"I don’t do it enough," retorted Diana fiercely; "what have I got to look forward to, after all?—a homeless life of social employment, an old age of gossip and cards!—or, if I win out, a loveless middle age wearing some wealthy man’s name and pearls, and all the rest dashed out—the brightness, the youth of things, the hope of things, children——" "_You_ don’t want children!" exclaimed Silvette, horrified; "grubby little things! I thought you hated them!" "Grubby little things," repeated the girl slowly; "so I do, in theory." "You don’t know anything about them practically." "Except at the Maternity Hospital.... Oh, Silvie, it _is_ ghastly.... It’s horrid! horrid!—it’s devilishly unfair! ... Young girls in the springtide of youth crept in and out of that dreadful place like the white ghosts of murdered souls! If maternity didn’t slay them, it killed the better part of them. Then the world ended for them—youth, hope, freedom ended with the first thin cry of the tyrant that dooms all women.... Yes, I—hate children!" She stood a moment, slim hands on her hips, head lowered with the brown locks clustering against her cheeks; then, looking up: "But I mean to have one of my own sometime. Life to the full, dregs and all, before I die. That is my programme." Silvette laughed. "This is a new and recent development, isn’t it?" "I’m developing like lightning." "Lightning develops quickly, but it doesn’t last, dear." Diana, lost in retrospection again, smiled vaguely. Then, lifting her pretty eyes: "Did you ever see starlings feeding their young? A pair nested opposite the studio. I found their evolutions rather interesting." "No doubt," said her sister. "Is that what has aroused the maternal instinct? Come, who is to bathe first. Pull down the shade and turn on the electricity, and ring for the maid, dear. She ought to lay out our gowns at once." Diana did as she was bidden; then, on impulse, sat down at the little fly-away desk and scribbled a note: "Take it to Mr. Edgerton," she said to the maid. Edgerton, dressing leisurely, read the note where he stood under the electric cluster: "DEAR JIM: The rain, the world, and things oppress me. So do you sometimes.... There’s a long future ahead of me. I dread it—who was eager for the plunge a few days since. I seem to be standing on the threshold of things in general, waiting for my cue to enter, but with little heart for the stage now. Alas, I am already tired before the overture has ended. "If we dance to-night, ask me. Probably I’m the only girl in the house who could stand a dance with you—and I’m not so certain about myself.... But if we play Bridge, continue not to sit at our table. I ask it of you for reasons which are none of your business. Indulge my whim, please. "JAPONETTE." He finished dressing, then scribbled a note to her, and sent it by the valet: