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Rh said, still speaking low, not to disturb Mary. “You can’t possibly know the things you seem to know, at your age! Every word you have said, Jane, is true and wise! How could you see all that? Mary is my sweet dependence, but you can be my teacher, thoughtful little Ruddy-locks! It’s your intuition, the intuition of an artist, Janie, that shows you truth. After all, it is a great thing to be an artist, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes!” Jane breathed fervently. “But of course I’ve got to be Jane Garden, in the best way I can be, before I’ve a right to think of any other label. I feel ages older since Mary was hurt.”

“So do I, Jane, ages!” her mother agreed with her, as if they were girls together. “I never had much experience with life; I’ve been playing on its surface.”

“You can’t have, can you, unless you’re awfully fond of some one—like all of us now, here together?” asked Jane, suddenly embarrassed.

“More wisdom!” her mother exclaimed. “One lives in experience and feeling, not in events.” She had spoken louder than she meant to, and Mary opened her eyes, and put out her hand. “Janie and Mel, I’m going to stay right here,