This was a day in August, when Helen wanted yet another hat and frock. “They were never mine; they were yours, mother,” was the unfeeling reply. “I want the dress and the hat.” “You have had two hats this season.” “This one then will make three.” Clothes had become her obsession, a silent way she had of extorting admiration from George. “Well, if this keeps up I cannot afford to send you away to school this fall,” Mrs. Adams told her. “I don’t want to go away to school. I am tired of being just taught. I want to do my own learning,” Helen informed her. And when you consider how simple she was, this was a rather profound thing to say. The desire to chase our own knowledge is as old as Eve. But from then until now it has led to a sort of independent, sweating self-respect. We pay the highest price of all for it, as Helen was destined to learn--among other things. But I reckon it is worth it, if anything is worth what we pay for the experience by which life unfolds. Mrs. Adams was not crushed by this flare of ingratitude. She was simply confirmed in her suspicions. Meanwhile Mr. Cutter, Senior, was also confirmed in his suspicions. Young George informed him early in August that he just about had enough of the university; he believed the wisest thing for him to do under the circumstances was to settle down to business. He did not name the circumstances, but by this time everybody knew what they were, including Mr. Cutter. “You are of age--your own man; the decision rests with you,” he had said to George on this occasion, by way of washing his hands of any responsibility, after the cool-headed manner of fathers. As a matter of fact, he was very well satisfied. Helen Adams was a good girl; pretty; she would eventually inherit some property. Besides, he thought George had better settle early in life, else he might not settle at all. “I’ve made the decision,” said George, like a man in a hurry. “With the hope of getting a raise in salary soon,” he added, with a note of financial stress in his voice. “Oh, I guess we could manage that in case of an emergency,” his father replied in the same matter-of-fact tones. This is the way men deal with one another, even if somewhere behind the dealing deathless love is at stake. And it is not the way women deal with one another. For some reason, when they settle down in their years, and recover the powers of sight according to reason, they are ready to inflict death on love upon the slightest provocation.