manly title, and it is not a special personal matter to give it to
him. There is something, even, in the use of it, which delicately
marks an attitude--not of distance, but of a certain maidenly and
bewitching consciousness--in a girl friend grown into a woman, and
recognizing the man.

"I don't see, exactly, Mr. Sunderline," said Marion. "Why shouldn't
a girl do the best she can? Will she be any the worse for it
afterwards? Why should the wives be all spoilt, any more than the
husbands?"

"Real work wouldn't spoil; only the sham and the show. Don't do it,
Marion. I wouldn't want my sister to, if I had one--there!"

He had not meant so directly to answer her question. He came to this
end involuntarily.

Marion felt herself tingle from head to foot with the suddenness of
the negative that she had asked for and brought down upon herself.
Now, if she acted, she must act in defiance of it. She felt angrily
ashamed, too, of the position in which his words put her; that of a
girl seeking notoriety, for mere show's sake; desiring to do a sham
work; to make a pretension without a claim. How did he know what her
claim might be? She had a mind to find out, and let him see. Sister!
what did he say that for? He needn't have talked about sisters, or
wives either, after that fashion. Spoilt! Well, what should she save
herself for? It was pretty clear it wouldn't be much to him.

The color died down, and she grew quiet, or thought she did. She
meant to be very quiet; very indifferent and calm. She lifted up her