know better yourself than to talk the way you
do!" said Mary Warren.

"I'm different from you, Mollie. I--I ain't so fine. You know why I
liked you? Because you was different; and I didn't come from much or
have much schooling. I've been to school to you--and you never knew
it. I owe you plenty, and you won't understand even that."

Mary only kissed her, but Annie broke free and went on.

"When they come to talk about the world going on, and folks marrying,
and raising children, after this war is over--you've got to hand it to
them that this duty stuff has got a strong punch behind it. Besides,
the kid idea makes a hit with me. But even if I did marry, I don't
know what a man would say, these times, about my bringing some one else
into his house. Men is funny."

"Annie--Annie!" exclaimed Mary Warren once more. "Don't--oh, don't!
I'd die before I'd go into your own real home! Of course, I'll not be
a burden on you. I'm too proud for that, I hope."

"Well, dope it out your own way, Sis," said her room-mate, sighing.
"It ain't true that I want to shake you. I don't. But I'm not talking
about Mary Warren when she had money her aunt left her--before she lost
it in Oil. I'm not talking about Mary Warren when she was eighteen,
and pretty as a picture. I ain't even talking about Mary a year ago,
wearing dark glasses, but still having a good chanct in the store.
What I'm talking about now is Mary Warren down and out, with not even
eyes to see with, and no money back of her, and no place to _go_. What
are you going to _do_, Sis? that's all. In my case--believe me, if I
lose my chanct at this man, Charlie Dorenwald, I'm going to find
another some time.

"It's fifty-fifty if either of us, or any girl, would get along all
right with a husband if we _could_ get one--it's no cinch. And now,
women getting plentier and plentier, and men still scarcer and scarcer,
it's sure tough times for a girl that hasn't eyes nor anything to get
work with, or get married with."

"Annie!" said her companion. "I wish you wouldn't!"

"Well, I wasn't thinking how I talked, Sis," said Annie, reaching out a
hand to pat the white one on the chair arm. "But fifty-fifty, my
dear--that's all the bet ever was or will be for a woman, and now her
odds is a lot worse, they say, even for the well and strong ones.
Maybe part of the trouble with us women was we never looked on this
business of getting married with any kind of halfway bus