or running away. There's only one choice
open to us--whether we bear it badly or well."

But Sophie's endurance was broken by weeks of suffering, and her bright
spirit was momentarily under an eclipse.

"Everybody doesn't have to bear them! Things are so horribly uneven,"
she cried grudgingly. "Look at your friend Miss Willoughby, with that
angel of a mother, and heaps of money, and health, and strength, and a
beautiful home, and able to have anything she wants, as soon as she
wants it. What does _she_ know of trouble?"

Claire thought of Janet's face, as it had faced her across the table in
the refreshment room, but it was not for her to betray another's secret,
so she was silent, and Sophie lifted a spray of pink roses, and held
them against her face, saying wistfully--

"You're a good little soul, Claire, and it's because you are good that I
want to know what your opinion is about all this trouble and misery.
What good can it possibly do me to have my life ruined by this illness?
Don't tell me that it will not be ruined. It must be, in a material
sense, and I'm not all spiritual yet; there's a lot of material in my
nature, and I live in a material world, and I want to be able to enjoy
all the dear, sweet, natural, human joys which come as a right to
ordinary human beings. I want to _walk_! Oh, my dear, I look out of
these windows sometimes and see all the thousands and thousands of
people passing by, and I wonder if a single one out of all the crowd
ever thinks of being thankful that he can _move_! I didn't myself, but
now--when I hobble along--"

She broke off, shaking back her head as though to defy the rising tears,
then lay back against the pillows, looking at Claire, and saying
urgently--"Go on! Tell me what you think!"

"I think," Claire answered slowly, "that we are bound to grow! The mere
act of death is not going to lift us at once to our full height. Our
training must go on after we leave this sphere; but, Sophie dear, some
of us have an extra hard training here, and if we bear it in the right
way, surely, surely when we move up, it must be into a higher class than
if things had been all smooth and easy. There must be less to learn,
less to conquer, more to enjoy. You and I are school-mistresses and
ought to realise the difficulties of mastering difficult tasks. Don't
look upon this illness as cheating you out of a pleasant holiday, dear--
look upon it as special training for an honours