"Of course, Hugh. I should like her for your sake, anyway. She's--she's one of your oldest and best friends." "But I want you to like her for her own sake." "I think I shall," said Maude. She was so scrupulously truthful! "I was a little afraid of her, at first." "Afraid of Nancy!" I exclaimed. "Well, you know, she's much older than I. I think she is sweet. But she knows so much about the world--so much that she doesn't say. I can't describe it." I smiled. "It's only her manner. You'll get used to that, when you know what she really is." "Oh, I hope so," answered Maude. "I'm very anxious to like her--I do like her. But it takes me such a lot of time to get to know people." Nancy asked us to dinner. "I want to help Maude all I can,--if she'll let me," Nancy said. "Why shouldn't she let you?" I asked. "She may not like me," Nancy replied. "Nonsense!" I exclaimed. Nancy smiled. "It won't be my fault, at any rate, if she doesn't," she said. "I wanted her to meet at first just the right people your old friends and a few others. It is hard for a woman--especially a young woman--coming among strangers." She glanced down the table to where Maude sat talking to Ham. "She has an air about her,--a great deal of self-possession." I, too, had noticed this, with pride and relief. For I knew Maude had been nervous. "You are luckier than you deserve to be," Nancy reminded me. "But I hope you realize that she has a mind of her own, that she will form her own opinions of people, independently of you." I must have betrayed the fact that I was a little startled, for the remark came as a confirmation of what I had dimly felt. "Of course she has," I agreed, somewhat lamely. "Every woman has, who is worth her salt." Nancy's smile bespoke a knowledge that seemed to transcend my own. "You do like her?" I demanded. "I like her very much indeed," said Nancy, a little gravely. "She's simple, she's real, she has that which so few of us possess nowadays--character. But--I've got to be prepared for the possibility that she may not get along with me." "Why not?" I demanded. "There you are again, with your old unwillingness to analyze a situation and face it. For heaven's sake, now that you have married her, study her. Don't take her for granted. Can't you see that she doesn't care for the things that amuse me, that make my life?" "Of course, if you insist on making yourself out a hardened, sophisticated woman--" I protested. But she shook her head. "Her roots are deeper,--she is in touch, though she may not realize it, with the fundamentals. She is one of those women who are race-makers." Though somewhat perturbed, I was struck by the phrase. And I lost sight of Nancy's generosity. She looked me full in the face.