elf well in leash during the busy day, she
relished her happiness none the less when she could allow herself the
full savor of it. When a girl of eighteen she had married a man of the
sort that must put whisky into his stomach before the machinery of his
day would take up its creaking round.

Out of the degradation of that marriage she had emerged triumphantly,
sweet and unsullied, and she had succeeded in bringing her son, Jock
McChesney, out into the clear sunlight with her.

The evenings spent with T. A. Buck, the man of fine instincts, of
breeding, of proven worth, of rare tenderness, filled her with a great
peace and happiness. When doubts assailed her, it was not for herself
but for him. Sometimes the fear would clutch her as they sat before
the fire in the sitting-room of her comfortable little apartment. She
would voice those fears for the very joy of having them stilled.

"T. A., this is too much happiness. I'm--I'm afraid. After all,
you're a young man, though you are a bit older than I in actual years.
But men of your age marry girls of eighteen. You're handsome. And
you've brains, family, breeding, money. Any girl in New York would be
glad to marry you--those tall, slim, exquisite young girls. Young!
And well bred, and poised and fresh and sweet and lovable. You see
them every day on Fifth Avenue, exquisitely dressed, entirely
desirable. They make me feel--old--old and battered. I've sold goods
on the road. I've fought and worked and struggled. And it has left
its mark. I did it for the boy, God bless him! And I'm glad I did it.
But it put me out of the class of that girl you see on----"

"Yes, Emma; you're not at all in the class with that girl you see every
day on Fifth Avenue. Fifth Avenue's full of her--hundreds of her,
thousands of her. Perhaps, five years ago, before I had worked side by
side with you, I might have been attracted by that girl you see every
day on Fifth Avenue. You don't see a procession of Emma McChesneys
every day on Fifth Avenue--not by a long shot! Why? Because there's
only one of her. She doesn't come in dozen lots. I know that that
girl you see every day on Fifth Avenue is all that I deserve. But, by
some heaven-sent miracle, I'm to have this Emma McChesney woman! I
don't know how it came to be true. I don't deserve it. But it is
true, and that's enough for me."

Emma McChesney would look up at him, eyes wet, mouth smiling.

"T. A., you're balm and m