with her smile when he says his text.

Up to that time, although she had been polite to me,—so entirely polite that I never for a moment felt myself an intruder in her home,—she apparently took no great interest in me. But now she voluntarily addressed me whenever we met, and took pains to draw me out.

Once she glanced at a book I was reading, a rather heavy work, and smiled.

“You have made astonishing progress,” she said.

“I have had the best of instructors,” I replied.

“Ah, yes; Severnius has great patience. And besides, he likes you. And then of course he is not wholly disinterested, he wants to hear about your planet.”

“And do you?” I asked foolishly. I wanted somehow to get the conversation to running in a personal channel.

“O, of course,” she returned indifferently, “though I am not an astronomer. I should like to hear something about your people.”

I took that cue joyfully, and soon we were on very sociable terms with each other. She listened to my stories and descriptions with a most flattering interest, and I soon found myself worshiping her as a goddess. Yes, as a goddess, not a woman. Her entire lack of coquetry prevented me from making love to her, or would have prevented me if I had dared to have such a thought. If there could have been anything tender between us, I think she must have made the advances. But this is foolish. I am merely trying to give you some idea of the kind of woman she was. But I know that I cannot do that; the quality of a woman must be felt to be understood.

There was a great deal of social gayety in Thursia. We went out frequently, to opera, to concert, and to crowded gatherings in splendid homes. I observed that Elodia immediately became the centre of interest wherever she appeared. She gave fresh zest to every amusement or conversation. She seemed to dignify with her presence whatever happened to be going on, and made it worth while. Not that she distinguished herself in speech or act; she had the effect of being infinitely greater than anything she did or said and one was always looking out for manifestations of that. She kept one’s interest in her up to the highest pitch. I often asked myself, “Why is it that we are always looking at her with a kind of inquiry in our glances?—what is it that we expect her to do?”

It was a great part of her charm that she was not blasé. She was full of interest in all about her, she was keenly and delightfully alive. Her manners were perfect, and yet she seemed careless of etiquette and conventions. Her good manners were a part of herself, as her regal carriage was.

It was her unvarying habit, almost, to spend several hours down town every day. I ventured to ask Severnius wherefore.

He replied that she had large business interests, and looked carefully after them herself.

I expressed astonishment, and Severnius was equally surprised at me. I questioned him and he explained.

“My father was a banker,” he said, “and very rich. My sister inherited his gift and taste for finance. I took after my mother’s family, who were scientists. We were trained, of course, in our early years according to our respective talents. At our parents’ death we inherited their fortune in equal shares. Elodia was prepared to take up my father’s business where he left it. In fact he had associated her with himself in the business for some time previous to his departure, and she has carried it on very successfully ever since.”

“She is a banker!” said I.

“Yes. I, myself, have always had a liking for astronomy, and I have been employed, ever since I finished my education, in the State Observatory.”

“And how do you employ your capital?” I asked.

“Elodia manages it for me. It is all in the bank, or in investments which she makes. I use my dividends largely in the interest of science. The State does a great deal in that direction, but not enough.”

“And what, may I ask, does she do with her surplus,—your sister, I mean,—she must make a great deal of money?”

“She re-invests it. She has a speculative tendency, and is rather daring; though they tell me she is very safe—far-sighted, or large-sighted, I should call it. I do not know how many great enterprises she is connected with,—railroads, lines of steamers, mining and manufacturing operations. And besides, she is public-spirited. She is much interested in the cause of education,—practical education for the poor especially. She is president of the school board here in the city, and she is also a member of the city council. A great many of our modern improvements are due to her efforts.”

My look of amazement arrested his attention.

“Why are you so surprised?” he asked. “Do not your women engage in business?”

“Well, not to such an extraordinary degree,” I replied. “We have women who work in various ways, but there are very few of them who have large business interests, and they are not entrusted with important public affairs, such as municipal government and the management of schools!”

“Oh!” returned Severnius with the note of one who does not quite understand. “Would you mind telling me why? Is it because they are incapable, or—unreliable?”

Neither of the words he chose struck me pleasantly as applied to my countrywomen. I remembered that I was the sole representative of the Earth on Mars, and that it stood me in hand to be careful about the sort of impressions I gave out. It was as if I were on the witness’ stand, under oath. Facts must tell the story, not opinions,—though personally I have great confidence in my opinions. I thought of our government departments where women are the experts, and of their almost spotless record for faithfulness and honesty, and replied:

“They are both capable and reliable, in as far as they have had experience. But their chances have been circumscribed, and I believe they lack the inclination to assume grave public duties. I fear I cannot make you understand,—our women are so different, so unlike your sister.”

Elodia was always my standard of comparison.

“Perhaps you men take care of them all,” suggested Severnius, “and they have grown dependent. We have some such women here.”

“No, I do not think it is that entirely,” said I. “For in my city alone, more than a hundred and seventy thousand women support not only themselves, but others who are dependent upon them.”

“Ah, indeed! but how?”

“By work.”

“You mean servants?”

“Not so-called. I mean intelligent, selfrespecting women; teachers, clerks, stenographers, type-writers.”

“I should think it would be more agreeable, and easier, for them to engage in business as our women do.”

“No doubt it would,” I replied, feeling myself driven to a close scrutiny of the Woman Question, as we call it, for the first time in my life. For I saw that my friend was deeply interested and wanted to get at the literal truth. “But the women of my country,” I went on, “the self-supporting ones, do not have control of money. They have a horror of speculation, and shrink from taking risks and making ventures, the failure of which would mean loss or ruin to others. A woman’s right to make her living is restricted to the powers within herself, powers of brain and hand. She is a beginner, you know. She has not yet learned to make money by the labor of others; she does not know how to