She smiled, but quickly became serious. "I learned very early in
life that I was beautiful; and I suppose if I were suddenly to cease
being beautiful, I'd miss it; yet I often think it's a nuisance. It
makes one dependent on externals. Most of the beautiful women I've
known make a sort of profession of it--they live to shine and be
looked at.

"And you don't enjoy that?" I asked.

"It restricts one's life. Men expect it of you, they resent your
having any other interest."

"So," I responded, gravely, "with all your beauty and wealth, you
aren't perfectly happy?"

"Oh, yes!" she cried--not having meant to confess so much. "I told
myself I would be happy, because I would be able to do so much good
in the world. There must be some way to do good with money! But now
I'm not sure; there seem to be so many things in the way. Just when
you have your mind made up that you have a way to help, someone
comes and points out to you that you may be really doing harm."

She hesitated again, and I said, "That means you have been looking
into the matter of charity."

She gave me a bright glance. "How you understand things!" she
exclaimed.

"It is possible," I replied, "to know modern society so well that