The life seemed to have gone out of her.
"You see, dear, I began when I was young," she explained; "and he has always seen me the same.

I don't think I could live like this." The painted doll that the child fancied! the paint washed off and the golden hair all turned to drab?
Could one be sure of "getting used to it," of "liking it better ?" And the poor bewildered doll itself! How could one expect to make of it a statue: "The Woman of the People." One could only bruise it.
It ended in Joan's promising to introduce her to discreet theatrical friends who would tell her of cosmetics less injurious to the skin, and advise her generally in the ancient and proper art of "making up." It was not the end she had looked for.

Joan sighed as she closed her door behind her.

What was the meaning of it?
On the one hand that unimpeachable law, the greatest happiness of the greatest number; the sacred cause of Democracy; the moral Uplift of the people; Sanity, Wisdom, Truth, the higher Justice; all the forces on which she was relying for the regeneration of the world--all arrayed in stern demand that the flabby, useless Mrs.Phillips should be sacrificed for the general good.

Only one voice had pleaded for foolish, helpless Mrs.
Phillips--and had conquered.