rld, for it was
almost like having her for my friend. She--she smiled at me--the other
day."

Rhoda looked at her cousin wonderingly. Could it be some one that she
knew, who seemed to care so much about her pleasure?

Then her eyes fell on the shrinking Cicely, whom madame was pushing
somewhat unceremoniously into the room. Rhoda saw the little
black-gowned figure with the tear-swollen face, and suddenly the
crimson spots on her evening gown held a new significance.

It flashed through her mind that the very life-blood of such girls was
being sacrificed for her own selfish pleasure. If she had not hurried
madame so, there would have been no night-work for this poor child, no
fagged-out nerves for her the next day.

Suddenly Miss Balfour crossed the room and, to her cousin's
astonishment, caught Cicely's cold hands in hers.

"Look up here, you poor little thing," she said, kindly. "Now don't
cry another tear, or grieve another bit about this. It's no matter at
all. I'll just get some new stuff to replace the front of the skirt,
and madame can make it over next week for me and send it on East after
me. I'll pay for it myself, of course, for I'll be very glad to have
the silk that must be ripped out. Mamma is making me a silk quilt, and
the rosebuds will work in beautifully. I shall have it put in,
blood-spots and all, to remind me that my selfish pleasure may often
prove a cruel thorn to somebody else. I don't want to go through the
world leaving scratches behind me."

"Why, Rhoda!" gasped Miss Shelby; but with a proud lifting of her
head, Miss Balfour went on:

"I realise it is my own fault in rushing you with the work, madame,
and the consequences of my own unreasonableness are not to be laid at
this girl's door. Do you understand, madame? Not a cent is to come out
of her wages, and you are to keep her and be good to her, if you want
my good-will. I am coming back this way in the spring, and this gown
is so beautifully made that I shall be glad to order my entire summer
wardrobe from you."

"Why, Rhoda Balfour!" exclaimed her cousin again, while madame bowed
and smiled and bowed again.

As for Cicely, she went back to the workroom almost dazed, and
tingling with the remembrance of Miss Balfour's friendly tones. It was
several hours later when she climbed the stairs to her little back
bedroom to light her coal-oil stove, and make her toast and tea. Her
eyes were still swollen from crying, but she had not felt