"Are you waiting to hear that your work is well done?
Women go through life as babies learn to walk,--a mouthful of pap every step, only they take it in praise or love.

Pap is better.

Which do you want?
Praise, I fancy." "Neither," she said, quietly brushing her shawl.

"The work is well done, I know." The old man's eye glittered for an instant, satisfied; then he turned to the books.

He thought she had gone, but, hearing a slight clicking sound, turned round.