assume. Surely there's something you can do. You've
been out six years now, and have had no success, for
you're neither married nor engaged. You can't call it
success to be flattered and sought by people who wanted
invitations to this house when it was a social center.''

He paused for response from her. None came.

``You admit you are a failure?'' he said sharply.

``Yes,'' said she.

``You must have realized it several years ago,'' he
went on. ``Instead of allowing your mother to keep on
wasting money in entertaining lavishly here to give
you a chance to marry, you should have been preparing
yourself to earn a living.'' A pause. ``Isn't that true,
miss?''

He had a way of pronouncing the word ``miss'' that
made it an epithet, a sneer at her unmarried and un-
marriageable state. She colored, paled, murmured:

``Yes.''

``Then, better late than never. You'll do well to
follow my advice and go to New York and look about
you.''

``I'll--I'll think of it,'' stammered she.