he bent forward, her thin arms stretched out to Jane, her hands locked,
as if she still held tight the confidence she offered.

"Miss Lucy," she said, "you were so kind to me this morning, so kind and
helpful."

"I didn't know it."

"No, you didn't know it." Miss Keating looked down, and she smiled as if
at some pleasant secret of her own. "I think when we are really helping
each other we don't know it. You couldn't realise what it meant to me,
your just coming up and speaking to me that way."

"I'm very glad," said Jane; and thought she meant it.

Miss Keating smiled again. "I wonder," she said, "if I might ask you to
help me again?"

"If I can."

"You look as if you could. I'm in a great difficulty, and I would like
you--if you would--to give me your advice."

"That," said Jane, "is a very dangerous thing to give."

"It wouldn't be in this case. If I might only tell you. There's no one
in the hotel whom I can speak to."

"Surely," said Jane, "there is Mrs. Tailleur, your friend."

"My friend? Yes, she is my friend; that's why I can't say anything to
her. She _is_ the difficulty."

"Indeed," said Jane coldly. Nothing in Miss Keating appealed to the
spirit of adventurous sympathy.

"I have received so much kindness from her. She _is_ kind."

"Evidently," said Jane.

"That makes my position so very delicate--so very disagreeable."

"I should think it would."

Miss Keating felt the antipathy in Miss Lucy's tone. "You _do_ think it
strange of me to come to you when I don't know you?"

"No, no; people are always coming to me. Perhaps because they don't know
me."

"Ah, you see, you make them come."

"Indeed I don't. I try to stop them."

"Are you trying to stop me?"

"Yes; I think I am."

"Don't stop me, please."

"But surely it would be better to consult your own people."

Miss Keating paused. Miss Lucy had suggested the obvious course, which
she had avoided for reasons which were not obvious even to herself.

"My own people?" she murmured pensively. "They are not here."

It was not her fault if Miss Lucy jumped to the conclusion that they
were dead.

"I wonder," she said, "if you see my difficulty?"

"I see it plainly enough. Mrs. Tailleur has been very kind to you, and
you want to leave her. Why?"

"I'm not sure that I ought to stay."

"You must be the best judge of your obligations."

"There are," said Miss Keating, "other things; I don't know that I'm a
good judge of _them_. Yo