ey
arrived at nine o'clock, and with an hour's interval work went on until
five.

Entering by the private door of a picture-cleaner's shop, they ascended
to the second story, where two rooms had been furnished like
comfortable offices; two smaller on the floor above served for
dressing-rooms. In one of the offices, typewriting and occasionally
other kinds of work that demanded intelligence were carried on by three
or four young women regularly employed. To superintend this department
was Miss Nunn's chief duty, together with business correspondence under
the principal's direction. In the second room Miss Barfoot instructed
her pupils, never more than three being with her at a time. A bookcase
full of works on the Woman Question and allied topics served as a
circulating library; volumes were lent without charge to the members of
this little society. Once a month Miss Barfoot or Miss Nunn, by turns,
gave a brief address on some set subject; the hour was four o'clock,
and about a dozen hearers generally assembled. Both worked very hard.
Miss Barfoot did not look upon her enterprise as a source of pecuniary
profit, but she had made the establishment more than self-supporting.
Her pupils increased in number, and the working department promised
occupation for a larger staff than was at present engaged. The young
women in general answered their friend's expectations, but of course
there were disappointing instances. One of these had caused Miss
Barfoot special distress. A young girl whom she had released from a
life of much hardship, and who, after a couple of months' trial, bade
fair to develop noteworthy ability, of a sudden disappeared. She was
without relatives in London, and Miss Barfoot's endeavours to find her
proved for several weeks very futile. Then came news of her; she was
living as the mistress of a married man. Every effort was made to bring
her back, but the girl resisted; presently she again passed out of
sight, and now more than a year had elapsed since Miss Barfoot's last
interview with her.

This Monday morning, among letters delivered at the house, was one from
the strayed girl. Miss Barfoot read it in private, and throughout the
day remained unusually grave. At five o'clock, when staff and pupils
had all departed, she sat for a while in meditation, then spoke to
Rhoda, who was glancing over a book by the window.

'Here's a letter I should like you to read.'

'Something that has been troubling you sinc