"You mean--you mean--that I--" began the girl brokenly. "I mean," answered Mrs. North, "that you are already doing remarkable work--that you will go far--unless----" "Unless what?" breathed Sheila. "Will you let me advise you?" "Oh, if you only will! What shall I do?" And Sheila bent trusting, obedient eyes upon her. "Do? Dear child, I can tell you in a word. You must renounce!" "Renounce?" repeated Sheila vaguely. "Yes, renounce!" And Alice North turned a face of pale sacrifice upon her--with that inevitable instinct for the dramatic. Few women had renounced less than she--less, at least, of what pleased them--but at that moment, in the intensity of her artistic fervor, she believed herself an ascetic for her work's sake. "The common lot of womanhood is not for you," she declared. "You must live for your art!" And her voice trembled with the touching earnestness that she had so easily assumed--and would as easily cast off. To Sheila, however, there never came a doubt of Mrs. North's deep sincerity. She had listened, as if to a priestess, while the novelist proclaimed her sublime creed of renunciation, and she now offered the obstacle to it in her own situation with a sense of having fallen from grace in being thus human: "But I'm married, you know." "And so am I. But I am consecrated, nevertheless, to my art. And so, my dear, must you be. You must give yourself utterly,--_utterly_--to your art! Art won't take less. _Your_ husband must live for _you_--instead of your living for him after the fashion of most wives. And you'll be worth his living for--I'm sure of that." "I--I don't understand," faltered Sheila. "I don't understand what it is I mustn't do for Ted." Alice North held her hands more closely and fixed her luminous eyes upon her--eyes which, to many before Sheila, had seemed to shine with the light of a beautiful soul: "You mustn't do for him the one thing that you and he will want most--you mustn't have children for him! My dear, _you_ must be a mother with your _brain_--not with your body. You can't do both--at least, worthily--and you must give yourself to creation with your mind. There are women enough already to become mothers of the other sort!" Sheila did not reply. Slowly the glow faded from her face, from her eyes. Slowly and listlessly she withdrew her hands from Mrs. North's fervid clasp and leaned back in her chair. Clearly the supreme moment had passed; the flame of her ardor had flickered out. Mrs. North glanced curiously at her. An instant before, the girl had been radiant, tremulous with aspiration and with hope. Now she was apathetic and cold, her spirit no more than a handful of ashes. The silence lengthened--grew heavy with meaning. Alice North put out her hand again: "I trust I haven't intruded--offended?"