She lifted the sleeping kitten and whispered
passionately:

"Am I a silly fool, Kitty? Am I?"

The tears came at last. She lay back on the
pillows and let them pour down her cheeks without
protest or effort at self-control. Every nerve of her
strong, healthy body ached for the love and
companionship of men which she had denied herself with
an iron will. At nineteen it had been easy. The sheer
animal joy in life had been enough. With the growth of
each year the ache within had become more and more
insistent. With each ripening season of body and mind,
the hunger of love had grown more and more maddening.
How long could she keep up this battle with every
instinct of her being?

She rose at last, determined to go to Jane, confess
that she had been a fool, and step out into the new
world, New York's world, and begin to live.

She seized her hat and furs and put them on with
feverish haste.

"God knows it's time I began--I'll be an old maid
in another year and dry up--ugh!"

She looked in the quaint oval mirror that hung