"What's he going to be, Kid--your man? Is he rich or poor? Listen! 'Lawyer--doctor--merchant--chief--rich man--poor man--beggar man--thief----'" She stopped in a certain consternation, the last petal in her hand--"A thief?----" "Why, Annie, you surely don't believe in such things," said Mary Warren reprovingly. "And of course we oughtn't to have done anything foolish as this. It's--it's awful." Annie, her mood suddenly changing, drew apart and sat down moodily. "You couldn't blame a fellow for trying to forget things, Sis," said she. "Look at me. I'm on the street, you might say--they canned me yesterday! Yes! that's the truth. I wasn't going to tell you--you looked so cold last night, and you with your eyes what they are. It--it looks like Charlie had a chance, eh?" Mary Warren looked at her for a time in silence. "You'll never have to toss a copper for a husband, I'm sure of that. If I were handsome as you----" "Oh, am I?" said her companion. "Men hang around--what does it get me? Time passes. Where are we pretty soon? Men ain't all husbands that make love." "How much money you got saved up, Mary?" she asked suddenly. "Just one hundred thirty-five dollars and eighty cents," said Mary, not needing to consult her pass book. "I can pay for my bond now." "Got me beat. Best I can do for my life savings is fifty-eight dollars and seventy-five cents. How long will that last you and me?" "You're despondent, Annie--you mustn't feel blue--why, to-morrow we'll both go out and see what we can do." "About me? I like that! It's _you_ we got to bother about. My Lord! It ain't so far off, this ad in _Hearts Aflame_! What you really _do_ need is a man who'll be kind and chivalrous with you." "I haven't got to that yet," said Mary Warren, stoutly. Her color rose. "No? Funnier things have happened. You might do worse." "I'm not _bred_ that way, Annie," said Mary Warren slowly; but her color rising yet more as she realized that perhaps she had been cruel. "You needn't explain anything to me," replied Annie. "I'm not sore. You came of a better family, and so it'll be harder for you to get through life than it is for me." As she spoke she had risen, and was buttoning her street wraps. Mary Warren sat silent, the dark lenses of her glasses turned toward her companion. "Beggar man--thief!" she said at last. "I'd be robbing him, even then!" She smiled bitterly. "Who'd take _me_?" CHAPTER VI RICH MAN--POOR MAN When spring came above the icy shores of the inland seas, Mary Warren had been out of work for more than three months. She was ill; ill of body, ill of mind, ill of heart. Her splendid, resilient courage had at last begun to break. She was facing the thought that she could not carry her own weight in the world.