id Mrs. Ogilvie. 'I know you cannot read or write, Jane, so I will
tell you about it. It is a tale of men "warring against folk for their
women's sake," and hindered often by the unscrupulous gods. Let us win
when we can. Fate, without intelligence, orders the things which we do
not order for ourselves, and it is very little use, but only a trifle
absurd to feel sorry for the opponent who is beaten.'

'I am always sorry for the man who is down,' said Jane.

Mrs. Ogilvie smiled and rang for tea.

'You are one of those who can say, "I am sorry." Now, I am never
sorry, and I consider that what is called repentance is the function of
an idiot. If I do a thing, I intend to do it. Regret is the most
weak-minded of all human emotions.'

'I 'm always regretting things,' said Jane, looking handsome and
delightful, and treating even penitence from a fresh, open-air
standpoint. 'But then I believe that as often as not I do the wrong
thing, which is a great bore at times!'

'Right and wrong,' said Mrs. Ogilvie, with a shrug, 'loving and not
loving, believing and not believing--only very young people ever make
use of such ridiculous terms. There is only one law, and it is the law
of expediency.'

Jane began to laugh, and exclaimed, 'That's quite beyond me! I know I
'm hopelessly stupid; but whenever people begin to talk about whys and
wherefores, and if it is any good saying their prayers, and whether
love is the real thing or not, I get fogged directly, and I always want
to go for a ride or a walk, or to see the horses, or even to descend to
the kitchen and make jam, to get rid of the feeling.'

'If you were in the fashion, Jane,' said Mrs. Ogilvie, smiling, 'you
would know not only with which portion of grey matter you say your
prayers, but you would also be able to show, scientifically, with which
ventricle of your heart you love and hate, or whether indeed love and
hate are things not of the heart at all but merely a microbial disease.
Will you have some tea?'

'Yes, please,' said Jane, 'and several lumps of sugar.'

'I like people,' said Mrs. Ogilvie, 'who still go to church and take
sugar in their tea. They are very refreshing.'

'I must go back now,' said Jane presently, 'for I promised not to be
long. By the by, we want to keep Peter to dinner. May we? Or will
you mind being alone?'

'I am alone say three hundred and thirty nights in the year,' said Mrs.
Ogilvie dryly.

'I wish we hadn't asked Pe