suppose I'm horribly foolish," reflected she, "but if I
must go down, I'll go down with my colors flying." She did not know
precisely what that phrase meant, but it sounded fine and brave and
heartened her to take the expensive lodgings.

The landlady was a Mrs. Belloc. Mildred had not talked with her twenty
minutes before she had a feeling that this name was assumed. The
evening of her first day in the house she learned that her guess was
correct--learned it from the landlady herself. After dinner Mrs.
Belloc came into her room to cheer her up, to find out about her and to
tell her about herself.

"Now that you've come," said she, "the house is full up--except some
little rooms at the top that I'd as lief not fill. The probabilities
are that any ladies who would take them wouldn't be refined enough to
suit those I have. There are six, not counting me, every one with a
bath and two with private parlors. And as they're all handsome,
sensible women, ladylike and steady, I think the prospects are that
they'll pay promptly and that I won't have any trouble."

Mildred reflected upon this curious statement. It sounded innocent
enough, yet what a peculiar way to put a simple fact.

"Of course it's none of my business how people live as long as they
keep up the respectabilities," pursued Mrs. Belloc. "It don't do to
inquire into people in New York. Most of 'em come here because they
want to live as they please."

"No doubt," said Mildred a little nervously, for she suspected her
landlady of hitting at her, and wondered if she had come to
cross-examine her and, if the results were not satisfactory, to put her
into the street.

"I know _I_ came for that reason," pursued Mrs. Belloc. "I was a
school-teacher up in New England until about two years ago. Did you
ever teach school?"

"Not yet," said Mildred. "And I don't think I ever shall. I don't
know enough."

"Oh, yes, you do. A teacher doesn't need to know much. The wages are
so poor--at least up in New England--that they don't expect you to know
anything. It's all in the books. I left because I couldn't endure the
life. Lord! how dull those little towns are! Ever live in a little
town?"

"All my life," said Mildred.

"Well, you'll never go back."

"I hope not."

"You won't. Why should you? A sensible woman with looks--especially
if she knows how to carry her clothes--can stay in New York as long as
she pleases, and live off the fat of the lan