ternly
suppressed longing for freedom and the work that belonged to him.

"Why can't he see," she would say to herself, "that if this succeeds, he
can do his work; that I can make it possible for him? And he won't let
me. He won't take it from me. Why are men so proud? Is there anything
so ignominious about a woman that it is disgraceful to let one help you?
And why can't he think at all about the others? It's not just us, it's
all people. If this works, men will have easier times, as well as women.
Everybody can do their real work better with this old primitive business
once set right."

And then it was always time to get up, or time to go to bed, or time to
attend to some of the numberless details of her affairs.

She and her mother had an early lunch before the caffeteria opened, and
were glad of the afternoon tea, often held in a retired corner of
the broad piazza. She sat there one hot, dusty afternoon, alone and
unusually tired. The asphalted street was glaring and noisy, the cross
street deep in soft dust, for months unwet.

Failure had not discouraged her, but increasing success with all its
stimulus and satisfaction called for more and more power. Her mind was
busy foreseeing, arranging, providing for emergencies; and then the
whole thing slipped away from her, she dropped her head upon her arm for
a moment, on the edge of the tea table, and wished for Ross.

From down the street and up the street at this moment, two men were
coming; both young, both tall, both good looking, both apparently
approaching Union House. One of them was the nearer, and his foot soon
sounded on the wooden step. The other stopped and looked in a shop
window.

Diantha started up, came forward,--it was Mr. Eltwood. She had a vague
sense of disappointment, but received him cordially. He stood there,
his hat off, holding her hand for a long moment, and gazing at her
with evident admiration. They turned and sat down in the shadow of the
reed-curtained corner.

The man at the shop window turned, too, and went away.

Mr. Eltwood had been a warm friend and cordial supporter from the epoch
of the Club-splitting speech. He had helped materially in the slow,
up-hill days of the girl's effort, with faith and kind words. He had
met the mother's coming with most friendly advances, and Mrs. Bell found
herself much at home in his liberal little church.

Diantha had grown to like and trust him much.

"What's this about the new house, Miss B