she suffers tortures--absolute agony, you know--she always rises to
the occasion--nasty thing!"

"A wonderful woman," said Percival, idly picking sprays of jasmine as he
spoke.

Sissy's voice sank lower: "Do you think there are really any women like
that?"

"Oh yes, I suppose so."

She took the flowers which he held out, and looked doubtfully into his
face: "But--do you _like_ them, Percival?"

"Make the question a little clearer," he said. "I don't like your ranting,
pushing, unwomanly women who can talk of nothing but their rights. They are
very terrible. But heroic women--" He stopped short. The pause was more
eloquent than speech.

"Ah!" said Sissy, "Well--a woman like Jael? or Judith?"

He repeated the name "Judith." "Or Charlotte Corday?" he suggested after a
moment.

It was Sissy's turn to hesitate, and she compressed her pretty lips
doubtfully. Being in the Old Testament, Jael must of course come out all
right, even if one finds it difficult to like her. Judith's position, is
less clear. Still, it is a great thing to be in the Apocrypha, and then
living so long ago and so far away makes a difference. But Charlotte
Corday--a young Frenchwoman, not a century dead, who murdered a man, and
was guillotined in those horrible revolutionary times,--would Percival say
_that_ was the type of woman he liked?

"Well--Charlotte Corday, then?"

"Yes, I admire her," he said slowly. "Though I would rather the heroism did
not show itself in bloodshed. Still, she was noble: I honor her. I dare say
the others were too, but I don't know so much about them."

"What a poor little thing you must think me!" said Sissy. "I could never do
anything heroic."

"Why not?"

"I should be frightened. I can't bear people to be angry with me. I should
run away, or do something silly."

"Then I hope you won't be tried," said Percival.

She shook her pretty head: "People always talk about casting gold into the
furnace, and it's coming out only the brighter and better. Things are not
good for much if you would rather they were not tried."

Her hand was on the window-frame as she spoke, and the young man touched a
ring she wore: "Gold is tried in the furnace--yes, but not your pearls.
Besides, I'm not so sure that you would fail if you were put to the test."

She smiled, well pleased, yet unconvinced.

"You think," he went on, "that people who did great deeds did them without
an effort--were always ready, like a bow always stru