“Don’t you want me to be like her?”

“No,” he burst out.  “I want you to be like Linnet, and to think that little house and house-keeping, and a good husband, good enough for you.  What is the good of studying if it doesn’t make you more a perfect woman?  What is the good of anything a girl does if it doesn’t help her to be a woman?”

“Miss Prudence is a perfect woman.”

Marjorie’s tone was quiet and reasonable, but there was a fire in her eyes that shone only when she was angry.

“She would be more perfect if she stayed at home in Maple Street and made a home for somebody than she is now, going hither and thither finding people to be kind to and to help.  She is too restless and she is not satisfied.  Look at Linnet; she is happier to-day with her husband that reads only the newspapers, the nautical books, and his Bible, than Miss Prudence with all her lectures and concerts and buying books and knowing literary people!  She couldn’t make a Miss Prudence out of Linnet, but she will make a Miss Prudence twice over out of you.”

“Linnet is happy because she loves Will, and she doesn’t care for books and people, as we do; but we haven’t any Will, poor Miss Prudence and poor Marjorie, we have to substitute people and books.”

“You might have, both of you!” he went on, excitedly; “but you want something better, both of you,—­higher, I suppose you think!  There’s Mr. Holmes eating his heart out with being only a friend to Miss Prudence, and you want me to go poking along and spoiling my life as he does, because you like books and study better!”

Marjorie laughed; the fire in Morris’ blue eyes was something to see, and the tears in his voice would have overcome her had she not laughed instead.  And he was going far away, too.

“Morris, I didn’t know you were quite such a volcano.  I don’t believe Mr. Holmes stays here and pokes because of Miss Prudence.  I know he is melancholy, sometimes, but he writes so much and thinks so much he can’t be light-hearted like young things like us.  And who does as much good as Miss Prudence?  Isn’t she another mother to Linnet and me?  And if she doesn’t find somebody to love as Linnet does Will, I don’t see how she can help it.”

“It isn’t in her heart or she would have found somebody; it is what is in peoples’ hearts that makes the difference!  But when they keep the brain at work and forget they have any heart, as you two do—­”

“It isn’t Miss Prudence’s brain that does her beautiful work.  You ought to read some of the letters that she lets me read, and then you would see how much heart she has!”

“And you want to be just like her,” he sighed, but the sigh was almost a groan.

Certainly, in some experiences he had outstripped Marjorie.

“Yes, I want to be like her,” she answered deliberately.

“And study and go around and do good and never be married?” he questioned.