had been shared--these were the thoughts and feelings breeding
hatred.

She had spent the day in a fruitless search for her lover. She had been
to his boss and to his rooms. He had paid his debts and gone, nobody
knew where. She was pretty, vain, homeless; alone to bear the
responsibility she had not been alone to incur. She could not shirk it
as the man had done. They had both disregarded the law. On whom were the
consequences weighing more heavily? On the woman. She is the sufferer;
she is the first to miss the law's protection. She is the weaker member
whom, for the sake of the race, society protects. Nature has made her
man's physical inferior; society is obliged to recognize this in the
giving of a marriage law which beyond doubt is for the benefit of woman,
since she can least afford to disregard it.

Another evening when the matron was out I sat for a time with a young
working woman and her baby. There is a comradeship among the poor that
makes light of indiscreet questions. I felt only sympathy in asking:

"Are you alone to bring up your child?"

"Yes, ma'am," was the answer. "I'll never go home with _him_."

I looked at _him_: a wizened, four-months-old infant with a huge flat
nose, and two dull black eyes fixed upon the gas jet. The girl had the
grace of a forest-born creature; she moved with the mysterious strength
and suppleness of a tree's branch. She was proud; she felt herself
disgraced. For four months she had not left the house. I talked on,
proposing different things.

"I don't know what to do," she said. "I can't never go home with _him_,
and if I went home without him I'd never be the same. I don't know what
I'd do if anything happened to _him_." Her head bowed over the child;
she held him close to her breast.

But to return to the coloured cook and my day in the kitchen. I had
ample opportunity to compare domestic service with factory work. We set
the table for two hundred, and do a thousand miserable slavish tasks
that must be begun again the following day. At twelve the two hundred
troop in, toil-worn and begrimed. They pass like locusts, leaving us
sixteen hundred dirty dishes to wash up and wipe. This takes us four
hours, and when we have finished the work stands ready to be done over
the next morning with peculiar monotony. In the factory there is
stimulus in feeling that the material which passes through one's hands
will never be seen or heard of again.

On Saturday the owner of the f