ed at--was her riding suit. This was an extremely noisy plaid man's
suit--for Jane rode astride. Martha could not deny that Jane looked
"simply stunning" when seated on her horse and dressed in that garb
with her long slim feet and graceful calves encased in a pair of riding
boots that looked as if they must have cost "something fierce." But
was it really "ladylike"? Hadn't Jane made a mistake and adopted a
costume worn only by the fashionables among the demi-mondaines of whom
Martha had read and had heard such dreadful, delightful stories?

It was the lively plaid that Miss Hastings now clad herself in. She
loved that suit. Not only did it give her figure a superb opportunity
but also it brought out new beauties in her contour and coloring. And
her head was so well shaped and her hair grew so thickly about brow and
ears and nape of neck that it looked full as well plaited and done
close as when it was framing her face and half concealing, half
revealing her charming ears in waves of changeable auburn. After a
lingering--and pardonably pleased--look at herself in a long mirror,
she descended, mounted and rode slowly down toward town.

The old Galland homestead was at the western end of town--in a quarter
that had become almost poor. But it was so dignified and its grounds
were so extensive that it suggested a manor house with the humble homes
of the lord's dependents clustering about it for shelter. To reach it
Jane had to ride through two filthy streets lined with factories. As
she rode she glanced at the windows, where could be seen in dusty air
girls and boys busy at furiously driven machines--machines that
compelled their human slaves to strain every nerve in the monotonous
task of keeping them occupied. Many of the girls and boys paused long
enough for a glance at the figure of the man-clad girl on the big horse.

Jane, happy in the pleasant sunshine, in her beauty and health and fine
raiment and secure and luxurious position in the world, gave a thought
of pity to these imprisoned young people. "How lucky I am," she
thought, "not to have been born like that. Of course, we all have our
falls now and then. But while they always strike on the hard ground,
I've got a feather bed to fall on."

When she reached Martha's and was ushered into the cool upstairs
sitting room, in somehow ghastly contrast to the hot rooms where the
young working people sweated and strained, the subject persisted in its
hold o