“I really haven’t an idea what I shall do—what I can do, in fact, if my health gives way—unless,” a piteous quiver of laughter sounded in her voice, “I go into the country and learn to milk cows. There seem to be more cows than anything else in this part of the world.” “But have you no resources at all?” he questioned. “No people?” “But one doesn’t turn to one’s people for help,” said Frances in her quiet way. “My parents both died long ago. I was dependent in my girlhood upon a married brother—a business man—with a family. I soon broke away, and there is no going back. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone.” “Of course not,” said Montague. “But wouldn’t he tide you over this crisis?” “While I learn to milk cows you mean?” The laughter in her voice sounded less precarious now. “I couldn’t possibly ask him. He has sons to educate, and a wife whom I can’t abide. It wouldn’t be fair.” “But must you milk cows?” he questioned. “Is there nothing you can do to fill in time—till you get another secretary’s job?” “Ah! And when will that be? Secretary’s jobs are not easily come by. I have only had one other, and then my employer died and I was out of work for months. That is why I can’t afford to be out of work now. I’ve had no time to save.” She spoke without pathos, a mere statement of fact. He liked her for it. Her simple courage combined with her businesslike expression thereof attracted him more and more. Whatever hard blows Fate might have in store for her, he was convinced that she would endure them unflinching, would stand on her feet to the very end. It was refreshing to meet this sort of woman. With all the present-day talk of woman’s independence he had seldom found her independent when hurt. He was beginning to realize wherein this woman’s fascination lay. It was in the fact that whatever happened to herself she would accept responsibility. Whatever her losses might be, she would borrow no man’s counters. She was answerable to none, and she held herself strong enough to hold her own. That impression came upon him very forcibly as he talked with her, and it was to remain with him for all time. Here was a woman who made no claim of equality or independence, but—she stood alone. “You are marvellously brave,” he said, and he uttered the words almost involuntarily. “It makes me all the keener to be of use.” He paused. “You know, I could be of use if you would allow me.” “In what way?” she said. He hesitated. “You won’t be angry—turn me down unheard?” “You don’t realize that I have great reason to be grateful to you,” she said. “You haven’t,” he returned quickly. “I am not much of a philanthropist. I don’t pretend to take an interest in people who fail to interest me. I am no better than the majority, Miss Thorold, worse than a good many.” He saw her faint smile. “But better than some,” she suggested.