ot have given her in the pretty home Lilian
had been planning. She had been happy with her lover, then her husband.
But, Lilian would shrink from the kiss of the grimy man fresh from his
hard work, and after his brief ablutions, sitting down to supper in his
shirt sleeves and then lighting his pipe and pushing his baby up and
down the front walk, jesting and laughing with the neighbors. There were
blocks of them, most of them happy women, too, except when the babies
came too fast or died out of their arms. And a few games of cards in the
evening, a play now and then merry enough to keep one laughing. No, it
would never have done for Lilian.

And she would feel out of place in the life to which the girl aspired.
She would never get quite at ease with these refined friends whose talk
was of books and music and the part great men and women were playing in
the world.

How many times does one have a foreshadowing of the real things that
affect life! One may be heavy hearted for days groping about fearsomely
and suddenly the cloud lifts without any misfortune. Then swift in the
happiest hour comes the stroke that crushes one. Lilian looked straight
ahead in her life. She would serve her time here and repay Mrs.
Barrington for her generous kindness.

In a lovely old town like Mount Morris, the lines of caste get
unconsciously drawn. Where people have lived hundreds of years and can
trace back to some titled ancestor perhaps, where they have never known
the hard grind of poverty, but have worked on the higher lines. There
had been several noted clergymen, two bishops, scholars, senators and
even an ambassador abroad. There was no especial pride in this, it was
simply what was to be expected of sons growing up in this refined,
upright and moral atmosphere. But they sometimes passed rather proudly
by those of the next lower round who bent their energies to money
making.

Lilian had soon come to understand that and her personal pride kept her
aloof from any chance of snubs. But she would want a wider world
presently that was not bounded by a grandfather or a fortune that had
descended through generations.

There were moments when Mrs. Boyd's confession seemed a feverish dream.
She did not dare build anything on it, because she had indulged in some
romantic dreams and longings, because there had been wounded vanity
almost to a sense of shame, she held herself to a strict account. No
matter what she might gain here, she would