Marion wanted to try Sunderline with certain new notions—­certain half-purposes of her own, in the latter part of this walk they would have together.  Everything had led nicely up to it; when here, just at the moment of her opportunity, it became impossible to go on from where they were.  An event had thrust itself in.  It was not seemly to disregard it.  They could not help thinking of the Ingrahams.  And yet, “if it would have done,” Marion Kent could have put off her sympathies, made her own little point, and then gone back to the sympathies again, just as really and truly, ten minutes afterward.  They would have kept.  Why are things jostled up so?

“I am sorry for Ray,” she said, presently.

Frank Sunderline, with a grave look, nodded his head thoughtfully, twice.

“If anything happens to Mr. Ingraham, won’t it be strange that I should have asked her what I did, just that minute?”

“What?  O, yes!”

It had fairly been jostled out of the young man’s mind.  They walked on silently again.  But Marion could not give it up.

“I don’t doubt she would be a baker; carry on the whole concern,—­if there was money.  She keeps all her father’s accounts, now.”

“Does she?”

“She wouldn’t have had the chance if there had been a boy.  That’s what I say isn’t fair.”

“I think you are mistaken.  You can’t change the way of the world.  There isn’t anything to hinder a woman’s doing work like that,—­even going on with it, as you say,—­when it is set for her by special circumstances.  It’s natural, and a duty; and the world will treat her well and think the more of her.  Things are so that it is getting easier every day for it to be done.  The facilities of the times can’t help serving women as much as men.  But people won’t generally bring up their daughters to the work or the prospects that they do their sons, simply because they can’t depend upon them in the same way afterwards.  If a girl marries,—­and she ought to if she can right,”—­

“And what if she has to, if she can, wrong?”

“Then she interferes with Providence again.  She hasn’t patience.  She takes what wasn’t meant for her, and she misses what was; whether it’s work, or—­somebody to work for her.”

They were coming near Mrs. Kent’s little white gate.

“I’ve a great mind to tell you,” said Marion, “I don’t have anybody to help me judge.”

Sunderline was a little disconcerted.  It is a difficult position for a young man to find himself in:  that of suddenly elected confidant and judge concerning a young woman’s personal affairs; unless, indeed, he be quite ready to seek and assume the permanent privilege.  It is a hazardous appeal for a young woman to make.  It may win or lose, strengthen or disturb, much.

“Your mother”—­began Sunderline.

“O, mother doesn’t see; she doesn’t understand.  How can she, living as she does?  I could make her advise me to suit myself.  She never goes about.  The world has run ahead of her.  She says I must conclude as I think best.”