No. 15, Seaton Crescent, Toronto, was a students' boarding-house. Mrs. Dalley, the landlady¹, declared every day of the university term that they were the hardest set going for a body to put up with. Nevertheless, being near the college buildings, she put up with them, both going and coming, and No. 15 was always full. A short street was Seaton Crescent proper, running between a broad park which bordered the college campus, and a big business thoroughfare. At one end street-cars whizzed up and down with clanging bells, and crowds of busy shoppers hurried to and fro; at the other end spread the green stretches of a park, and farther over stood the stately university. buildings. A street of student boarding-houses it was, and No. 15 stood midway between the clanging and the culture.  
But Seaton Crescent presented much more than a double row of boarding-houses. Passing out of its narrow confines, it curved round one side of the park bordered by a grand row of elms. Here the houses were mansions², set back in fine old gardens that had smiled there many a summer before the boarding-houses were built. The last house in the row, Crescent Court, was of a newer date. It was a pretentious³ apartment house, set up on the corner commanding a view of the campus and the park. Just far enough removed from the boarding-house region was Crescent Court to be quite beyond the noise of the street-cars and the shoppers, and consequently its inmates⁴ felt themselves far removed from the work-a-day world.
 
In one of its front rooms, a little rose-shaded boudoir, luxuriously⁵ furnished, sat a lady. She had been handsome once, but her face now bore the marks of age—not the beautiful lines of years gracefully⁶ accepted, but the scars of a long battle against their advance. She wore a gay flowered dressing-gown much too youthful in style, her slippered⁹ toes were stretched out to the crackling fire, and a cup of fragrant¹⁰ tea was in her hand. Her cosy¹¹ surroundings did not seem to contribute much to her comfort, however, for her face had a look of settled melancholy¹², and she glanced up frowningly at a girl standing¹³ by the window.
 
"I sometimes think you are growing positively¹⁴ frivolous¹⁵, Beth," she complained. "I don't understand you, in view of the strict religious training both your aunt and I have given you. When I was your age, all church-work appealed strongly to me."
 
The girl looked far across the stretches of the park, now growing purple and shadowy in the autumn dusk. Her gray, star-like eyes were big and wistful. She did not see the winding¹⁶ walks, nor the row of russet elms with the twinkling lights beneath. She saw instead an old-fashioned kitchen with a sweet-faced woman sitting by the window, the golden glow of a winter sunset gilding¹⁷ her white hair. There was an open Bible on her knee, and the girl felt again the power of the words she spoke¹⁸ concerning the things that are eternal. She breathed a deep sigh of regret for the brightness of that day so long ago, and wondered if her companion's accusation¹⁹ was true.
 
"I didn't mean to be frivolous," she said, turning towards the lady in the chair. "I do want to be some use in the world. But all the girls who are getting up this new charitable society are—well, for instance, Miss Kendall belongs."
 
"And why shouldn't she? There's nothing incompatible²⁰ in her being a fine bridge-player and doing church-work. You must get rid of those old-fashioned ideas. Take myself, for instance. You know I never neglect my social duties, and nothing but the severest headache ever keeps me from church."
 
The wistful look in the girl's eyes was being replaced by a twinkle. "But you know a Sunday headache is always prostrating," she said daringly.
 
The lady in the deep chair looked up with an angry flash of her dark eyes; but the girl had stepped out into the light of the fire, revealing the mischievous²¹ gleam in her dancing eyes. She knew her power; it was a look the elder woman could rarely resist. For with all their vast differences in temperament²² there had grown up a warm attachment²³ between these two, since that day, now several years past, when they had run away together from an afternoon tea.
 
The lady's frown faded; but she spoke gravely.
 
"Beth, don't be so nonsensical. You know it is your duty to me—to yourself, to join the Guild²⁴. We have not established ourselves socially yet. Toronto is ruined by pandering²⁵ to wealth. I've seen the day when the name of Jarvis was sufficient to open any door, but times have changed, and we must make the best of it. But you are culpably²⁶ careless regarding your best interests. Now, I particularly want you to cultivate Blanche Kendall; the Kendalls are the foremost people in St. Stephen's Church, and if you join this society it will make your position assured. Only the best people are admitted. Mrs. Kendall assured me of that herself. Now, don't trifle with your chance in life."
 
