you're twenty-four. Age is not measured by calendars
these days."

"I didn't mean that," the girl apologized. "But
you're an artist. You're established and
distinguished. You belong to a different world."

Jane Anderson laid her hand softly on her friend's.

"That's just it, dear. I do belong to a different
world--a big new world of whose existence you are not
quite conscious. You are living in the old, old world
in which women have groped for thousands of years. I
don't mind confessing that I undertook this job of
getting you to pose for Gordon for a double purpose. I
wished to do something to repay the debt I owe him--but
I wished far more to be of help to you. You're living
in the Dark Ages, and it's a dangerous thing for a
pretty girl to live in the Dark Ages and date her
letters from New York to-day----"

"I don't understand you in the least."

"And I'm afraid you never will."

She paused suddenly and changed her tone.

"Tell me now, are you happy in your work?"

"I'm earning sixty dollars a month--my position is