“How does your friend like the house?” she asked with a pardonable desire to hear her house praised.

“Very much indeed.  She says it is the most complete house of its kind that she ever saw.  Who was your architect, Miss Summerhaze?  I ask because the question has been asked of me by a gentleman who contemplates building an inexpensive residence.”

“I planned the house,” Susan answered, a light coming into her face.

“Indeed!  In all its details?”

“Yes, I planned everything.”

“Have you studied architecture?”

“Not until I undertook to plan that house.”

“That is your first effort?  You never planned a house before?”

“No.”

“You ought to turn builder:  you ought to open an architect’s office.”

Susan laughed at the novel suggestion, for that was before the days when women were showing their heads in all the walks of life.

“‘Miss Summerhaze, Architect:’  that would make a very unique card.  It would get abundant advertising free of expense, for everybody would talk about it.  There is no reason,” continued Mr. Falconer, “why women should not be architects:  they have the taste, and they are the best judges as to household conveniences—­the only proper judges, indeed.”

This has now a very commonplace sound, but for the period it was fresh and original, and seemed so to Susan.  Indeed, the idea was fascinating:  she thought Mr. Falconer a wonderfully bright and suggestive man.

“I wish there were other things women could do besides teaching and taking in sewing,” Susan said.

“Well, why don’t you put yourself in the lead in this matter, Miss Summerhaze?  Somebody or bodies must step to the front.  A revolution in these matters is bound to come.  Why shouldn’t you become an architect?  Why shouldn’t you go into a work for which you have evidently remarkable talent?  Why shouldn’t you become a builder?”

“Well,” said Susan, smiling, “there is no pressing call for me to earn money.  I have had my work-day, and have sufficient means to meet my simple wants.  Besides, I am not pining or rusting in idleness.  The management of my little means gives me employment.  I happen to be one of those exceptional women who ‘want but little here below,’ especially in the way of ribbons and new bonnets.  As you perceive, I give myself little concern about matters of dress.”

“And why shouldn’t you give yourself concern about matters of dress, Miss Summerhaze?  Pardon me, but I think it your duty to look as well as you can.  You cannot do this without bestowing thought on matters of dress.”

“Why,” said Susan, laughing, “what possible difference can it make to anybody how I look?”

“It makes a difference to every person whom you encounter,” Mr. Falconer replied incisively.

“To you?” Susan challenged laughingly.

“Yes, a good deal of difference to me,” the gentleman replied promptly.  “The sight of a woman artistically dressed affects me like fine music or a fine painting.”