lipped his arm through hers.

"You mustn't be afraid of looking at the blue pin any longer, because it
belongs to you," he said; and she felt a little box being pressed into
her hand. Her heart gave a leap of joy, but it reached her lips only in
a shy stammer. She remembered other girls whom she had heard planning to
extract presents from their fellows, and was seized with a sudden dread
lest Harney should have imagined that she had leaned over the pretty
things in the glass case in the hope of having one given to her....

A little farther down the street they turned in at a glass doorway
opening on a shining hall with a mahogany staircase, and brass cages in
its corners. "We must have something to eat," Harney said; and the next
moment Charity found herself in a dressing-room all looking-glass and
lustrous surfaces, where a party of showy-looking girls were dabbing
on powder and straightening immense plumed hats. When they had gone she
took courage to bathe her hot face in one of the marble basins, and
to straighten her own hat-brim, which the parasols of the crowd had
indented. The dresses in the shops had so impressed her that she
scarcely dared look at her reflection; but when she did so, the glow
of her face under her cherry-coloured hat, and the curve of her young
shoulders through the transparent muslin, restored her courage; and when
she had taken the blue brooch from its box and pinned it on her bosom
she walked toward the restaurant with her head high, as if she had
always strolled through tessellated halls beside young men in flannels.

Her spirit sank a little at the sight of the slim-waisted waitresses in
black, with bewitching mob-caps on their haughty heads, who were moving
disdainfully between the tables. "Not f'r another hour," one of them
dropped to Harney in passing; and he stood doubtfully glancing about
him.

"Oh, well, we can't stay sweltering here," he decided; "let's try
somewhere else--" and with a sense of relief Charity followed him from
that scene of inhospitable splendour.

That "somewhere else" turned out--after more hot tramping, and several
failures--to be, of all things, a little open-air place in a back street
that called itself a French restaurant, and consisted in two or three
rickety tables under a scarlet-runner, between a patch of zinnias
and petunias and a big elm bending over from the next yard. Here they
lunched on queerly flavoured things, while Harney, leaning back in a
c