eave you to have your
talk with Eleanor; but I am starting off again on my rounds in half an
hour, and shall be driving past your house. It is a disagreeable
evening. Will you let me give you a lift?"

Ruth consented eagerly. The blue serge coat felt none too warm in the
bleak east wind, and it would be a relief to be spared the chilly walk,
and be bowled along instead in the doctor's luxurious brougham. She
drew her chair nearer to the fire, and proceeded to confide various whys
and wherefores to the sympathetic Eleanor--sympathetic, but hardly
responsive this afternoon for some mysterious reason. The while Ruth
set forward one idea after another, Miss Maclure sat gazing at her with
an intent, questioning gaze, as though too much occupied with her own
thoughts to grasp the meaning of the conversation. Ruth felt chilled
and disappointed, for during the last few days the constant thought in
the background of her mind had been, "Eleanor will advise me! Eleanor
will know what to do!"

Miss Maclure was a busy woman, whose name figured in a dozen committees.
She knew everyone, went everywhere, and her word had weight in guilds,
societies, and associations. What could be more easy than for her to
find a pleasant and lucrative berth for a pet girl friend, and settle
her in it without delay? Ruth had already imagined a touching scene
wherein she had been introduced to her future sphere of work, while
those in authority overpowered Miss Maclure with thanks for helping them
to find the ideal person to fill the vacant post. But Eleanor said
nothing, suggested nothing, only sat staring with those grave,
questioning eyes!

It was almost a relief when the half-hour was over, and the doctor gave
the summons for departure. Then Eleanor came back to the present once
more, and was all that was kind and loving.

"Have you no wraps with you, dear? Is that all you have on?" she asked,
as the girl buttoned her thin coat and pulled the scarf higher round her
throat; and Ruth answered "Yes," in an irresponsive tone, which
effectually put a stop to further remarks. She might speak of her own
poverty, but not even Eleanor Maclure herself could be allowed to pity,
or offer to supply a want. That was Miss Ruth's idea of proper pride,
and she straightened her back, and held her head higher than ever as she
crossed the hall and took her seat in the carriage.

Such a luxurious brougham it was, with its well-cushioned seats, its
el