r dish and faced the girl.

"What?" she asked bluntly.

Quickly, breathlessly the truth, with all its hideous colouring, truth
bald, and yet with a saving clause for Gaston, was whispered in Isa's
ear.

When the parting with Jared was confided, the woman put her arms about
the girl.

"Now you hush, Joyce, I've heard enough. This is a man's world, God help
us! Us women, when we can, must cling together. Me and Tate pull in
harness because we find it pays--we'll help you out--Tate in _his_ way,
me in mine, but, Lord a-mighty, don't I hope there'll be a heaven just
for women, some day!

"Sit down, you poor, little haggled thing, I don't believe you've eat a
morsel. You look fagged out. They ain't worth it, Joyce, men ain't.
Father, husband--not one of them. But since we've got to use them, we
must make out some kind of game. Here!"

She set food before the wan girl, and the readjustment of life, in her
masterful hands, seemed already begun.

It was comparatively easy, later on, to go into particulars with Isa.
With the roar and clatter growing hourly more deafening in the tavern,
Isa and Joyce, sitting on the back porch under the calm stars, spoke
freely to each other.

Isa, like a dutiful wife, had, while Joyce satisfied her hunger,
confided as much of the girl's trouble to Leon as she thought advisable.
Leon had recognized the opportunity as one by which to capture what was
left of Jared's independence, and rose to the emergency.

"Leave it to me," he said. "Everything will be blooming to-morrow
like--like a--garden--er--Eden."

So now Isa had only Joyce's sore little heart to deal with.

"Come, girl," she began at last; "tears never yet unsnarled a knot. Be
you, or be you not, going to marry Jude?"

"Yes--I am." There must be no doubt upon that score and Joyce sat up
stiffly and faced her helper.

"Well, then, look at the thing sensible. In a place like St. Ange, where
there ain't women to spare, you either got to be a decent married woman
or you ain't. Long as I've lived in St. Ange, and that's been more'n
twenty years, I ain't never yet seen a comfortable, respectable,
satisfied, old maid--they ain't permitted here, and you know it. In
season, of course, you'd marry--that's to be looked for. It chances to
be Jude--and after you get over the strangeness, he'll do as well as any
other. They are all powerfully alike when they have their senses. The
sameness lies in their having their faculties. The only