"An experiment!" cried Mrs. Stiles, astounded. "Law bless us, you're
admitted to be a lawyer, ain't you? And if one lady can be a lawyer--"

"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Tarbell hastily; "but that is not the question. I
mean that it is not yet certain that women are going to succeed at the
bar." Absolutely, though she was no fool, she had never made the
concession before,--not even to herself.

"But you are a lawyer," repeated Mrs. Stiles.

"It doesn't follow that I shall make money at the law," said Mrs.
Tarbell impatiently, but with a sense of her own justice.

Mrs. Stiles was staggered. "Not make any money?" she faltered.

"My good woman," said Mrs. Tarbell, "let me tell you that I have not yet
had a single client, that I have not yet made a single dollar!" And,
really, this was rather magnanimous. "The fact is, Mrs. Stiles," she
continued, "it is impossible to say how long it will be before women
inspire public confidence in their ability to do what has always been
supposed to be man's work."

"Law!" said Mrs. Stiles.

"And your daughter had better wait till that is settled in our favor
before she commits herself."

In Mrs. Stiles's cheeks a queer tinge appeared upon the gingerbread hue
before spoken of,--a faint reddish tinge, a sprinkling of powdered
cinnamon and sugar, as it were. "But, Mrs. Tarbell," she cried, "I