“It's the only way on earth you can meet him. You stick to your narrow, hide-bound conventional life and dream of the Knight who will suddenly appear some day out of the mists and clouds. You dream of the Fate God has prepared for you in His mysterious Providence. It's funny how that idea persists even today in novels. As a matter of fact we know that the old-fashioned girl met her Fate because her shrewd mother planned the meeting--planned it with cunning and stratagem. You're alone in a great modern city, with all the conditions of the life of the old regime reversed or blotted out. Your mother is not here. And if she were, her schemes to bring about the mysterious meeting of the Fates would be impossible. You outgrew the limits of your village life. Your highly trained mind landed you in New York. You've fought your way to a competent living in five years and kept yourself clean and unspotted from the world. Granted. But how many men have you met who are your equals in culture and character?” Jane paused and held Mary's gaze with steady persistence. “How many--honest?” “None as yet,” she confessed. “But you live in the one fond, imperishable hope! It's the only thing that keeps you alive and going--this idea of your Fate. It's an obsession--this mysterious Knight somewhere in the future riding to meet you----” “I'll find him, never fear,” the girl laughed. “Of course you will. You'll make him out of whole cloth if it's necessary. Our ideals are really the same when you come to analyze my wider outlook.” The artist paused and laughed softly. “The same?” the girl asked incredulously. “Certainly. Mine is based on intelligence, however--yours on blind instinct perverted and twisted by the idiotic fiction you read morning, noon and night.” “I don't see it,” Mary answered emphatically. “Your ideal is fame, achievement, the applause of the world--mine just a home and a baby----” Jane laughed softly. “And that's all you know about me?” “Isn't it true?” “You've been in this room five years, haven't you?” the older girl asked musingly. “Yes----” “And though you've kept your lamp trimmed and burning, you haven't yet seen a man whom you could recognize as your equal.” “I'm only twenty-four.” “In these five years I've met a hundred men my equal.” “And smashed the conventions of Society whenever you saw fit.”