When Minola Grey was a little girl her mother was one of Miss Mary Blanchet's chiefest patronesses. It was in great measure by the influence of Minola's father that Miss Blanchet obtained her place in the courthouse. Little Minola thought her a great poetess and a remarkably beautiful woman, and accepted somehow the impression that she had a romantic and mysterious love history. It was a rare delight for her to be taken to spend an evening with Miss Blanchet, to drink tea in her pretty and well kept little room, to walk with her through the stone passages of the courthouse, and hear her repeat her poems. As Minola grew she outgrew the poems, but the affection survived; and after her mother's death she found no congenial or sympathetic friend anywhere in Keeton but Mary Blanchet. The relationship between the two curiously changed. The tall girl of twenty became the leader, the heroine, the queen; and Mary Blanchet, sensible little woman enough in many ways, would have turned African explorer or joined in a rebellion of women against men if Miss Grey had given her the word of command. "I know your mind is made up, dear, now that you have come," Miss Blanchet said when the first rapture of greeting was over. Minola took off her hat and threw it on the little sofa with the air of one who feels thoroughly at home. It may be remarked as characteristic of this young woman that in going toward the sofa she had to pass the chimney-piece with its mirror, and that she did not even cast a glance at her own image in the glass. "Mary," she asked gravely, "am I a man and a brother, that you expect me to change my mind? You are not repenting, I hope?" "Oh, no, my dear. I have all the advantages, you know. I am so tired of this place and the work--dear me!" "And I hate to see you at such work. You might almost as well be a servant. Years ago I made up my mind to take you out of this wretched place as soon as I should be of age and my own mistress." "Well, I have sent in my resignation, and I am free. But I am a little afraid about you. You have been used to every luxury--and the carriage--and all that." "One of my ambitions is to drive in a hansom cab. Another is to have a latch-key. Both will soon be gratified. I am only sorry for one thing." "What is that, dear?" "That we can't be Rosalind and Celia; that I can't put on man's clothes and liberty." "But you don't like men--you always want to avoid them." Miss Grey said nothing in defence of her own consistency. She was thinking that if she had been a man, she would have been spared the vexation of having to listen to Mr. Augustus Sheppard's proposals. "I suspect," Miss Blanchet said, "that people will say we are more like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza." "Which of us is the Sancho?" "Oh, I of course; I am the faithful follower." "You--poor little poetess, full of dreams, and hopes, and unselfishness! Why, I shall have to see that you get something to eat at tolerably regular intervals."