It was decided that Kate was to stay there at the Fulhams', and to use
one of their several unoccupied rooms. Kate chose one that looked over
the Midway, and her young strength made nothing of the two flights of
stairs which she had to climb to get to it. At first the severity of the
apartment repelled her, but she had no money with which to make it more
to her taste, and after a few hours its very barrenness made an appeal
to her. It seemed to be like her own life, in need of decoration, and
she was content to let things take their course. It seemed probable that
roses would bloom in their time.

No one, it transpired, ate in the house.

"I found out," explained Honora, "that I couldn't be elaborately
domestic and have a career, too, so I went, with some others of similar
convictions and circumstances, into a coöperative dining-room scheme."

Kate gave an involuntary shrug of her shoulders.

"You think that sounds desolate? Wait till you see us all together. This
talk about 'home' is all very well, but I happen to know--and I fancy
you do, too--that home can be a particularly stultifying place. When
people work as hard as we do, a little contact with outsiders is
stimulating. But you'll see for yourself. Mrs. Dennison, a very fine
woman, a widow, looks after things for us. Dr. von Shierbrand, one of
our number, got to calling the place 'The Caravansary,' and now we've
all fallen into the way of it."

The Caravansary was but a few doors from the Fulhams'; an old-fashioned,
hospitable affair, with high ceilings, white marble mantels, and narrow
windows. Mrs. Dennison, the house-mother, suited the place well. Her