were not so obliging.
Into Sylvia's studio youth, in its various forms of expression, floated
naturally. Sylvia attracted women more than men, but her girl friends
brought their male comrades with them and everybody was welcome to
anything that Sylvia had. Fortunately most of the young people were
honestly striving to earn their living; they were sweetly, proudly
unafraid, but when they relaxed and played they made Joan's eyes widen,
until she discovered that they often dressed their ideas, as they did
themselves, rather startlingly while adhering, privately, to a
respectability that they refused to make public.

They were, on the whole, a joyous lot belonging to that new class which
causes older and more conservative folk to hold their breath as people
do who watch children walking near a precipice and dare not call out for
fear of worse danger.

The women attracted and interested Joan immensely. The men amazed her.

"You see," she confided to Sylvia, "the men seem like a new sex--neither
men nor women."

Sylvia stood off regarding her work--she smiled happily and replied:

"They are, dear lamb. The girls will all, eventually, put on; fill
up"--Sylvia added a dab of clay to a doubtful curve--"but men, when they
chip off from the approved design, look like nothing on earth but
daubs!"

"Yes," Joan added, "that's what I mean." Then, with a thoughtful
puckering of the brows, "the girls will be women, somehow, but what will
become of these--this new sex, Syl?"

Sylvia was tense as she eyed her work. She answered vaguely:

"Some of them will crawl up, and _do_ things and justify themselves, the
others will----"

"Will what, Syl?"--for Sylvia was moving like a panther upon her
prey--her prey being the small figure on the pedestal.

"Do this--or have it done for them!" and at this the offending clay was
dashed to atoms.

"Failure!" breathed Sylvia--"mess!"

Then with characteristic quickness she began a new design. Joan watched
her and caught a sudden insight. She realized what it was that marked
Sylvia for success. Presently she asked musingly:

"Does any one ever marry these--these men, Syl?"

"Heavens, no! They only play with them; don't get confused on that line,
lamb."

"Don't worry about me, Syl. I don't even want to play with them. Syl, I
do not think I shall ever marry. I'm like Aunt Dorrie, but if I ever
should marry it would be something to help one grip life, not something
to--to--well, haul alo