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"Why not?" returned Patricia, her fingers busy with Sinbad's girdle. "You can't do two things at once, to do them well. I'm commonplace enough to realize that, but you geniuses go on trying to tear yourselves into little pieces, and then howl because you aren't making masterpieces in every department." Of what followed—the bestowing and graceful acceptance of the pretty purse with the hundred dollars, the congratulations and murmurs of surprise that ran about the assembly—Patricia had little knowledge. Those astonishing words of Mr. Benton had so stung and bewildered her that the room swung about her dizzily and she clutched the back of a chair for support. Elinor's stricken face faded in the blurred background of all the other faces, as she flung out vain hands of protest. "I can understand all that," interrupted Jen, "but the similarity of the perfumes? I must have that point cleared up.".

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I like him and always have, of that I am sure. He offers me the most wonderful life in the world, and no woman could help being proud to accept it. I am lonely, more lonely than I was even willing to confess to Dr. John. I can't go on living like this any longer. Ruth Clinton has made me see that if I want Alfred it will be now or never and—quick. I know now that she loves him, and she ought to have her chance if I don't want him. The way she idolises and idealises him is a marvel of womanly stupidity. "It's not fair, till Elinor comes, too!" she protested hotly. "Wait, they'll be back. I'll call them." Patricia set her spangled roses twinkling with a nod of comprehension, but she did not pause. A heavy-shouldered dark man, whose workmanlike appearance was heightened by the torn and spotted linen apron he wore, came quietly over to Patricia, and, taking the wire from Miss Griffin's thin, nervous hands, silently and swiftly finished the work she had begun, while she, with a nod of acquiescence, went to her own stand and began to thump lumps of clay into shape about her own iron head-piece..