“Convents are the final triumph of idiocy.  If bad women could be shut up and made to say prayers most of the time, no harm at least would be done,—­the good, problematical; but to immure a woman of sweet, natural, God-bestowed impulses is the devil’s worst practical joke in this world.  Come, little girl, it’s late.  Think over the scheme; try it as you have a chance; use your power to incite men to make the most and best of themselves.  This is better than levying your little tribute of flattery and attention, like other belles,—­a phase of life as common as cobble-stones and as old as vanity.  For instance, you have an artist among your friends.  Possibly you can make him a better artist and a better fellow in every way.  Drop all muffs and sticks; don’t waste yourself on them.  Have considerable charity for some of the wild fellows, none for their folly, and from the start tolerate no tendencies toward sentimentality.  You will find that the men who admire girls bent on making eyes rather than making men will soon disappear.  Sensible fellows won’t misunderstand you, even though prompted to more than friendship; and you will have a circle of friends of which any woman might be proud.  Of course you will find at times that unspoken negatives will not satisfy; but if a woman has tact, good sense, and sincerity, her position is impregnable.  As long as she is not inclined to love a man herself, she can, by a mere glance, not only define her position, but defend it.  By simple dignity and reserve she can say to all, ’Thus far and no farther.’  If, without encouragement, any one seeks to break through this barrier he meets a quiet negative which he must respect, and in his heart does respect.  Now, little girl, to sum up your visit, with its long talks and their dramatic and unexpected illustration, I see nothing to prevent you from going forward and making the best and most of your life according to nature and truth.  You have a good start, and a rather better chance than falls to the lot of the majority.”

“Truly,” said Marian, thoughtfully, “we don’t appear to grow old and change by time so much as by what happens,—­by what we think and feel.  Everything appears changed, including you and myself.”

“It’s more in appearance than in reality.  You will find the impetus of your old life so strong that it will be hard even to change the direction of the current.  You will be much the same outwardly, as I said before.  The stream will flow through the same channel of characteristic traits and habits.  The vital change must be in the stream itself,—­the motive from which life springs.”

How true her father’s words seemed on the following evening after her return!  Her mother, as she sat down, to their dainty little dinner, looked as if her serenity had been undisturbed by a single perplexing thought during the past few days.  There was the same elegant, yet rather youthful costume for a lady of her years; the same smiling face, not yet so full in its outline as to have lost all its girlish beauty.  It was marred by few evidences of care and trouble, nor was it spiritualized by thought or deep experience.