"

"I understand," said Mrs. Brindley. "You feared you'd be called on to
pay in the way women usually pay debts to men."

Mildred nodded. "But this is worse than I expected--much worse."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Cyrilla. "Yes, you're right. If he
had hinted the other thing, you could have pretended not to understand.
If he had suggested it, you could have made him feel cheap and mean."

"I did," said Mildred. "He has been--really wonderful--better than
almost any man would have been--more considerate than I deserved. And
I took advantage of it."

"A woman has to," said Cyrilla. "The fight between men and women is so
unequal."

"I took advantage of him," repeated Mildred. "And he apologized, and
I--I went on taking the money. I didn't know what else to do. Isn't
that dreadful?"

"Nothing to be proud of," said Cyrilla. "But a very usual transaction."

"And then," pursued Mildred, "I discovered that I--that I'd not be able
to make a career. But still I kept on, though I've been trying to
force myself to--to show some pride and self-respect. I discovered it
only a short time ago, and it wasn't really until to-day that I was
absolutely sure."

"You ARE sure?"

"There's hardly a doubt," replied Mildred. "But never mind that now.
I've got to make a living at something, and while I'm learning whatever
it is, I've got to have money to live on. And I can get it only from
him. Now, he asks me to marry him. He wouldn't ask me if he didn't
think I was going to be a great singer. He doesn't know it, but I do."

Mrs. Brindley smiled sweetly.

"And he thinks that I love him, also. If I accept him, it will be
under doubly false pretenses. If I refuse him I've got to stop taking
the money."

A long silence; then Mrs. Brindley said: "Women--the good ones,
too--often feel that they've a right to treat men as men treat them. I
think almost any woman would feel justified in putting off the crisis."

"You mean, I might tell him I'd give him my answer when I was
independent and had paid back."

Cyrilla nodded. Mildred relit her cigarette, which she had let go out.
"I had thought of that," said she. "But--I doubt if he'd tolerate it.
Also"--she laughed with the peculiar intonation that accompanies the
lifting of the veil over a deeply and carefully hidden corner of one's
secret self--"I am afraid. If I don't marry him, in a few weeks, or
months at most, he'll probably find out that I shall neve