“Jane plans to choose five girls who would otherwise have to spend their lives teaching in crowded cities after leaving college and to start them in any profession they choose, with every chance of happiness, in the smaller cities of the South and Middle West,” said Mary Elizabeth gently, and somehow the tears rose in my eyes, as I thought how the poor dear had been teaching in the high school in Chicago the two glorious years I had been frolicking abroad.  No time, and no men to have good times with.

And there were hundreds like her, I knew, in all the crowded parts of the United States.  And as I had begun, I thought further.  Just because I was embarrassed at the idea of proposing to some foolish man, who is of no importance to me, himself, or the world in general, down in Glendale, where they have all known me all my life, and would expect anything of me anyway after I have defied tradition and gone to college, five lovely, lonely girls would have to go without any delightful suitors like Richard—­or Polk Hayes, forever.

And, still further, I thought of the other girls, coming under the influence of those five, who might be encouraged to hold up their heads and look around, and at least help out their Richards in their matrimonial quest, and as I sat there with Jane’s compelling and Mary Elizabeth’s hungry eyes on me, I felt that I was being besought by all the lovers of all the future generations to tear down some sort of awful barrier and give them happiness.  And it was the thought of the men that was most appealing.  It takes a woman who really likes them as I do, and has their good really at heart, to see their side of the question as Jane put it, poor dears.  Suddenly, I felt that all the happiness of the whole world was in one big, golden chalice, and that I had to hold it steadily to give drink to all men and all women—­with a vision of little unborn kiddies in the future.

Then, before I could stop myself, I decided—­and I hope the dear Lord—­I say it devoutly—­indeed I do!—­will help that poor man in Glendale if I pick out the wrong one.  I’m going to do it.

“I accept your appointment and terms, Jane,” I said quietly, as I looked both those devout, if fanatic, women in the face.  “I pledge myself to go back to Glendale, to live a happy, healthy, normal life, as useful as I can make it.  I had intended to do that anyway, for if I am to evolve the real American garden.  I can’t do better than sketch and study those in the Harpeth Valley, for at least two seasons all around.  I shall work at my profession whole-heartedly, take my allotted place in the community, and refuse to recognize any difference in the obligations and opportunities in my life and that of the men with whom I am thrown, and to help all other women to take such a fearless and honest attitude—­if Glendale blows up in consequence.  I will seek and claim marriage in exactly the same fearless way a man does, and when I have found what I want I shall expect you to put one hundred thousand dollars, twenty to each, at the disposal of five other suitable young women, to follow my example, as noted down in this book—­if it has been successful.  Shall I give you some sort of written agreement?”