"Wilson," said his sister, when they were alone again, "when I think of the young man and his experiences in the story, and his make-up and point of view, I find myself connecting Mildred. She fills my dreams in that story as the One Woman. How successful and how happy that man could have been, had he had a treasure like her, for his own." "Well, yes, possibly. No doubt; but if, taking the story as it is, if he had her now, after what has come to pass, I judge he could appreciate her real worth to a greater degree. Don't you agree with me?" She was thoughtful a moment before replying. "Yes, I think I do. It _would_ be different now." She was reflective for some time before she went on again. "The other day I said to her: 'If you had been in the girl's place in the story, how would you have accepted this father?' I shall not soon forget how strange she looked. Her entire being seemed to undergo a change. From the way I recall it, her mind seemed to go back into the past, and she was so odd for a few seconds, that I was sorry I said it. Then, after a moment, during which she seemed to struggle with something, she said: 'I would not, you may be sure, have been like the girl.' That was all, and I said no more; nor do I think I will again. She acted--ah, I can't hardly frame it; but, frankly, too peculiar." "I'm going to bed, Sis'," said her brother now. His eyes were evidence that he should go. He was awake now for a moment. "I've been much interested in what has passed tonight, Sis'. I'll be glad to talk on the same subject again." He was silent a moment, and then, rising, he said, "Good night." "Good night, Wilson." Then she heard his door close, after watching him until he reached his door; after that, she fell into deep and serious thinking. It concerned him. He was all she had--this brother--and his future was in her thoughts now, a grave concern of hers. Yes, and Wilson Jacobs was now one and thirty.... He had no wife--not even did he see women in that sense. Constance didn't think of herself now--nor at any other time, apparently. And yet she was twenty-eight; but she felt, if her brother was to be a happy man, he should consider his life more seriously. He was lost in his purpose. Mildred Latham was a girl, the kind of girl she would like to see him take notice of. And then she was jerked back into a sudden reminder.... Wilson _had_ been acting different lately. How could she, for one moment, have forgotten it. Yes, he had been acting _very_ differently.... He was all attention when Mildred was saying anything. He was careful never to disturb her. And only tonight, when they had spoken of her together, he had almost called her by her first name. Constance Jacobs was now oblivious to what was about her. She continued to think. Mildred was kind, she was intelligent; she was--and here Constance forgot the words Mildred had said not an hour before, 'I cannot stand vanity'--beautiful.