of that
wretched money. I thought love ranked higher than gold all the world
over."

"So it does, or appears to do, for those who all their lives have had
plenty; but it is just possible, just possible, I say, that those who
are poor, poor enough to know what hunger and cold mean, and have seen
their dearest wanting the comforts that money can buy, it is possible
that such people may prefer their money rights to the profession of
empty love."

"Empty love!" repeated Miss Harman. The words stung her. She was growing
angry, and the anger became this stately creature well. With cheeks and
eyes both glowing she turned to her companion. "If you and I are not to
part at once, and never meet again, there must be very plain words
between us. Shall I speak those words?" she asked.

"I came here that our words might be very plain," answered Mrs. Home.

"They shall be," said Charlotte Harman.

They were in a very quiet part of the park. Even the nurses and children
were out of sight. Now they ceased walking, and turned and faced each
other.

They were both tall, and both the poor and the rich young woman had
considerable dignity of bearing; but Charlotte Home was now the composed
one. Charlotte Harman felt herself quivering with suppressed anger.
Injustice was being dealt out to her, and injustice to the child of
affluence and luxury was a new sensation.

"You came to me the other day," she began, "I had never seen you before,
never before in all my life ever heard your name. You, however, knew me,
and you told me a story. It was a painful and very strange story. It
made you not only my very nearest kin, but also made you the victim of a
great wrong. The wrong was a large one, and the victim was to be pitied;
but the sting of it all lay, to me, not in either of the facts, but in
this, that you gave me to understand that he who had dealt you such a
blow was--my father. My father, one of the most noble, upright, and
righteous of men, you made out to me, to me, his only child, to be no
better than a common thief. I did not turn you from my doors for your
base words. I pitied you. In spite of myself I liked you; in spite of
myself I _believed_ you. You went away, and in the agony of mind which
followed during the next few hours I could have gladly fled for ever
from the sight of all the wide world. I had been the very happiest of
women. You came. You went. I was one of the most miserable. I am engaged
to be married, and the m