wear it. It's not bad, Sue. Nonsense!"

"It's not good--cheap!"

He sat smiling up at her, while she regarded him in silence for a minute.
Then she broke out again:

"Why--_why_ do you do it? Haven't you worked hard enough in your great
parish, without allowing yourself to spoil this rest you so much need?"

"Sue," said her brother, "the best cure for certain kinds of overwork is
merely more work, only of a different sort. I can't be idle and
contented. Can you?"

"Idle! I should like to be idle. I'm rushed to death, all the time. It's
killing me."

"Dressmakers and hairdressers--and dinners and bridge and the whole
routine of your set," said he. "It is indeed a hard life--I wonder you
stand it."

"Don't be ironic!"

"I'm not ironic. I realized, long ago, that it's the hardest life in the
world--and pays the least."

She flushed. "I have my charities," she reminded him. "I'm not utterly
useless. And my clubs--belonging to them is a duty I owe other women. I
try to fulfill it."