"I'm so glad," she asserted, in the cooing, sympathetic tone a woman knows so well how to use; "you are capable of better things, Winn, and I shall welcome the day when you are your own master."
Then Winn, his vexed spirit soothed by this woman's gentle sympathy, his self-respect restored by her praise, looked at her admiringly. "Ethel," he said, "you can mark the two extremes of womankind—angel or devil—with equal facility. If ever I attempt a novel, you shall be the heroine."
"Better not," she laughed. "I've no sentiment, and a heroine without a heart would be a flat failure. No," she continued musingly, "I've not even a little one. I used to think I had, but I've outgrown it. Sentiment on a woman's part these days is a weakness for men to trample upon. Sister Grace had sentiment. Now she lives in four rooms and tends baby, while hubby escapes to the club. No, thanks. No sentiment in mine, please."
"I begin to think it's folly on either side," asserted Winn, soberly, "and especially in business. Jack says 'be good and you'll be lonesome,' and calls me a fool for being honest. You say I am out of my groove here and that a woman with a heart is a stupid. I am inclined to think that there is no such thing as truth, honor, and sentiment except among old fogies and children."
"There isn't and there is," responded Ethel, philosophically; "no one is all bad, or at least but few are, while not many are all good. Only, in matters of the heart, a woman who has one is bound to suffer, unless she meets and weds a young god, and gods are scarce in this day and generation."
"But is she likely to be the happier by marrying for money and position?" queried Winn, pointedly.
"To the best of my observation—yes," she answered, understanding perfectly well what he meant. "And it's to obtain your opinion on that very subject I asked you to call."
Winn looked at her long and fixedly.
Once he had thought this girl the incarnation of all that was lovely and lovable. Young, handsome, and yet not of the Dresden china order, but warm, passionate, full of life and good spirits. She was all that now, but hard-hearted, cool-headed, a diamond among her sex, but not a pansy.
And so far as he could judge, one who would seek and accept only a golden setting. Once he had loved her madly, now he enjoyed her keen wit, her veiled flatteries, her perfect poise, her polished sarcasm, realizing that she was likely to be an ornament to the man who won her, but never a heart companion. And now he admired her intensely, but loved her not at all.