ly alive to their thoughts. The scared little-girl look
came into her face.

"Perhaps--perhaps," she stammered, pitifully, "after what I have said
you would rather I did not stay on--in charge of Ward C?"

The Dominating Trustee rose abruptly. "Mr. President, I suggest that
we act upon Miss MacLean's resignation at once."

"I second the motion," came in a quick bark from the Meanest Trustee,
while the Oldest Trustee could be heard quoting, "Sharper than a
serpent's tooth--"

The Executive Trustee rose, looking past Margaret MacLean as he spoke.
"In view of the fact that we shall possibly discontinue the incurable
ward, and that Miss MacLean seems wholly unsatisfied with our methods
and supervision here, I motion that her resignation be accepted now,
and that she shall be free to leave Saint Margaret's when her month
shall have expired,"

"I second the motion," came from the Social Trustee, while she added to
the Calculating, who happened to be sitting next: "So ill-bred. It
just shows that a person can never be educated above her station in
life."

The President rose. "The motion has been made and seconded. Will you
please signify by raising your hands if it is your wish that Miss
MacLean's resignation be accepted at once?"

Hand after hand went up. Only the little gray wisp of a woman in the
chair by the door sat with her hands still folded on her lap.

"It is, so to speak, a unanimous vote." There was a strong hint of
approval in the President's voice. He was a good man; but he belonged
to that sect which holds as one of the main articles of its faith, "I
believe in the infallibility of the rich."

"Can any one tell me when Miss MacLean's time expires?"

The person under discussion answered for herself. "On the last day of
the month, Mr. President."

"Oh, very well." He was extremely polite in his manner. "We thank you
for your very full and--hmm--comprehensive report. After to-night you
are excused from your duties at Saint Margaret's."

The President bowed her courteously out of the board-room, while the
primroses in the green Devonshire bowl on his desk still nodded
guilelessly.

V

ODDS AND ENDS

Margaret MacLean walked the length of the first corridor; once out of
sight and hearing, she tore up the stairs, her cheeks crimson and her
eyes suspiciously moist. Before she had reached the second flight the
House Surgeon overtook her.

"I wish," he panted behind her, trying his