"A chance in life? That's what I've been looking for ever since we came to Toronto," said the girl, gazing discontentedly into the fire. "But I don't think it's to be found in St. Stephen's Church. I hate being of no use in the world."
 
The elder woman looked amused in her turn, now that she felt she was gaining her point.
 
"You talk like a child. Will you never grow up, I wonder?"
 
"Not likely," said the girl in a lighter²⁷ tone. She stepped across the room and picked up a fur-lined cloak from a chair. "My body got into long dresses too soon, my soul is still hopping²⁸ about with a sun-bonnet on, and you really mustn't expect me to be proper and fashionable until I've turned ninety or so. Is there any reason why I shouldn't run over and have dinner with Jean and the boys to-night?"
 
"Certainly there is. Didn't I tell you Mr. Huntley is just back from the West? He's coming to dinner."
 
"But you won't want a frivolous person like me round. He'll want to talk business to you all evening."
 
"That doesn't matter. You ought to be interested in my business. Besides, he's a charming bachelor, so I want you to behave nicely."
 
"I couldn't think of it. I feel sure I'd make a better impression if I stayed away, anyway." She was gathering²⁹ the dark folds of her cloak about her light evening dress as she spoke. "He might feel embarrassed if we met again. The last time he laid his fortune at my feet and I spurned³⁰ it with scorn."
 
"What are you talking about, you absurd child? Did you ever meet Blake Huntley in Cheemaun?"
 
The girl came back to the fire, her eyes dancing. "No, it was in prehistoric³¹ times—at Forest Glen. I remember I was dressed mostly in a sunbonnet and the remains³² of a pinafore—and I think I was in Highland³³ costume as to shoes and stockings. Mr. Huntley evidently felt sorry for me and offered me a silver dollar, which was too much for my Gordon pride. Even Aunt Margaret approved of my refusing it, though she felt it might have been done in a more genteel manner."
 
The lady in the lounging chair laughed, and her astute³⁴ young companion saw her chance. "I'm going to run over and see Jean and the boys just for five minutes," she said in a wheedling³⁵ tone. "I shall be back in time for dinner."
 
"Well, see that you are." The elder woman's voice had lost all its fretfulness. She looked quite pleased. "You must remind Blake Huntley of your former acquaintance. What was he doing at The Dale?"
 
"He had come to see about"—the girl hesitated—"selling old Sandy McLachlan's farm." Her big gray eyes looked steadily³⁶ and solemnly into her companion's.
 
The lady poured herself another cup of tea. She gave an impatient shrug³⁷. The old subject of Eppie Turner's wrongs had become unbearably³⁸ wearisome. "Well, don't air any more of your romantic ideas concerning her. You'll never find her anyway. And don't stay long at No. 15. You go there so often I shall soon begin to suspect you have lost your heart to that bonny Prince Charlie—he's handsome enough."
 
"Charles Stuart?" The girl laughed aloud at the absurdity³⁹. "The poor Pretender! Don't hint your horrible suspicions to him, please, he'd never get over it."
 
"I'm glad you think it ridiculous. In view of the chances you are likely to have this winter, you'd be a fool to think of him. I hope you have some ambition, Beth."
 
The girl had turned away again and was carefully tucking a magazine into the folds of her cloak. Her long eyelashes drooped⁴¹—that old subject of her ambition was still forbidden ground.
 
"Yes, I have a burning ambition at this very minute to go and see Jean and John," she said lightly, and whipping her cloak about her slim figure she waved her hand in a gay farewell and danced away out of the room.
 
The lady by the fire sighed. "Was there ever such a monkey?" she said to herself, and then she smiled. And as the girl ran down the stairs, she also sighed and said to herself: "I wonder how much longer I can bear this life. Pshaw, what does it matter anyway?" And then she laughed.
 
The short autumn day had closed and lights twinkled along the street and blazed on the busy thoroughfare—violet electric stars half-hidden high in the trees and golden gas lamps nearer the earth. The glow of one shone on the girl as she mounted the steps of No. 15 with a graceful⁷ little run. It showed her tall and willowy, lit up her sweet face, and the gray, star-like eyes that looked out from beneath heavy masses of nut-brown hair, and was reflected from them with a gleam as of bronze.
 
She opened the door, as one familiar with the place, and hurried up the steps of the stairs.
 
"I'm prowling round as usual, Mrs. Dalley," she called to the landlady who was passing through the lower hall.
 
