rance of the latter's manner, which had, for an
instant, chilled and rebuffed her, now appeared to her the outward
manifestation of a brilliant and conquering spirit. Like a devotee,
she watched Mrs. North's quick, graceful movements, her vivid,
changeful face; like a devotee she listened to her sparkling,
inconsequent chatter. This woman, handicapped by her womanhood, had
done big things. Any word from her lips, any gesture of her hand was
something to admire and remember.

It never even entered Sheila's head that, although she had done great
things, Alice North might not be a great woman. It never occurred to
her to ask _how_ she had triumphed--at whose or at what cost. She
never even dreamed that one's life--just a noble submission to Nature,
a willing and patient compliance with laws and purposes above one's
own--might be the final and fullest expression of genius. Alice North
had written books--and Sheila was at her feet.

After awhile Charlotte tactfully left her alone with her idol--in whose
footsteps she meant to walk henceforth--to _climb_!

"I've read your stories," said Mrs. North softly then. It was the
first mention of Sheila's work, and the girl quivered from head to
foot. She gazed mutely at the oracle--waiting for life, for death.

Suddenly Mrs. North leaned forward and caught Sheila's hands in hers.
Alice North had never failed to be sensitive to drama; to play her part
in it with sympathy and effect.

"My dear," she exclaimed, and her voice was clear and thrilling, "my
dear, you have it--the divine gift!"

And as they looked at each other, the eyes of each filled with tears.
Alice North was indeed sensitive to drama--so sensitive that her
counterfeit emotions sometimes deceived even her--and Sheila was shaken
to the heart, to the soul.

"You mean--you mean--that I--" began the girl brokenly.

"I mean," answered Mrs. North, "that you are already doing remarkable
work--that you will go far--unless----"

"Unless what?" breathed Sheila.

"Will you let me advise you?"

"Oh, if you only will! What shall I do?" And Sheila bent trusting,
obedient eyes upon her.

"Do? Dear child, I can tell you in a word. You must renounce!"

"Renounce?" repeated Sheila vaguely.

"Yes, renounce!" And Alice North turned a face of pale sacrifice upon
her--with that inevitable instinct for the dramatic. Few women had
renounced less than she--less, at least, of what pleased them--but at
that moment,