"I--I hadn't thought," Janet faltered. It was the first time Mrs. Maturin
had spoken of her connection with Syndicalism. And she surprised herself
by adding: "I don't see how I could. They can get stenographers anywhere,
and that's all I'm good for." And the question occurred to her--did she
really wish to?

"What I was going to suggest," continued Mrs. Maturin, quietly, "was that
you might try Silliston. There's a chance for a good stenographer there,
and I'm sure you are a good one. So many of the professors send to
Boston."

Janet stood stock still. Then she said: "But you don't know anything
about me, Mrs. Maturin."

Kindliness burned in the lady's eyes as she replied: "I know more now
--since you've told me I know nothing. Of course there's much I don't
know, how you, a stenographer, became involved in this strike and joined
the I. W. W. But you shall tell me or not, as you wish, when we become
better friends."

Janet felt the blood beating in her throat, and an impulse to confess
everything almost mastered her. From the first she had felt drawn toward
Mrs. Maturin, who seemed to hold out to her the promise of a woman's
friendship--for which she had felt a life-long need: a woman friend who
would understand the insatiate yearning in her that gave her no rest in
her search for a glittering essence never found, that had led her only to
new depths of bitterness and despair. It would destroy her, if indeed it
had not already done so. Mrs. Maturin, Insall, seemed to possess the
secret that would bring her peace--and yet, in spite of something urging
her to speak, she feared the risk of losing them. Perhaps, after all,