e in Missy's society. There was a half-tone of a
lady who had climbed a high peak in the Canadian Rockies; Missy didn't
much admire her unfeminine attire, yet it was something to get one's
picture printed--in any garb. Then there was a Southern woman who had
built up an industry manufacturing babies' shoes. This photograph,
too, Missy studied without enthusiasm: the shoemaker was undeniably
middle-aged and matronly in appearance; nor did the metier of her
achievement appeal. Making babies' shoes, somehow, savoured too much
of darning stockings. (Oh, bother! there was that basket of stockings
mother had said positively mustn't go another day.)

Missy's glance hurried to the next picture. It presented the only lady
Sheriff in the state of Colorado. Missy pondered. Politics--Ridgeley
Holman Dobson was interested in politics; his lecture had been about
something-or-other political--she wished, now, she'd paid more attention
to what he'd talked about. Politics, it seemed, was a promising field
in the broadening life of women. And they always had a Sheriff in
Cherryvale. Just what were a Sheriff's duties? And how old must one be
to become a Sheriff? This Colorado woman certainly didn't look young.
She wasn't pretty, either--her nose was too long and her lips too thin
and her hair too tight; perhaps lady Sheriffs had to look severe so as
to enforce the law.

Missy sighed once more. It would have been pleasant to feel she was
working in the same field with Ridgeley Holman Dobson.

Then, suddenly, she let her sigh die half-grown as her eye came to the
portrait of another woman who had achieved. No one could claim this
one wasn't attractive looking. She was young and she was beautiful,
beautiful in a peculiarly perfected and aristocratic way; her hair lay
in meticulously even waves, and her features looked as though they had
been chiselled, and a long ear-ring dangled from each tiny ear. Missy
wasn't surprised to read she was a noblewoman, her name was Lady Sylvia
Southwoode--what an adorable name!

The caption underneath the picture read: "Lady Sylvia Southwoode, Who
Readjusts--and Adorns--the Cosmos."

Missy didn't catch the full editorial intent, perhaps, in that grouping
of Lady Sylvia and the Cosmos; but she was pleased to come upon the
word Cosmos. It was one of her pet words. It had struck her ear and
imagination when she first encountered it, last spring, in Psychology
IV-A. Cosmos--what an infinity of meaning lay be