the wife or the mistress of some rich man. The
prospect of several years of heart-breaking hard work isn't
wildly attractive at twenty-two."

"You don't know me," said Susan--but the boast was uttered
under her breath.

The auto rushed up to Delmonico's entrance, came to a halt
abruptly yet gently. The attentiveness of the personnel, the
staring and whispering of the people in the palm room showed
how well known Brent was. There were several women--handsome
women of what is called the New York type, though it certainly
does not represent the average New York woman, who is poorly
dressed in flimsy ready-made clothes and has the mottled skin
that indicates bad food and too little sleep. These handsome
women were dressed beautifully as well as expensively, in
models got in--not from--Paris. One of them smiled sweetly at
Brent, who responded, so Susan thought, rather formally. She
felt dowdy in her home-made dress. All her pride in it
vanished; she saw only its defects. And the gracefully
careless manner of these women--the manners of those who feel
sure of themselves--made her feel "green" and out of place.
She was disgusted with the folly that had caused her to thrill
with pleasure when his order to his chauffeur at his door told
her she was actually to be taken to one of the restaurants in
which she had wished to exhibit herself with him. She
heartily wished she had insisted on going where she would have
been as well dressed and as much at home as anyone there.

She lifted her eyes, to distract her mind from these
depressing sensations. Brent was looking at her with that
amused, mocking yet sympathetic expression which was most
characteristic of him. She blushed furiously.

He laughed. "No, I'm not ashamed of your homemade dress,"
said he. "I don't care what is thought of me by people who
don't give me any money. And, anyhow, you are easily the most
unusual looking and the most tastefully dressed woman here.
The rest of these women are doomed for life to commonplace
obscurity. You----

"We'll see your name in letters of fire on the Broadway
temples of fame."

"I know you're half laughing at me," said Susan. "But I feel
a little better."

"Then I'm accomplishing my object. Let's not think about
ourselves. That makes life narrow. Let's keep the thoughts
on our work--on the big splendid dreams that come to us and
invite us to labor and to dare."

And as they lingered over the satisfactory d