Even to my own brother—if I had one—I could not tell everything, and you, although you are so kind, you are almost a stranger, aren’t you?” “No, no!” he protested. ‘So it was. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. Pipes were lighted; and Mr. I know why. Ogilvy was full of a client’s trouble in that matter, a grave and even tragic trouble. ” It occurred to her that she had never seen her father dining out before, never watched him critically as an equal. The cheating of the boys in the stores ceased. .
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