Mrs. Andrews returned to the ladies' paper she was reading. The fashion plates for the week were unusually attractive. Marion observed her unseen. Suddenly the daughter said:-- "I must ask you for that five pounds, mother. Bill promised it me. My underclothing is literally in rags. I've done my best, and it's past mending. And I must have another decent dress." "There you are,--clamouring for money again"--said her mother, bouncing up on the sofa--"when you know how hard-pressed Bill is. He's got another instalment to pay for the motor the end of this week." "Yes--the motor you made him get!"--said Marion, as though the words burst from her. "And why shouldn't he, pray! The money's his--and mine. It was high time we got rid of that rattletrap. It jolted me to pieces." "You said a little while ago it would do very well for another year. Anyway, Bill promised me something for clothes this month--and he also said that he'd pay my school of art fees, at Wanchester, and give me a third season ticket. Is that all done with too?" The girl sat erect, her face with its sparkling eyes expressing mingled humiliation and bitterness. "Oh, well really, I can't stand these constant disputes!" said Mrs. Andrews, rising angrily from the sofa. "You'd better go to your brother. If he likes to waste his money, he can of course. But I've got none to spare." She paused at the door--"As for your underclothing, I daresay I could find you something of mine you could make do for a bit. Now do be sensible!--and don't make a scene with Bill!" She closed the door. Marion walked to the side window of the drawing-room, and stood looking at the wooded slope of the hill, with Monk Lawrence in the distance. Her heart burned within her. She was thirty-four. She had never had any money of her own--she had never been allowed any education that would fit her to earn. She was absolutely dependent on her mother and brother. Bill was kind enough, though careless, and often selfish. But her mother rubbed her dependence into her at every turn--"And yet I earn my clothes and my keep--every penny of them!" she thought, fiercely. A year before this date she had been staying in London with a cousin who sometimes took pity on her and gave her a change of scene. They had gone together for curiosity's sake to a "militant" meeting in London. A lady, slight in figure, with dark eyes and hair, had spoken on the "economic independence of women"--as the only path to the woman's goal of "equal rights" with men. She had spoken with passion, and Marion's sore heart had leapt to answer her.