Mabel eyed her curiously—had a sense of a mystery of suffering which she dared not try to explore. She said: "Better? That's queer. You don't take it at all as I thought you would."
Said Susan: "I had about made up my mind it was all bad. I see that maybe it isn't."
"Oh, the world isn't such a bad place—in lots of ways. You'll get a heap of fun out of it if you don't take things or yourself seriously. I wish to God I'd had somebody to tell me, instead of having to spell it out, a letter at a time. I've got just two pieces of advice to give you." And she stopped speaking and gazed away toward the shore with a look that seemed to be piercing the hills.
"Please do," urged Susan, when Mabel's long mood of abstraction tried her patience.
"Oh—yes—two pieces of advice. The first is, don't drink. There's nothing to it—and it'll play hell—excuse me—it'll spoil your looks and your health and give you a woozy head when you most need a steady one. Don't drink—that's the first advice."
"I won't," said Susan.
"Oh, yes, you will. But remember my advice all the same. The second is, don't sell your body to get a living, unless you've got to."
"I couldn't do that," said the girl.
Mabel laughed queerly. "Oh, yes, you could—and will. But remember my advice. Don't sell your body because it seems to be the easy way to make a living. I know most women get their living that way."
"Oh—no—no, indeed!" protested Susan.