you--a poor girl--countenancing such low and ruinous views--Is it
strange I am disgusted with you? Have you no pride--no self-
respect?"

Margaret sat motionless, gazing into vacancy. She could not but
endorse every word her grandmother was saying. She had heard
practically those same words often, but they had had no effect;
now, toward the end of this her least successful season, with most
of her acquaintances married off, and enjoying and flaunting the
luxury she might have had--for, they had married men, of "the
right sort"--"capable husbands"--men who had been more or less
attentive to her--now, these grim and terrible axioms of worldly
wisdom, of upper class honor, from her grandmother sounded in her
ears like the boom of surf on reefs in the ears of the sailor.

A long miserable silence; then, her grandmother: "What do you
purpose to do, Margaret?"

"To hustle," said the girl with a short, bitter laugh. "I must
rope in somebody. Oh, I've been realizing, these past two months.
I'm awake at last."

Madam Bowker studied the girl's face, gave a sigh of relief. "I
feel greatly eased," said she. "I see you are coming to your
senses before it's too late. I knew you would. You have inherited
too much of my nature, of my brain and my character."

Margaret faced the old woman in sudden anger. "If you had made
allowances for that, if you had reasoned with me quietly, instead
of nagging and bullying and trying to compel, all this might have