ess, and her
hair was rolled into a plain knot. The other was superb with health, and
her face was full of rose-bloom. She was handsomely dressed in green
velvet, and her copper hair flamed and flashed beneath a small bonnet
with mauve strings.

'Oh, Alice, how tired and pale you look! You have been working too hard,
and all for me! How can I thank you? I shall never be able to thank
you--I cannot find words to tell you how grateful I am--but I am
grateful, Alice, indeed I am.'

'I am sure you are, dear. I did my best for you, it is true; and thank
heaven I succeeded, and no one knows--I do not think that anyone even
suspects.'

'No, not a soul. We managed it very well, didn't we? And the Reverend
Mother behaved splendidly--she just took the view that you said she
would. She saw that no good would come of telling mamma about me when I
made her understand that if a word were said my misfortune would be
belled all over the country in double-quick time. But, Alice dear, I had
a terrible time of it, two months waiting in that little lodging, afraid
to go out for fear someone would recognize me; it was awful. And often I
hadn't enough to eat, for when you are in that state you can't eat
everything, and I was afraid to spend any money. You did your best to
keep me supplied, dear, good guardian angel that you are.' Then the
impulsive girl flung herself on Alice's shoulders, and kissed her. 'But
there were times when I was hard up--oh, much more hard up than you
thought I was, for I didn't tell you everything; if I had, you would
have worried yourself into your grave. Oh, I had a frightful time of it!
If one is married one is petted and consoled and encouraged; but alone
in a lodging--oh, it was frightful.'

'And what about the poor baby?' said Alice.

'The poor little thing died, as I wrote you, about ten days after it was
born. I nursed it, and I was sorry for it. I really was; but of course
. . . well, it seems a hard thing to say, but I don't know what I should
have done with it if it had lived. Life isn't so happy, is it, even
under the best of circumstances?'

The conversation came to a sudden close. At last the nervous silence
that intervened was broken by May:

'We were speaking about money. I will repay you all I owe you some day,
Alice dear. I will save up all the money I can get out of mother. She is
such a dear old thing, but I cannot understand her. Not a penny did she
send me for the first six weeks, and