She raised her head from my shoulder. 'And what did you say about it?'

'I held that a woman can--er--oh, hang it all, never mind what I
_wrote_ about it. What I _say_ is that of course they ought to propose
if they want to. There should be perfect equality of the sexes.'

'Well, if there was,' put in Marion, her practical common sense coming
to her aid, 'it wouldn't after all make a man want to marry me just
because it was I who put the question. It's no use, Netta. I'm a born
old maid. I've got to go through life heart-hungry, loving other
people's babies instead of my own, and stepping aside to let all the
fair things go past me.'

Poor little Marion! She looked very wistful and pathetic at that
moment. A lump rose in my throat as I strove to dry her eyes and find
words of comfort.

She sobbed on unrestrainedly, however, and nothing I could say would
soothe her. 'Marion, darling,' I whispered, my own eyes growing moist,
'don't cry any more. Isn't there anything I can say to cheer you up?
Can't I suggest anything----?'

The door opened and Elizabeth entered. She carried a tray in her hand
on which were a bottle of stout and a glass.

'I thort so,' she said, setting down the tray and looking at Marion's
drooping form. 'Ah, these men--'ounds, I call 'em. I came in to 'ave
a word with Miss Marryun and cheer 'er up, like. I bin through it
myself, so I knows.'