luxuriously in her chair, then started
forward, as the door opened with a bang, and a harsh voice accosted her
by name--

"Miss Mollie, your mother wants to know if you have finished darning the
socks? She is putting away the clean clothes, and wants to sort them
with the rest."

The Lady Lucille--otherwise Mollie Farrell, the penniless daughter of an
impoverished house--jumped up from her chair, and clasped her hands in
dismay. In blissful contemplation of imagining chiffons and cotillions,
the prosaic duties of reality had slipped from her mind, and
recollection brought with it a pang of remorse.

"Misery me! I forgot the very existence of the wretched things! Never
mind. Tell mother, Annie, that I'll set to work this minute, and put
them away myself as soon as they are done. Tell her I'm sorry; tell her
I'll be as quick as I possibly can!"

Annie stood for a moment in eloquent silence then shut the door and
descended the stairs; while Mollie groped her way across the room, and
Berengaria lifted herself from her chair with a sigh, and slipped her
hand along the mantelpiece.

"I'll light the gas. How horrid it is, being dragged back to earth by
these sordid interruptions! It's always the way--as soon as I begin to
forget myself, and enjoy a taste of luxury, back I'm dragged to the same
dull old life. I really saw that silver tissue, and felt the coldness
of the diamonds against my shoulder; and then--_socks_! Those wretched,
thick, ugly socks, with the heels all out, and the toes in rags! I
think schoolboys ought to be obliged to darn their own clothes, just to
teach them a little care!"

"Well, be aisy; you haven't to darn them, anyway. It's my work, which
is the best of reasons why it is left undone. Hurry with the gas,
there's a dear. There's no time for conundrums, if I am to finish to-
night!"

Another sigh, the striking of a match, and the light sprang up, and
showed a tall, girlish figure, clad in a blue serge skirt, and a flannel
blouse, faded from repeated washing, and showing signs of a decided
shortage of material.

Considered as a costume, it was a painful contrast to the silver and
diamonds of the fair Berengaria; but the shabby garments looked their
best on Ruth Farrell's slight form, and the face reflected in the strip
of mirror above the mantelpiece had a distinct charm of its own. A low
brow below masses of brown hair; a flush of carmine on the cheeks; soft
lips, drooping pat