life, and all the brief span of her years had gone to forming habits of
speech and thought and manner diametrically opposed to what she had so
far encountered.

She nursed her chin in her hand and pondered this. She could not see how
it was to be avoided. She was there, and perforce she must stay there.
She had no friends to go elsewhere, or training in the harsh business of
gaining a livelihood if she did go. For the first time she began dully
to resent the manner of her upbringing. Once she had desired to enter
hospital training, had been properly enthusiastic for a period of months
over a career in this field of mercy. Then, as now, marriage, while
accepted as the ultimate state, was only to be considered through a haze
of idealism and romanticism. She cherished certain ideals of a possible
lover and husband, but always with a false sense of shame. The really
serious business of a woman's life was the one thing to which she made
no attempt to apply practical consideration. But her parents had had
positive ideas on that subject, even if they were not openly expressed.
Her yearnings after a useful "career" were skilfully discouraged,--by
her mother because that worthy lady thought it was "scarcely the thing,
Stella dear, and so unnecessary"; by her father because, as he bluntly
put it, it would only be a waste of time and money, since the chances
were she would get married before she was half through training, and
anyway a girl's place was at home till she did get married. That was his
only reference to the subject of her ultimate disposition that she
could recall, but it was plain enough as far as it went.

It was too late to mourn over lost opportunities now, but she did wish
there was some one thing she could do and do well, some service of value
that would guarantee self-support. If she could only pound a typewriter
or keep a set of books, or even make a passable attempt at sewing, she