han just what he is. Don't
you see I'm only petty and rotten with snobbishness?"

Miss Sarah sniffed, ever so delicately.

"What a sentimental old woman I am!" she exclaimed. "And, my dear, you
talk as though you had just discovered a new and terribly perplexing
complication. Don't you know that it is as old as the feminine mind
itself?" Her handkerchief came down, then, disclosing eyes that were
very bright and very tender. "Why, a woman never loves a man merely
for what he is! She always reserves a few little things, at least,
which she means--well, to rearrange. She loves him just a bit more for
what she secretly promises herself he shall be."

Barbara's sullenness was gone.

"I know," she whispered. "I thought of that, too, long ago. But it
isn't just a--little thing. A few days ago, Miss Sarah, when we took
the train to go up north, I could scarcely wait for the engine to draw
us there. I think I counted every click of the rails, I know I sang
his name in my heart with every click. And then, when I wanted to walk
straight off the steps of the car into his arms--when I . . . Why do
you sit there and listen and not say that you loathe me as I do myself?
I know that he is all man, but his work and my world--oh, when that
terrible thing happened, and he came lurching toward me, instead of
helping him, do you know what I did? I was sick at the sight of
him--sick at the reck and grime and blood of him! I just wanted to get
away, and--and shudder at the thought of----"

Miss Sarah's composure had returned, but her face grew more sober
still. This was a different, a graver thing, even than she had
expected.

"Your world?" Deliberately now she dared to argue. "Barbara, didn't
you know, from the beginning, that his world would have to be yours?
Did you ever think that you could change him--that way?"

Barbara moved her head.

"I wanted both," she said. "I wanted all I have--and him, too. I
learned that night he took care of me how much I cared; I know he'd be
as careful of me, all his life. But I had thought that he might be
able to do as father has done and let other men handle the---- But he
knows now! He understands me! I tell you I'm no good. I've no
backbone. I'm just pink and white flesh without any spirit!"

The other woman sat and smoothed the bright head and wished she knew
what to say. "It would please me to know just what stuff she is made
of, too," Miss Sarah had once admitte