meant wealth, youth, beauty, and an unbounded capacity for pleasure.

"Evvy, you're not going to MARRY that horrid man?"

"Of course not, goosey. But that doesn't mean that I'm never going to
marry at all, does it?"

Laura supposed not--with a tremendous sniff.

"Well, then, what IS all the fuss about?"

It was not so easy to say. She was of course reconciled, she sobbed, to
Evelyn marrying some day: only plain and stupid girls were left to be
old maids: but it must not happen for years and years and years to
come, and when it did, it must be to some one much older than herself,
some one she did not greatly care for: in short, Evelyn was to marry
only to escape the odium of the single life.

Having drawn this sketch of her future word by word from the weeping
Laura, Evelyn fell into a fit of laughter which she could not stifle.
"Well, Poppet," she said when she could speak, "if that's your idea of
happiness for me, we'll postpone it just as long as ever we can. I'm
all there. For I mean to have a good time first--a jolly good
time--before I tie myself up for ever, world without end, amen."

"That's just what I hate so--your good time, as you call it," retorted
Laura, smarting under the laughter.

"Everyone does, child. You'll be after it yourself when you're a little
older."

"Me?--never!"

"Oh, yes, indeed you will."

"I won't. I hate men and I always shall. And oh, I thought"--with an
upward, sobbing breath--"I thought you liked me best."

"Of course I like you, you silly child! But that's altogether
different. And I don't like you any less because I enjoy having some
fun with them, too."

"I don't want your old leavings!" said Laura savagely. It hurt, almost
as much as having a tooth pulled out, did this knowledge that your
friend's affection was wholly yours only as long as no man was in
question. And out of the sting, Laura added: "Wait till I'm grown up,
and I'll show them what I think of them--the pigs!"

This time Evelyn had to hold her hand in front of her mouth. "No, no, I
don't mean to laugh at you. Come, be good now," she petted. "And you
really must go to bed, Laura. It's past twelve o'clock, and that
infernal machine'll be going off before you've had any sleep at all."

The "machine" was Laura's alarum, which ran down every night just now
at two o'clock. For, if one thing was sure, it was that affairs with
Laura were in a sorry muddle. In this, the last and most momentous year
of her sch