ll? bad news?"

"I've lost my position," said Mildred.

A pause. Then Mrs. Belloc felt her way across the room until she was
touching the girl. "Tell me about it, dear," said she.

In a monotonous, lifeless way Mildred told the story. It was some time
after she finished when Agnes said:

"That's bad--bad, but it might be worse. You must go to see the
manager, Crossley."

"Why?" said Mildred.

"Tell him what you told me."

Mildred's silence was dissent.

"It can't do any harm," urged Agnes.

"It can't do any good," replied Mildred.

"That isn't the way to look at it."

A long pause. Then Mildred said: "If I got a place somewhere else,
I'd meet the same thing in another form."

"You've got to risk that."

"Besides, I'd never have had a chance of succeeding if Mr. Ransdell
hadn't taught me and stood behind me."

It was many minutes before Agnes Belloc said in a hesitating,
restrained voice: "They say that success--any kind of success--has its
price, and that one has to be ready to pay that price or fail."

Again the profound silence. Into it gradually penetrated the soft,
insistent sound of the distant roar of New York--a cruel, clamorous,
devouring sound like a demand for that price of success. Said Agnes
timidly:

"Why not go to see Mr. Ransdell."

"He wouldn't make it up," said Mildred. "And I--I couldn't. I tried
to marry Stanley Baird for money--and I couldn't. It would be the same
way now--only more so."

"But you've got to do something."

"Yes, and I will." Mildred had risen abruptly, was standing at the
window. Agnes Belloc could feel her soul rearing defiantly at the city
into which she was gazing. "I will!" she replied.

"It sounds as if you'd been pushed to where you'd turn and make a
fight," said Agnes.

"I hope so," said Mildred. "It's high time."

She thought out several more or less ingenious indirect routes into Mr.
Crossley's stronghold, for use in case frontal attack failed. But she
did not need them. Still, the hours she spent in planning them were by
no means wasted. No time is wasted that is spent in desperate,
concentrated thinking about any of the practical problems of life. And
Mildred Gower, as much as any other woman of her training--or lack of
training--was deficient in ability to use her mind purposefully. Most
of us let our minds act like a sheep in a pasture--go wandering hither
and yon, nibbling at whatever happens to offer. Only the superior f