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THE END OF AN APPRENTICESHIP
One Saturday evening in midwinter Floyd and Mrs. Halket sat alone together in the library before the blazing fire. The fireplace was a large one, in keeping with the size of the room; it had great brass andirons surmounted by horses' heads; and on these andirons, symmetrically placed, were three huge artificial logs, perforated on all sides with little holes from which jets of flame issued. These unconsumable logs were cunningly devised; here and there a red glow would appear upon them and slowly fade, the flame leaped now and then irregularly, and the similitude to a wood fire was improved by the bed of real ashes which had been placed under the logs in the autumn and would be removed in the spring.
"Is n't it a sham!" Mrs. Halket murmured to Floyd.
She sat with her feet resting on a cushion and turned up toward the fire; her left hand hung over the arm of her chair, and the rings on it—opals and diamonds—gleamed and glittered in the light. Her husband liked to have her crowd her fingers with rings before she came to dinner; he considered that with the silver and flowers and glass they helped to make the table more cheerful.
Suddenly she rose, with a shiver, and stood, tall and graceful, with her back to the fire, looking down at Floyd.
"I think I have reached an age when it's more decent to cover one's shoulders," she said; "at least in private. Of course when one has people to dinner or goes to a ball, one must still display one's edifying bones. I suppose it helps to give confidence to the young and shy. I had the
