ponsibilities.

'I can help them in various ways. I can have them here sometimes,
especially when they are not strong; so many of them are not strong,
Mrs. Fordyce. Oh, I have been so sorry for them, and some of them have
never, never been out of these dreadful streets. Oh, I can help them in
a thousand ways.'

Mrs. Fordyce was silent, not knowing very well how to answer. She saw
many difficulties ahead, yet hesitated to chill the girl's young
enthusiasm, which seemed a beautiful and a heavenly thing even to the
woman of the world, who believed that it could never come to fruition.

'There is something else which might be done. What would you say to
Madame Bonnemain coming here to live with you as housekeeper and
chaperon?'

'If you, knowing us both, think it would be a happy arrangement, I shall
be happy,' Gladys said; and the wisdom of the reply struck Mrs. Fordyce.
Certainly, in many respects Gladys spoke and acted like a woman who had
tasted the experience of life.

'My love, anybody could live with you, and unless sorrow and care have
materially changed Henrietta Bonnemain, anybody could live with her,'
she said cheerfully. 'Suppose we take a little trip to Belgium, and see
what can be done to arrange it?'

'Oh yes, that would be delightful. I shall know just at once whether
Madame Bonnemain and I can be happy together. Is she a Scotch lady?'

'To the backbone. She was born at Shandon, on the Gairloch, and we went
to Brussels to school together. She never came back--married at
eighteen, Gladys, and only a wife five years. She has had a hard life,'
said Mrs. Fordyce, and her eyes grew dim over the memories of her youth.

'Can we go soon, then?' asked Gladys fervently; 'just when they are
finishing the house? Then we could bring Madame back with us.'

'My dear, you will not let the grass grow under your feet, nor allow any
one else to loiter by the way,' said Mrs. Fordyce, with a laugh. 'Well,
we shall see what Mr. Fordyce has to say to-night to these grand plans.'

Some days after that conversation, Mrs. Macintyre was labouring over her
washing-tub in her very limited domain in the back court off Colquhoun
Street, when a quick, light knock came to her door.

'Come in,' she said, not thinking it worth while to look round, or to
lift her hands from the suds.

'Good-morning, Mrs. Macintyre. How are you to-day?' she heard a sweet
voice say, and in a moment she became interested and excited.

'Mercy me, mi