it. Since when he has been busy, draping it, now in the fashion of
this age, now in the fashion of that. We have shod her in dainty
bottines, regretting the size of her feet. We employ the best
artistes to design for her cunning robes that shall disguise her
shape. Each season we fix fresh millinery upon her changeless head.
We hang around her robes of woven words. Only the promise of her
ample breasts we cannot altogether hide, shocking us not a little;
only that remains to tell us that beneath the tawdry tissues still
stands the changeless statue God carved with His own hands."

"I like you better when you talk like that," said the Old Maid; "but
I never feel quite sure of you. All I mean, of course, is that
money should not be her first consideration. Marriage for money--it
is not marriage; one cannot speak of it. Of course, one must be
reasonable."

"You mean," persisted the Minor Poet, "you would have her think also
of her dinner, of her clothes, her necessities, luxuries."

"It is not only for herself," answered the Old Maid.

"For whom?" demanded the Minor Poet.

The white hands of the Old Maid fluttered on her lap, revealing her
trouble; for of the old school is this sweet friend of mine.

"There are the children to be considered," I explained. "A woman
feels it even without knowing. It is her instinct."

The Old Maid smiled on me her thanks.