"I didn't think you were," said Mrs. Belloc. "If I hadn't seen you weren't that kind, I'd not have been so confidential. Not that I'm secretive with anybody. I say and do what I please. Anyone who doesn't like my way or me can take the other side of the street. I didn't come to New York to go in society. I came here to LIVE."

Mildred looked at her admiringly. There were things about Mrs. Belloc that she did not admire; other things--suspected rather than known things--that she knew she would shrink from, but she heartily admired and profoundly envied her utter indifference to the opinion of others, her fine independent way of walking her own path at her own gait.

"I took this boarding-house," Mrs. Belloc went on, "because I didn't want to be lonesome. I don't like all--or even most of--the ladies that live here. But they're all amusing to talk with--and don't put on airs except with their men friends. And one or two are the real thing--good-hearted, fond of a joke, without any meanness. I tell you, New York is a mighty fine place if you get 'in right.' Of course, if you don't, it's h-e-l-l." (Mrs. Belloc took off its unrefined edge by spelling it.) "But what place isn't?" she added.

"And your husband never bothers you?" inquired Mildred.

"And never will," replied Mrs. Belloc. "When he dies I'll come into a little more--about a hundred and fifty a week in all. Not a fortune, but enough with what the boarding-house brings in. I'm a pretty fair business woman."

"I should say so!" exclaimed Mildred.

"You said you were Miss Stevens, didn't you?" said Mrs. Belloc--and Mildred knew that her turn had come.

"Yes," replied she. "But I am also a married woman." She hesitated, reddened. "I didn't give you my married name."

"That's your own business," said Mrs. Belloc in her easiest manner. "My right name isn't Belloc, either. But I've dropped that other life. You needn't feel a bit embarra.s.sed in this house. Some of my boarders SEEM to be married. All that have regular-appearing husbands SAY they are.

What do I care, so long as everything goes along smoothly? I don't get excited about trifles."

"Some day perhaps I'll tell you about myself," said Mildred. "Just at present I--well, I seem not to be able to talk about things."

"It's not a bad idea to keep your mouth shut, as long as your affairs are unsettled," advised Mrs. Belloc. "I can see you've had little experience. But you'll come out all right. Just keep cool, and don't fret about trifles. And don't let any man make a fool of you. That's where we women get left. We're afraid of men. We needn't be. We can mighty easily make them afraid of us. Use the soft hand till you get him well in your grip. Then the firm hand. Nothing coa.r.s.e or cruel or mean. But firm and self-respecting."

Mildred was tempted to take Mrs. Belloc fully into her confidence and get the benefit of the advice of shrewdness and experience. So strong was the temptation, she would have yielded to it had Mrs. Belloc asked a few tactful, penetrating questions. But Mrs. Belloc refrained, and Mildred's timidity or delicacy induced her to postpone. The next day she wrote Stanley Baird, giving her address and her name and asking him to call "any afternoon at four or five." She a.s.sumed that he would come on the following day, but the letter happened to reach him within an hour of her mailing it, and he came that very afternoon.

When she went down to the drawing-room to receive him, she found him standing in the middle of the room gazing about with a quizzical expression. As soon as the greetings were over he said:

"You must get out of here, Mildred. This won't do."

"Indeed I shan't," said she. "I've looked everywhere, and this is the only comfortable place I could find--where the rates were reasonable and where the landlady didn't have her nose in everybody's business."

"You don't understand," said he. "This is a bird-cage. Highly gilded, but a bird-cage."

She had never heard the phrase, but she understood--and instantly she knew that he was right. She colored violently, sat down abruptly. But in a moment she recovered herself, and with fine defiance said:

"I don't care. Mrs. Belloc is a kind-hearted woman, and it's as easy to be respectable here as anywhere."

"Sure," a.s.sented he. "But you've got to consider appearances to a certain extent. You won't be able to find the right sort of a boarding-house--one you'd be comfortable in. You've got to have a flat of your own."

"I can't afford it," said Mildred. "I can't afford this, even. But I simply will not live in a shabby, mussy way."

"That's right!" cried Stanley. "You can't do proper work in poor surroundings. Some women could, but not your sort. But don't worry.

I'm going to see you through. I'll find a place--right away. You want to start in at once, don't you?"

"I've got to," said Mildred.

"Then leave it all to me."

"But WHAT am I to do?"

"Sing, if you can. If not, then act. We'll have you on the stage within a year or so. I'm sure of it. And I'll get my money back, with interest."

"I don't see how I can accept it," said Mildred very feebly.

"You've got to," said Stanley. "What alternative is there? None. So let's bother no more about it. I'll consult with those who know, find out what the thing costs, and arrange everything. You're as helpless as a baby, and you know it."

Yes, Mildred knew it.

He looked at her with an amused smile. "Come, out with it!" he cried.

"You've got something on your mind. Let's get everything straight--and keep it that way."

Mildred hung her head.

"You're uneasy because I, a man, am doing this for you, a young woman?

Is that it?"

"Yes," she confessed.

He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and spoke in a brisk, businesslike way. "In the first place, it's got to be done, hasn't it?

And someone has got to do it? And there is no one offering but me? Am I right?"

She nodded.

"Then _I_'ve got to do it, and you've GOT to let me. There's logic, if ever there was logic. A Philadelphia lawyer couldn't knock a hole in it. You trust me, don't you?"

She was silent.

"You don't trust me, then," said he cheerfully. "Well, perhaps you're right. But you trust yourself, don't you?"

She moved restlessly, but remained silent.

"You are afraid I might put you in a difficult position?"

"Something like that," she admitted, in a low, embarra.s.sed voice.

"You fear that I expect some return which you do not intend to give?"

She was silent.

"Well, I don't," said he bluntly. "So put your mind at rest. Some day I'll tell you why I am doing this, but I want you to feel that I ask nothing of you but my money back with interest, when you can afford to pay."

"I can't feel that," said she. "You're putting me in your debt--so heavily that I'd feel I ought to pay anything you asked. But I couldn't and wouldn't pay."

"Unless you felt like it?" suggested he.

"It's honest for me to warn you that I'm not likely to feel that way."

"There is such a thing as winning a woman's love, isn't there?" said he jestingly. It was difficult to tell when Stanley Baird was jesting and when he was in earnest.

"Is that what you expect?" said she gravely.