ea?"

"Yes, some kind of pow-wow of that sort. I'm at one every day." She
moved about the room straightening photographs and arranging cushions.
"Do you know, Jean, I'm so tired of it all I feel like running away
back home sometimes."

"Dear me, you don't know how fortunate you are. You'd soon discover,
if you got home, that life at The Dale would be dreadfully monotonous."

"It couldn't be more monotonous than fashionable life. Those
receptions are all so horribly alike. There is always a woman at one
end of a polished table cutting striped ice-cream, and another at the
other end pouring tea; with a bouquet between them. If I ever so far
forget my genteel upbringing as to give a Pink Tea I'll put the bouquet
at one end and make the ice-cream cutter sit in the middle of the table
with her feet in the tea-pot."

"Don't be absurd. If you dislike it all so thoroughly, why do you do
it?"

"Mrs. Jarvis does it, and I have to go with her. After all, that's the
way I earn my living."

"That's the way I'd earn my death in a month," said her sister, looking
proudly at the pile of books before her. "Are there no girls amongst
those you meet who have a purpose in life?"

"None that I've discovered, except the supreme purpose of getting ahead
of her dearest friend. Society is just like the old teeter we used to
ride at school. When Rosie Carrick was up, I was down, and vice versa."

Jean Gordon looked at her younger sister seriously. Jean took
everything in life seriously, and plainly Lizzie was determined to
continue a problem in spite of her brilliant prospects. She did not
understand that the girl's old desire for love and service had grown
with the years, and her whole nature was yearning for some expression
of it. It was this desire to get back to the old simplicity of life
that drove her so often to her brother and sister in their cramped
boarding-house.

"Why don't you read some improving books," said Jean primly. "I wish I
had your chance. If Mrs. Jarvis had taken a fancy to me I'd be a Ph.D.
some day."

Elizabeth regarded her in silent wonder. The hard life of student and
teacher which Jean still pursued was telling on her. She was pale and
stooped, and deep lines marked her forehead. To Elizabeth her life
seemed a waste of strength. She could never get at Jean's point of
view.

"And what would you do then--even if you should turn into a P.D.H., or
whatever you call him?"

"Why, just go