ia, who was
unmistakably a girl who knew her place, and her place as a wage-earner
was not in the home of one of the richest women in the state, but in a
house provided through that lady's beneficence for the shelter of young
women occupied in earning a livelihood.

"It's very nice there," Sylvia was saying. "I stopped on my way home
this afternoon and found that they could give me a room. It's all
arranged."

"But it's only for office girls and department store clerks and
dressmakers, Sylvia. I should think you would hate it. Why, my manicure
lives there!"

Marian desisted, warned by her mother, who wished no jarring note to mar
her satisfaction in the situation.

"That manicure girl is a circus," said Mrs. Owen, quite oblivious of the
undercurrent of her niece's thoughts. "When they had a vaudeville show
last winter she did the best stunts of any of 'em. You didn't mention
those Jewesses that I had such a row to get in? Smart girls. One of 'em
is the fastest typewriter in town; she's a credit to Jerusalem, that
girl. And a born banker. They've started a savings club and Miriam runs
it. They won't lose any money." Mrs. Owen chuckled; and the rest
laughed. There was no question of Mrs. Owen's pride in Elizabeth House.
"Did you see any plumbers around the place?" she demanded of Sylvia.
"I've been a month trying to get another bathroom put in on the third
floor, and plumbers do try the soul."

"That's all done," replied Sylvia. "The matron told me to tell you so."

"I'm about due to go over there and look over the linen," remarked Mrs.
Owen, with an air of making a memorandum of a duty neglected.

"Well, I guess it's comfortable enough," said Marian. "But I should
think you could do better than that, Sylvia. You'll have to eat at the
same table with some typewriter pounder. With all your education I
should think it would bore you."

"Sylvia will have to learn about it for herself, Marian," said Mrs.
Bassett. "I've always understood that the executive board is very
careful not to admit girls whose character isn't above reproach."

Mrs. Owen turned the key of her old-fashioned coffee urn sharply upon
the cup she was filling and looked her niece in the eye.

"Oh, we're careful, Hallie; we're careful; but I tell 'em not to be
_too_ careful!"

"Well, of course the aim is to protect girls," Mrs. Bassett replied,
conscious of a disconcerting acidity in her aunt's remark.

"I'm not afraid of contamination," observ