ldren."

"There isn't and there is," responded Ethel, philosophically; "no one is
all bad, or at least but few are, while not many are all good. Only, in
matters of the heart, a woman who has one is bound to suffer, unless she
meets and weds a young god, and gods are scarce in this day and
generation."

"But is she likely to be the happier by marrying for money and
position?" queried Winn, pointedly.

"To the best of my observation--yes," she answered, understanding
perfectly well what he meant. "And it's to obtain your opinion on that
very subject I asked you to call."

Winn looked at her long and fixedly.

Once he had thought this girl the incarnation of all that was lovely and
lovable. Young, handsome, and yet not of the Dresden china order, but
warm, passionate, full of life and good spirits. She was all that now,
but hard-hearted, cool-headed, a diamond among her sex, but not a pansy.

And so far as he could judge, one who would seek and accept only a
golden setting. Once he had loved her madly, now he enjoyed her keen
wit, her veiled flatteries, her perfect poise, her polished sarcasm,
realizing that she was likely to be an ornament to the man who won her,
but never a heart companion. And now he admired her intensely, but loved
her not at all.

"Winn," she said at last, smiling, "have you analyzed me sufficiently to
answer my question now?"

"No," he replied evasively, "and I never can. I've learned one thing,
and learned it well, and that is, it's folly to tell a woman truth in
such matters. They prefer lies that are flattering."

"Men never do, I suppose," she said, with a tinge of sarcasm.

"Oh, yes, they do," he admitted candidly; "men positively thirst for
flattery--especially from a woman. But it is safer to tell them the
truth. They will in time forgive that, even if it hurts, but a woman
never will."

"That's a man's estimate," she asserted, "not a woman's. My belief is,
truth is an unsafe knife to use in either case. But you have not
answered my question."

"It's hard to do that," he responded, "for it all depends upon what a
woman's idea of happiness is. You, who assert that you are without heart
and believe sentiment a folly, would be miserable, if mated to a poor
man, be he never so faithful in love. You want luxuries, fine gowns, and
plenty of them, since you have beauty; you move in a circle where show
is religion and extravagance a necessity. To you and your associates,
these wants h