ane. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised; I didn't think she'd
have the courage."

Michael Daragh came in, his face grave. "Here's Irene, come for the
child. I don't like the look of it."

"Well, _I'm_ not surprised," said Mrs. Richards again.

A young woman presented herself at the office door. There was resolute
respectability in her blue serge suit, brushed shiny, too thin for
December wear. She carried a small straw telescope and her voice sounded
capable and firm. "Can I go right up, Mrs. Richards?"

"Why, I suppose you may as well, Irene. You've come for Billiken?"

"Yes. I'm taking her on the night-boat."

"Wait," said the Irishman, as she turned toward the stairs. "Did Ethel
tell him?"

"You mean, did she tell Jerry about--about the baby?" The good sister of
the erring sister flushed painfully. "Not that I've heard of. I guess she
knows better than that."

"There is no 'better than that,'" said Michael Daragh, sternly. "There is
nothing better than the truth." The line of his lean jaw was salient.

"If I can once get her respectably married," said Irene, nippingly, her
small face resolute, "I won't worry about what she tells or doesn't tell.
It's been hard enough on _me_, I can tell you!" She went briskly upstairs
and they heard her firm closing of the door.

"You see?" the matron wanted to know.

"I'm fearing we've lost the fight," said Michael Daragh.

Jane insisted on hope. "Perhaps she did tell him, and everything's all
right, but she had no chance to see Irene and explain! Surely you won't
let her take Billiken until we are sure?"

Then the front door opened quietly and Ethel came in to stand before
them, her tragic and accusing eyes on Jane. "You made me tell," she
said. "_You_ made me!" And when Jane ran to her, questioning, eager, she
pushed her away. "It's you! It's you did it!"

Michael Daragh strode to her and put a steadying arm about her shoulders.
"Child, tell us the way of it."

Her teeth were chattering and her face seemed to grow whiter and whiter.
"I told him. I told him everything. I kept saying to myself over and
over, all the way to the store, just what she told me"--she flung a
bruised and bitter look at Jane--"'I must love him more than I want
him'--and I went straight up to him at his counter, right there in the
daytime. He was selling a necktie to a fat old man with a red neck. It
was a dark blue tie with light blue spots on it." She added the detail
carefully in her spent