The woman's tired face brightened. She liked this Miss Gordon and was always glad when she dropped in to see her brother and sister. She was ever willing to listen to complaints concerning maids and medical students.
 
"Dear, dear, it must be nice to be you, Miss Gordon," she sighed, "nothing in the wide world to do. I've been clear distracted this afternoon with that new maid. I dismissed her at last. She would not even carry the plates to the table properly, and as for the way she washed the dishes! Really, Miss Gordon, I tried to do my duty by her. I scolded and explained till I was hoarse⁴². But I believe the hussy was just stubborn. I felt sorry to dismiss her, as it was Mr. MacAllister who asked me to give her a trial. Don't say anything to him about it, please, Miss Gordon. I hate to tell him I had to send her away."
 
Miss Gordon laughed. "Has Mr. MacAllister turned into an intelligence office? Or is he squire⁴³ of domestic dames⁴⁴?" She retreated up the stairs as she spoke. It was not safe to get caught in the full tide of Mrs. Dalley's talk, one might find a whole evening swept away by it.
 
"Charles Stuart is so queer," she soliloquized. "I wonder what he's up to now."
 
She tapped briskly upon a bedroom door at the head of the stairs, then shoved it open. A young woman with loose raiment, untidy hair, and a green shade over her eyes looked up from her studies. She raised a book and aimed it threateningly.
 
"Lizzie Gordon, don't dare show your idle and frivolous head in this place. Miss Mills is coming down in five minutes, and we are going to grind for an hour before tea."
 
"The mills of the Gordons grind at most inconvenient⁴⁵ seasons," said the visitor giddily. She entered just as though she had been cordially invited, concealing⁴⁶ the magazine beneath her cloak. "I'll stay until the wheels begin to rumble⁴⁷, anyway. Any letters from home?" She rummaged⁴⁸ through the books and papers that littered the table, keeping her magazine carefully hidden.
 
"Just that note from Malc. He was home for Sunday. Jamie's started to the High School, and Archie's in John Coulson's office. Is that really another new dress, Lizzie?"
 
Elizabeth, absorbed in Malcolm's business flourishes, made no reply. "Mrs. Jarvis spoils you," her sister continued. "You've had your hair done at the hair-dresser's again, I do believe. Do you know that light streak⁴⁹ in it has almost disappeared, hasn't it?"
 
Elizabeth folded the letter. The gray star-eyes were very tender. "I'm so glad Mary's cough is better. My hair?" She patted the heavy brown braids. "Yes, of course. That means that the wild streak is gone. I'm perfectly⁵⁰ genteel, I assure you, Jean. I left all my improprieties scattered⁵¹ over the continent of Europe last summer, and have come home prepared to give up all my penoeuvres."
 
"I wish you wouldn't use those foolish expressions of Sarah Emily's, dear, they sound so illiterate⁵²."
 
Elizabeth put down the letter and gave her sister's ear a pull.
 
"Jean Gordon, you are becoming so horribly particular I'm scared of you. Every time I come over here I spend the day before getting out an expurgated edition of everything I intend to say, and even then I fall into rhetorical pits."
 
"You're hopeless," sighed Jean. "What were you at to-day, a tea?"
 
"Yes, some kind of pow-wow of that sort. I'm at one every day." She moved about the room straightening photographs and arranging cushions. "Do you know, Jean, I'm so tired of it all I feel like running away back home sometimes."
 
"Dear me, you don't know how fortunate you are. You'd soon discover, if you got home, that life at The Dale would be dreadfully monotonous⁵³."
 
"It couldn't be more monotonous than fashionable life. Those receptions are all so horribly alike. There is always a woman at one end of a polished table cutting striped ice-cream, and another at the other end pouring tea; with a bouquet⁵⁴ between them. If I ever so far forget my genteel upbringing as to give a Pink Tea I'll put the bouquet at one end and make the ice-cream cutter sit in the middle of the table with her feet in the tea-pot."
 
"Don't be absurd. If you dislike it all so thoroughly⁵⁵, why do you do it?"
 
"Mrs. Jarvis does it, and I have to go with her. After all, that's the way I earn my living."
 
"That's the way I'd earn my death in a month," said her sister, looking proudly at the pile of books before her. "Are there no girls amongst those you meet who have a purpose in life?"
 
