"You cannot do it, my dear. Your little economies are only affectation. The real struggle you cannot possibly understand."
"But," pleaded Helen, "I am so sorry for these women."
"Doubtless they are sorry for you." The little artist set her lips firmly together. "If I have any grip on my art, it is because I have to fight for it. Thank Heaven for the things that are hard!"
Helen grieved much over Anne's lack of sympathy.
"Miss Bradford makes me feel as if nothing were worth while," she said mournfully, one day, to Mr. Stanton. He had overtaken her as she crossed the park, in the late afternoon. All about them lay deep snow. Above, the bare tree branches stood out against broken purple clouds. There were gleaming lights in far-away shop-windows, and in the crawling electric cars.
"Never mind. It is all worth while," said the young man reassuringly.
