The word 'selfish' suggested a new train of thought to Mildred. She
argued that it was not for selfish motives that she desired freedom.
If she thought that, she would marry him to-morrow. It was because she
did not wish to lead a selfish life that she intended to break off her
engagement. She wished to live for something; she wished to accomplish
something; what could she do? There was art. She would like to be an
artist! She paused, astonished at the possibility. But why not she as
well as the other women whom she had met at Mrs. Fargus'? She had met
many artists--ladies who had studios--at Mrs. Fargus'.

She had been to their studios and had admired their independence. They
had spoken of study in Paris, and of a village near Paris where they
went to paint landscape. Each had a room at the inn; they met at meal
times, and spent the day in the woods and fields. Mildred had once
been fond of drawing, and in the heat of the summer night she wondered
if she could do anything worth doing. She knew that she would like to
try. She would do anything sooner than settle down with Alfred.
Marriage and children were not the only possibilities in woman's life.
The girls she knew thought so, but the girls Mrs. Fargus knew didn't
think so.

And rolling over in her hot bed she lamented that there was no escape
for a girl from marriage. If so, why not Alfred Stanby--he as well as
another? But no, she could not settle down to keep house for Alfred
for the rest of her life. She asked herself again why she should marry
at all--what it was that compelled all girls, rich or poor, it was all
the same, to marry and keep house for their husbands. She remembered
that she had five hundred a year, and that she would have four
thousand a year if her brother died--the distillery was worth that.
But money made no difference. There was something in life which forced