She turned her thought to Northrup. Northrup had seemed safe. He belonged to all that was familiar to her. He would be famous some day--that she might interfere with this never occurred to the girl. She simply saw herself in a gorgeous studio pouring tea or dancing, and all the people paying court to her while knowing that they ought to be paying it to Northrup. "But he always gets a grubby hole to work in." Kathryn fidgeted. "I daresay he is working now in some smudgy old place." But this thought did not last. She could insist upon the studio. A man owes his wife _something_ if he will have his way about his job. Just at this point a tap on the door brought a frown to Kathryn's smooth forehead. "Oh! come in," she called peevishly. A drab-coloured woman of middle age entered. She was one of the individuals so grateful for being noticed at all that her cheerfulness was a constant reproach. She had been selected by Kathryn's father to act as housekeeper and chaperon. As the former she was a gratifying success; as the latter, a joke and one to be eliminated as much as possible. For the first time in years Kathryn regarded her aunt now with interest. "Aunt Anna"--Kathryn never indulged in graceful tact with her relations--"Aunt Anna, how old _are_ you?" Anna Morris coloured, flinched, but smiled coyly. "Forty-two, dear, but it was only yesterday that my dressmaker said that I should not tell that. It is not necessary, you know." "I suppose not!" Kathryn was regarding the fatness of the woman who was calmly setting the disorderly room to rights. "Aunt Anna, why didn't you marry?" The dull, fat face was turned away. Anna Morris never lost sight of the fact that when Kathryn married she would face a stern situation unless Kathryn proved kinder than any one had any reason to expect her to be. So her remarks were guarded. "Oh! my dear, my dear, _what_ a question. Well, to be quite frank, I discovered at eighteen that some men could stir my senses"--Anna Morris tittered--"and some couldn't. At twenty-two the only man who could stir me was horribly poor; the other stirring ones had been snapped up. You see, there was no one to help me with my affairs. Your father never _did_ understand. The only thing he was keen about was making money enough to marry your mother. Then you were born and your mother died and--well, there was nothing for me to do but come here and help him out. One has plain duties. I always had sense enough"--Anna Morris moved about heavily--"to realize that senses do not stir when poverty pinches, and this house _was_ comfortable; and duty _can_ fill in chinks. I always contend"--the dull eyes now confronted Kathryn--"that there _is_ a dangerous age for men and women. If they get through that alive and alone--well, there is a kind of calm that comes."