“He’s not over strong. It’s not money I’m thinking of--” she flushed and hesitated and then said with a girlish rush, “I’d manage; once I’m free; I’d manage. I’d work my fingers to the bone for ’im.” Marvellous, for a little man who would go on writing yours of yesterday’s date to hand as per statement enclosed; nothing in his day but his satisfaction in the curves and flourishes of his handwriting ... and then home comforts, Mrs. Bailey always there, growing more worn and ill and old; an old woman before he was thirty. “But that won’t be for a long time yet; though Polly’s doing splendid.” “Is she?” “Well, I oughtn’t to boast. But they’ve wrote me she’s to be pupil-teacher next year.” “_Polly?_” “Polly,” bridled Mrs. Bailey and laughed with shining eyes. “The chahld’s not turned fifteen yet, dear little woman blesser.” Miriam winced; poor little Polly Bailey, to die so soon, without knowing it. “Oh, that’s magnificent.” Perhaps it was magnificent. Perhaps a Bailey would not feel cheated and helpless. Polly would be a pupil-teacher, perkily remaining her same self, a miniature of Mrs. Bailey, already full of amused mysterious knowledge and equal to every occasion. Mrs. Bailey smiled shyly, “She’s like her poor mother; she’s got a will of her own.” Miriam sat at ease within the tide .... where did women find the insight into personality that gave them such extraordinary prophetic power? She herself had not an atom of it. Perhaps it was matronhood; and Mary hid all these things in her heart. No; aunts often had it, even more than matrons; Mrs. Bailey was so splendidly controlled that she was an aunt as well as a mother to the children. She contemplated the sharply ravaged little head, reared and smiling above the billows of what people called ‘misfortunes’ by her conscious and self-confessed strength of will; yes, and unconscious fairness and generosity, reflected Miriam and an immovable sense of justice. All these years of scraping and contrivance had not corrupted Mrs. Bailey; she ought to be a judge, and not Mr. Gunner’s general servant.... Justice is a woman; blindfolded; seeing from the inside and not led away by appearances; men invent systems of ethics, but they cannot weigh personality; they have no individuality, only conformity or non-conformity to abstract systems; yet it was impossible to acknowledge the power of a woman, of any woman she had ever known, without becoming a slave; or to associate with one, except in a time of trouble; but in her deliberate excursion into this little room she was free; all her life lay far away, basking in freedom; spreading out and out, illimitable; each space and part a full cup on which no hand might be laid .... that little man was just a curious foreign voice, which would presently rouse her impatience .... and just now he had seemed so near.... Was she looking at him with Mrs. Bailey’s eyes? Mrs. Bailey would say, “oh yes, I think he’s a very nice little man.” Beyond his