What he wanted to reply was that he should abandon all this job-hunting and live lean until he could sell his real work, instead of striving to maintain the semblance of an expensive comfort in the city by selling himself to magazines and publishers. But Milly would not understand the urgency of that--how could she? And what had he to offer her now for the sacrifice he should be demanding? What would she do with the long, silent days in the country, while he worked and destroyed what he did, only to begin again on the morrow at the ceaseless task, with its doubtful result? If there had been real companionship, or if the flame of their passion had still burned, then it might not have proved an intolerable exile for the woman.... They did as others would do under the circumstances--hung on in the great city as best they could, in the hope of a better fortune soon, living expectantly from day to day. Each month the city life seemed to demand more money, and each month Bragdon sank deeper into the mire of journalistic art. Worst of all they got into the habit of regarding their life as a temporary makeshift, which they expected to change when they could, tolerating it for the present as best they could,--like most of the workers of the world. Bragdon, at least, knew what he hoped for, impossible as it might be,--a total escape from the debauching work he was doing. Milly hoped vaguely for a pleasanter apartment and an easier way of living,--more friends and more good times with them. One of the first familiar faces Milly met in the bewildering new city was Marion Reddon's. She came across the little New Englander standing at the curb of a crowded street, a child by either hand, waiting until the flow of traffic should halt long enough to permit crossing. "Marion!" Milly cried, her eyes dancing with delight on recognizing her. A smile came to the white, tired face of the other woman,--the smile that gave something of beauty to the plain face. "Are you living here, too--in New York?" "Yes, since the autumn." "Has Sam given up his teaching?" "I made him resign." They drew to one side where they could hear each other's voices. The sight of Marion Reddon brought back happy days,--at least they seemed to be happy now, by comparison. Marion continued:-- "The teaching was too easy for him--besides he didn't like it. And if a man doesn't like that work, he's no business doing it. He had much better get out into the fight with other men and make his way against them." "But you loved the college town: you must have hated to leave it." "It was what I had known all my life, and it was a good sort of place to bring the children up in--pleasant and easy. But New York is the big game for men, of course. I wanted Sam to go up against it." She smiled, but Milly might divine something of the courage it had taken for Marion to launch her small craft in the seething city. They talked a little longer, then parted, having exchanged addresses.