"What else is there, dear? Harry’s piffle means nothing except that a plucky girl has begun his education, and it hurts. I don’t know what else there is to take the place of marriage. It’s the parties to the contract who don’t understand its essence." "What would you suggest?" inquired Stephanie curiously. "Education. A girl should be brought up to master some trade or profession. She should support herself by it. She should never go to her husband empty-handed and unable to support herself. "If, then, under the mutual marriage contract, her earning capacity be necessarily checked by child-birth, and by the later and natural demands of progeny, these alone should temporarily but only in part interrupt her in the exercise of her trade or profession. And he should pay for them. "But she should have a life work to do; and so should he, no matter how ample their means. Domestic drudgery must be done by others hired for the purpose, or else by themselves, sharing alike. In no other way that I see can marriage remain endurable." After a silence Stephanie said naïvely: "I haven’t any trade or profession." "You are a graduate nurse." "Oh. I forgot. That _is_ comforting!" "Also you are already married." The girl looked up in a startled way, as though hearing this information for the first time. Helen gazed gravely into the troubled grey eyes: "Do you regret it, Steve?" "I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think about it." "It’s high time, isn’t it?" "Y-yes.... I’ve got to do a—a lot of thinking some day, I suppose." She gazed absently into space for a few moments; then again the faintest of smiles curved her lips and she bent her head and remained very still, deep in reflection. ... "Did you wish to speak to Marie Cliff?" asked Helen, breaking the prolonged silence. The girl looked up, dim-eyed, confused: "Yes." "I think she just went into the court-yard." Stephanie’s wool-gathering wits returned; she sprang up and walked swiftly out to the court, where the white horse was just being led in and the pretty dancer stood unpinning her hat. She turned when Stephanie entered, and the girl went up to her, smilingly, and offered her hand. "Miss Davis will be here in a few moments," she said. "I thought I’d come and tell you." "Thank you," said Marie Cliff, curiously. "Also," said Stephanie, "I wanted to tell you how very lovely you are on that horse. I had a glimpse of you last week, and you were too enchanting! No wonder Helen’s study is so exquisite." The little dancer flushed brightly. Her gloved hand still lay lifelessly in Stephanie’s, who had retained it; her childish eyes asked for the reason of this kindness from a girl who had never noticed her. Then, reading the unuttered question, Stephanie blushed too: "I’m not much older than you are," she said, "and I’m not nearly as sensible. I’ve been rude enough to ignore you. Could you forgive me and be friends?" "Yes," said Marie Cliff.