It had been a year of calamity. Everything went wrong. A European war sent down the prices of stocks and shares. A railway strike at home swallowed up dividends; a bank failed; water leaked into an oil well, and dried up on a rubber plantation. Norah had no time to recover from one disaster before another burst upon her; while she was still sorrowfully digesting the fact that a summer remittance was not to hand, intelligence arrived that as regarded autumn payments, the trustee regretfully pronounced no dividends. In short, Fortune, having smiled upon the young woman for twenty-five years, had now turned her back with a vengeance, until eventually she was face to face with the fact that in future her work must be to earn, rather than to spend. Mrs Ingram had played her usual part of confidante and consoler during the year of upheaval, and the invitation had been given with the intention of allowing "the poor little dear time to think." It would not be tactful to exclude her from the general questioning that had sprung out of New Year confidences, but in her heart the hostess shrank from putting the question. "And what do _you_ want, Norah? I think it's your turn!" Contrary to expectation Norah did not look at all perturbed. She shrugged her shoulders, and cried instantly, "Oh, Work, of course! Plenty of work. At once. With a handsome remuneration, paid quarterly in advance! It sounds very moral and praiseworthy, but it isn't a bit. I'm not fond of work; I'd a great deal sooner go on amusing myself in my own way. I've never had one scrap of longing to be a bachelor girl, and live on my own, and cook sketchy meals on a greasy stove. I detest food in the raw, and should never be able to eat it, after contending with it in its earliest stages. I'd live on tea and nuts. But it's a got-to! I _must_ earn money, so I must work. The trouble is to discover what I can do... I can think of thousands of things that I _can't_... I can-- with care--make five shillings go about as far as an ordinary person's half-crown, so I'm not exactly suited to be a housekeeper. I couldn't trim a hat to save my life, but I can alter one quite well. I'm clever at it. It's generally accomplished by first sitting on it, and then putting it on in the dark. You wouldn't believe how smart it can look! Do you think there'd be any chance of selling the patent? Or could I advertise in a fashion paper--`Lady remodels hats to latest mode. Send orders for two and six to N.B.'? ... I can't write a book, or paint a picture, or teach a child over three, or nurse, or massage, or type, or keep a beauty parlour--or--or--or anything that working women _do_ do! I might offer myself to the Educational Society, as a horrible example of how a girl ought _not_ to be brought up, and be exhibited on the platform at lectures. The work would be light, and I could wear pretty clothes, but I don't think it would be respectful to my parents. I