lly and had children, too! Don't be
discouraged; don't let yourself believe that you need lose your art if
you should have a child. You'd be all the finer artist for it.
And--you are going to have a child, aren't you, Sheila?"

Sheila had been passionately shy about her expectancy of motherhood,
but the grave directness of Charlotte's inquiry disarmed her, and she
answered as frankly and simply: "Yes, I am going to have a child."

Charlotte looked at her with an expression new to the shrewd blue eyes
that were habitually so cool and smiling. Then, with an impetuous and
lovely gesture, she drew Sheila to her: "I'm so glad for you, dear!--so
glad!"

A little while before she had been glad for the promise in Sheila's
work. Now she used the same word, but how differently! For her mind
had spoken before, and now speech leaped from her very heart.

"I have never loved a man," she said presently, in her outspoken way,
"I have never loved a man, but I hope that I may some day--and that I
may have a little child for him."

So Mrs. Caldwell was not alone in her attitude toward love's
consummation! The desire for motherhood possessed not only the women
of yesterday, of old-fashioned standards and ideals, but Charlotte,
too; Charlotte, the "modern" woman incarnate, who had always appeared
so self-sufficient, so bright and serene and cold, even so hard. It
seemed incredible that she should have confessed to the dreams of
softer women, of women less mentally preoccupied and competent.

Sheila stared at her: "_You_ feel that way? You--with your music, your
chances to study, to make a career for yourself?"

"Of course I feel that way! Every real woman does. I want my music
and motherhood, too, but--if I ever have to choose between them--do you
doubt that I'll take motherhood?"

There was indignation in her tone; evidently she was wounded that
Sheila had misjudged her--so strong was the mother-instinct, the sense
of maternity's supreme worth, within her. Realizing this, it appeared
to Sheila that no one but herself--no woman in all the world--was
reluctant for maternity. After all, Ted had only asked of her that she
should share the universal hope and joy of wifehood. It was she who
had demanded the exceptional lot; not he who had imposed a unique
obligation upon her.

With this conviction, the last flicker of her resentment toward him was
extinguished, leaving her gratefully at peace with him, not only in the
hi