Kathleen, "did that red ink claret go to his
head!"

Hertha was so tired that she went at once to her room, but the coffee
that she had taken kept her long awake. Since the night before she had
experienced a series of vivid impressions; the music of the opera with
its passion of love and tragic sorrow; the home she had visited that
afternoon, its white bedroom looking out into the trees that would soon
be green; the great stone towers of the bridge from which hung
innumerable threads of steel; and, last, the little table with Billy
opposite and this strange old man reciting his doctrine of eternal
defeat. "Keep out of the conflict!" That was what he had said. That
ought not to be a difficult thing to do. When she was colored she was in
the conflict, a part of the great problem of an oppressed race. But
to-day she was white and free; and since this was so, and she could go
where she would, was it not foolish to stay in this atmosphere of
turmoil, of noisy street and strenuous talk? She shut her eyes and tried
to think of quiet nothings, and after much tossing she dropped off to
sleep.

She was awakened by a bright light in her room. "What is it?" she called
sitting upright in bed.

"It's me, dear," said Kathleen coming to her.

The Irish girl was dressed and had her hat and coat on. "I'm called on a
case," she explained, "way up in the Bronx. It's pneumonia and I'm
afraid I shan't be home for some days."

"Oh," Hertha cried, in real distress, "why must you go now? I want you
myself."

"You're not sick, are you?"

"No, but I'm worried. I wanted to talk with you."

Kathleen sat down by the side of the bed. "I'm sorry that I've bothered
you so, Hertha," she said in her pleasantest voice. "There's something
in what the Major said to-night. You're young and it's not for me to
push you into anything just because I think it's right. You ought to be
your own judge. Perhaps you'll soon decide on a new trade and the
factory will drop out of your life."

"Yes, Kathleen," Hertha said hesitating, "I am thinking of something
new. I believe I'll study stenography."

"That's a good trade if you've the education, and I don't doubt you
have. There's many in it, but not many like you."

"Mr. Brown has been looking up schools for me."

"Has he?"

There was silence. Kathleen had not taken a fancy to Mr. Brown.

"The school that he likes the best is in Brooklyn, and----" Hertha
swallowed hard. If she were going to say anyt