saw to her every comfort, put a
sum of money in her hand with the words:

"You must take it, Nella-Rose--to prove your trust in me; and it will
buy some--some things for--the other babies. But"--and here she went
close to Nella-Rose, realizing for the first time that the most
difficult part, for her, was yet to come--"how will it be with--with
your man--when he knows?"

Nella-Rose looked up bravely and something crept into her eyes--the
look of power that only a woman who recognizes her hold on a man ever
shows.

"He'll bear it--right grateful--and it'll wipe away the hate for Jed
Martin. He'll do the forgiving--since I've given up lil' Ann; and if he
doubts--there's Miss Lois Ann. She's mighty powerful with men--when it's
women that matters."

"It's very wonderful!" murmured Lynda. "More wonderful than I can
understand." And yet as she spoke she knew that she _did_ understand.
Between her and Burke Lawson, a man she was never to know, there was a
common tie--a deep comprehension.

Late that afternoon Lynda drove to Betty's with little Ann sitting
rigidly on the seat beside her. The child had not spoken since she had
seen the train move out of the station bearing her mother away. She had
not cried or murmured. She had gone afterward, holding Lynda's hand,
through amazing experiences. She had seen her shabby garments discarded
in dazzling shops, and fine apparel replace them. Once she had caught a
glimpse of her small, transformed self in a long mirror and her dark
eyes had widened. That was all. Lynda had watched her feverishly. She
had hoped that with the change of clothing the startling likeness would
lessen, but it did not. Robed in the trappings of her father's world,
little Ann seemed to become more wholly his.

"Do you like yourself, little Ann?" Lynda had asked when, at last, a
charming hat was placed upon the dark curls.

There was no word of reply--only the wide, helpless stare--and, to cover
her confusion, Lynda hurried away to Betty.

The maid who admitted her said that "Mrs. Kendall was upstairs in the
nursery with the baby."

Lynda paused on the stairs and asked blankly: "The baby? What baby?"

The maid was a trusted one and close to Betty.

"The little boy from the Home, Mrs. Truedale," she replied, "and already
the house is cheerfuller."

Lynda felt a distinct disappointment. She had hoped that Betty would
care for little Ann for a few days, but how could she ask it of her now?

In the s