“I should think, Pauline, that you would give a course of lectures on education.  We should be glad to have them at our house, and your friends ought to be able to dispose of a great many tickets.”  Such a thing had never occurred to Selma until this moment, but it seemed to her, as she heard her own words, a brilliant suggestion, both as a step forward for Pauline and a social opportunity for herself.

“On education?  My dear Selma, you have no idea of the depths of my ignorance.  Education is an enormous subject, and I am just beginning to realize how little I know concerning it.  People have talked and written about education enough.  What we need and what some of us are trying to do is to study statistics and observe results.  I am very much obliged to you, but I should only make myself a laughing-stock.”

“I don’t think you would.  You have spent a great deal of time in learning about education, and you must have interesting things to say.  You are too modest and—­don’t you think it may be that you are not quite enterprising enough?  A course of lectures would call public attention to you, and you would get ahead faster, perhaps.  I think that you and Wilbur are both inclined to hide your light under a bushel.  It seems to me that one can be conscientious and live up to one’s ideals without neglecting one’s opportunities.”

“The difficulty is,” said Pauline, with a laugh, “that I shouldn’t regard it as an opportunity, and I am sure it wouldn’t help me to get ahead, as you call it, with the people I desire to impress, to give afternoon tea or women-club lectures.  I don’t know enough to lecture effectively.  As to enterprise, I am busy from morning until night.  What more can a woman do?  You mustn’t hurry Wilbur, Selma.  All he needs is time to let the world see his light.”

“Very likely.  Of course, if you don’t consider that you know enough there is nothing to be said.  I thought of it because I used to lecture in Benham, at the Benham Institute, and I am sure it helped me to get ahead.  I used to think a great deal about educational matters, and perhaps I will set you the example by giving some lectures myself.”

“That would be very interesting.  If a person has new ideas and has confidence in them, it is natural to wish to let the world hear them.”

Pauline spoke amiably, but she was disposed to regard her sister with more critical eyes.  She felt no annoyance at the patronizing tone toward herself, but the reference to Wilbur made her blood rebel.  Still she could not bear to harbor distrust against that grave face with its delicate beauty and spiritualized air, which was becomingly accommodated to metropolitan conditions by a more festive bonnet than any which she herself owned.  Yet she noticed that the thin lips had an expression of discontent, and she wondered why.

Recurring to the errand on which she had come, Selma explained that she had just received a letter from Benham—­from her friend, Mrs. Margaret Rodney Earle, an authoress and a promulgator of advanced and original ideas in respect to the cause of womanhood, asking if she happened to know of an opening for a gifted young lady in any branch of intellectual work.