"None that I've discovered, except the supreme⁵⁶ purpose of getting ahead of her dearest friend. Society is just like the old teeter we used to ride at school. When Rosie Carrick was up, I was down, and vice⁵⁷ versa."
 
Jean Gordon looked at her younger sister seriously. Jean took everything in life seriously, and plainly Lizzie was determined⁵⁸ to continue a problem in spite of her brilliant prospects⁵⁹. She did not understand that the girl's old desire for love and service had grown with the years, and her whole nature was yearning⁶⁰ for some expression of it. It was this desire to get back to the old simplicity⁶¹ of life that drove her so often to her brother and sister in their cramped⁶² boarding-house.
 
"Why don't you read some improving books," said Jean primly⁶³. "I wish I had your chance. If Mrs. Jarvis had taken a fancy to me I'd be a Ph.D. some day."
 
Elizabeth regarded her in silent wonder. The hard life of student and teacher which Jean still pursued was telling on her. She was pale and stooped, and deep lines marked her forehead. To Elizabeth her life seemed a waste of strength. She could never get at Jean's point of view.
 
"And what would you do then—even if you should turn into a P.D.H., or whatever you call him?"
 
"Why, just go on studying, of course."
 
"Until you died?" whispered Elizabeth, appalled⁶⁴ at the thought of a life-long vista⁶⁵ of green eye-shades and Miss Millses and mathematics.
 
Jean opened her book. "You can't understand," she said patiently. "You haven't any ambition."
 
It was the old, old accusation under which Elizabeth had always lived. She thought of Annie's cosy home which three Visions now made radiant, of John Coulson's love and devotion, and her heart answered the accusation and declared it false. She wondered if other girls were as silently ambitious as she, and why this best of all ambitions must be always locked away in secret, while lesser⁶⁶ ones might be proudly proclaimed upon the house-tops.
 
"Evidently I haven't," she said, pulling her cloak about her with a laugh. "I'm a butterfly. Gracious! I believe I hear the Mills rumbling⁶⁷. I'm going to get out of the way."
 
"Wait and talk to her. She'll fire you with a desire to do something. She's the brainiest woman that's ever come under his tuition, Professor Telford says."
 
"I haven't a doubt of it," said Elizabeth, with a look of alarm. "That's just the reason I'm scared of her. She's always in a sort of post-graduate attitude of mind when I'm round, and it makes me feel young and foolish. Good-night. I'm going up to molest⁶⁸ the boys."
 
"Don't bother them long, Lizzie—there's a good girl. John needs every minute."
 
But Elizabeth had caught her cloak around her and was already fleeing up the second flight of stairs. She barely escaped Miss Mills, who was coming down the hall. Miss Mills did not approve of Jean Gordon's fashionable sister, and Elizabeth feared her clever, sarcastic⁶⁹ tongue.
 
John and Charles Stuart shared a bedroom and sitting-room⁷⁰ on the top flat. Elizabeth tapped on the door of the latter room, and in response to a "come in," entered. They were already at work. Her brother was doubled up over a table close to a reading-lamp; the Pretender was walking the floor note-book in hand. They were men now, these two, both in their last year at college. John Gordon had the same dark, solemn face of boyhood, lit by that sudden gleaming smile which made him so resemble his sister. Charles Stuart had changed more. He was graver and quieter, and a great man in his year at 'Varsity by reason of his prowess on the public platform. Everyone said MacAllister would be sure to go into politics, but Charles Stuart, remembering the wistful look in a beautiful pair of eyes away back in the old home valley, would never say what would be his calling.
 
Elizabeth burst radiantly into the room and was received with joyous⁷¹ acclaim⁷². No matter how busy these two might be, there was never any doubt of her welcome here.
 
"Miss Gordon, I declare!" cried the Pretender, making a deep bow. He handed her a chair and John pulled her into it.
 
"Hello, Betsey! I say it's a great comfort and uplift to Malc and me when we toil⁷³ and moil and perspire⁷⁴ up here, to remember there's one lady in the family anyhow. It keeps up a fellow's self-respect."
 
"I hope you're going to be nice to me," said Elizabeth, turning to the other young man. "It's a great strain on a frivolous person like me belonging to a clever family. Jean's grinding at the Mills, and I came up here for relaxation⁷⁵, and now John's throwing witticisms⁷⁶ at me."
 
"Jean's studying too hard," said Charles Stuart. "It is enough to drive those girls out of their minds the ............