"I had no luck at all," Mary said presently, "nothing but slights and insults, rebuffs and bitter humiliations. I might have been a servant girl for all the civility I received. And even one man, who seemed to have a heart in his breast, told me to come home and burn the lot." "Wherefore you bounced out of the shop indignantly," Connie laughed. "Indeed I didn't, I was too utterly crushed and sorrowful for that. I crept here and made a bonfire of my precious drawings, and I am ready to ask your pardon for the cold way in which I accepted your good advice this morning. There!" It was a great deal for Mary to say, a confession that she had failed, that she was utterly wrong, the like of which she had never made before. Her face was flushed now and her lips were all trembling. Connie looked at her with undisguised admiration. "You have won a greater victory than you know," she said quietly. "It is very hard for anyone brought up as you have been to admit a failure. I had a letter from Mr. Darnley this morning in which he told me a good deal about you. I hope the day will come when you will learn to appreciate Ralph Darnley properly." "I think I do," Mary said, with the red mounting to her cheeks. "He is a good man, and I owe him a great deal--my life itself on two occasions. But he--he did not quite understand." "Didn't he?" Connie asked, her eyes dancing with mischief, "he is an audacious man. He thinks that he is good enough for any girl. And so he is, bless him! Oh, you will learn your lesson in time, my dear. And when you do, you will be one of the luckiest girls in the world. To be the wife of a man like that, ah!" "You think so highly of him as that?" Mary asked. "Ay, I do, indeed. Oh, how I could love that man if only he cared for me! I could open my heart to him tomorrow, and thank God fasting for a good man's love. Fancy the sweet rest and peacefulness of it all, fancy laying down the weary struggle, the fearful dread of the needs of the morrow with the assurance that you had that man to protect you! But your eyes will be opened in time, you will come to see that love is the best of all things." Connie had dropped her voice almost to a whisper and her dark eyes were moist. Then she seemed to wipe away the tears with a smile and was her sunny self again. "Please don't laugh at my sentimental manner," she said. "Let us talk about you and your affairs. We may take it for granted that you have abandoned all idea of making a fortune out of the milk-stool order of art. You feel quite sure that you could make nothing of my kind of work." "I should absolutely hate it," Mary shuddered. "Please don't be offended." "Oh, I am not in the least offended. I felt just like you at first. Did you ever try your hand at designing? One or two girls I know do well at that."