Patience went slowly downstairs, feeling as if she had been sent out to discover the North Pole with a chart and a row-boat. When she reached Cooper Union, two hours later, and found herself for the moment an integer of one of the many phases of current history, she forgot the agonising travail of the “news sense,” and became so deeply interested that she observed the many familiar faces abstractedly, and, later, “faked” their costumes. She hurried to her room before the meeting was over and wrote her “story.” It concluded thus:— “Some four hundred women were present, at half-past eleven in the morning; the hour indicating that they were women of leisure, which in its turn presupposes the large measure of education and refinement, and a general superiority over the toiling millions. They were very enthusiastic. When Dr. Broadhead entered the applause was deafening. They interrupted him every few minutes. When he sat down, and Mr. Lionel Chambers came forward he, too, was warmly welcomed, for his popularity is well established. He smiled, and began something like this:— “‘Ladies: Dr. Broadhead has left me little to say. I being somewhat versed in politics, however, in other words, in hard fighting with the enemy, he believes that I may be able to give you a little useful advice.’ (Applause and cries of ‘Yes! Yes!’) ‘Now, ladies, there are several points upon which I must ask your attention.’ (No man ever had more serious attention.) ‘I will check them off in detail. First of all, ladies, my advice to you is to—’ (every ear went forward)—‘is—to—pray.’ “He paused. There was an intense and disgusted silence, with the exception of one or two muttered exclamations of impatience. _There were just four hundred women in the city of New York who were beyond that sort of thing._ He saw his mistake at once, blundered on confusedly, recovered himself, and gave them much sound, practical advice which they received with every mark of gratitude.” She hastened down to the office, her eyes shining with the proud delight of authorship. Steele looked busier than any one she had ever seen, but he asked sharply: “Got anything?” “Yes.” “Let me see it. Skip the descriptive part.” She handed him the latter part of her story, and he ran his eye hastily over it. A gleam shot from his eyes, but he compressed his lips. “That’s not bad—but I don’t know that I dare print it. The religious hypocrisy of this country beats that of England, strange as it may appear. However, I’ll think it over. Come down to-morrow morning.”