat dull and unattractive in
manner; but she possessed great strength of character, and was never
found lacking in the courage of her opinions. Her opinion at this
moment was that Etheldreda Saxon needed a downright good snubbing, and
she set herself to administer it without a qualm.

"My dear Dreda, there is nothing in the world you understand as little
as your own character. I never met a girl who was so blind to her own
defects. Not ambitious! How can you say such a thing in the same
breath as that in which you express your longing for admiration? One
may be ambitious for unworthy aims as well as for worthy ones; and your
desires are all for poor, worldly things which pass away, leaving no one
better or wiser. It is false modesty to say you are not clever; you
would not allow anyone else to make such a statement unchallenged. If
you chose to exert yourself to overcome your faults of carelessness and
frivolity, you might take a very fair average position among your
companions."

To say that Dreda was taken aback by this very candid criticism of her
character is to sta