'One hundred and fifty,' she repeated helplessly. 'Do you mean that you manage to dress on that now?' 'Dress on it, my dear! I pay all my travelling expenses, my cabs, my stamps, my Christmas presents--everything out of it, as well as buy my clothes. And it will have to pay for my rent and food besides, when Aunt Grizel dies--when I'm not being taken in somewhere. Of course, she still counts on my marrying, poor dear.' 'Oh, but, of course you _will_ marry,' said Althea, with conviction. Miss Buchanan, who was getting much better, was propped high on her pillows to-day, and was attired in a most becoming flow of lace and silk. Nothing less exposed to the gross chances of the world could be imagined. She did not turn her eyes on her companion as the confident assertion was made, and she kept silence for a moment. Then she answered placidly: 'Of course, if I'm to live--and not merely exist--I must try to, I suppose.' Althea was taken aback and pained by the wording of this speech. Her national susceptibilities were again wounded by the implication that a rare and beautiful woman--for so she termed Helen Buchanan--might be forced, not only to hope for marriage, but to seek it; the implication that urgency lay rather in the woman's state than in the man's. She had all the romantic American confidence in the power of the rare and beautiful woman to marry when and whom she chose. 'I am sure you need never try,' she said with warmth. 'I'm sure you have dozens of delightful people in love with you.' Miss Buchanan turned her eyes on her and laughed as though she found this idea amusing. 'Why, in heaven's name, should I have dozens of delightful people in love with me?' 'You are so lovely, so charming, so distinguished.' 'Am I? Thanks, my dear. I'm afraid you see things _en couleur de rose_.' And, still smiling, her eyes dwelling on Althea with their indifferent kindness, she went on: 'Have you delightful dozens in love with you?' Althea did not desert her guns. She felt that the very honour of their sex--hers and Helen's--was on trial in her person. She might not be as lovely as her friend--though she might be; that wasn't a matter for her to inquire into; but as woman--as well-bred, highly educated, refined and gentle woman--she, too, was chooser, and not seeker.