o--lute--lee
lovely!

The coat and skirt were found and eagerly compared with the
illustration, and Pauline turned to me and said with a triumphant
ringing her voice: "It wasn't an exaggeration. I knew it wouldn't be.
Mother has dealt here for years."

Then we went upstairs to try it on. In a few minutes Pauline had
discovered that the fitter was supporting her deceased sister's husband
and six children, the eldest of whom wasn't quite right and the youngest
had rickets. She was so distressed that she didn't want the back of her
coat altered, the woman already had so much to bear. But I prevailed
upon her to have the alteration made regardless of the woman's domestic
anxieties. I felt sure it would make no difference. But I cannot help
feeling that Pauline's visit to that shop did make a difference to that
poor woman, if only for a few moments in her life. And I think those
children's lives were made happier too; but it is difficult to get
Pauline to talk of these things.

Then we went to the shoemaker, and Pauline told him all about the
widower bootmaker, and of her scruples about having boots made by any
one else. The bootmaker evidently thought that a foot like Pauline's was
worthy of a good boot and Pauline said there were occasions on which one
had to sink one's own feelings. She was scandalized at London prices,
and told the man so. "But of course it means higher pay for the men, so
it's all right."

On our way home I said to Pauline that I couldn't understand why she was
so economical--ready-made coats and skirts, and afraid of paying a fair
price for good boots! Was her allowance smaller than it used to be? She
got pink and didn't answer. I determined she should, and at last she
did.

"Well, you see, I pay a woman to come and wash the shoemaker's children
on Saturday evenings."

I smiled. "That can't cost much, unless she provides the soap."

Pauline got pinker still. "Well, I pay for the village nurse, and a few
other little things. Then there's a little baby," she dropped her voice,
"who has no mother--she died--and who never had a father, and every one
doesn't care for those sort of babies.--You do like my coat and skirt,
don't you?"

Chapter IX

I think, by the way, that it was on that very day that Mr. Dudley met
Pauline. She, of course, would know the exact date and hour, but I am
almost sure of it, for although it may mean a day of less ecstatic
joy to me than it does to her, it broug