Joyce had been studying his face--nothing had escaped her: its wanness,
the sharp outline, and the tears congealed in the hollows of his cheeks.
She pulled her chair nearer, and took his extended hand.

"I'm sorry you've been sick," she said simply.

Then they smiled at each other.

[Illustration: PRESENTLY HE OPENED HIS EYES ... AND THERE SAT THE GIRL
OF HIS DREAMS NEAR HIM]

It was hard for Drew to readjust his ideas and fit this beautiful woman
into the guise of the Magdalene of his late thoughts.

Vaguely he saw that whatever she had undergone, she had brought from her
experiences new beauty; a new force, and a power to guard her
possessions with marvellous calm. She was being made as she went along
in life. Her spiritual and mental architecture, so to speak, could not
be properly estimated until all was finished. This conclusion chilled
Drew's enthusiasm. He would have felt kinder had she been less sure of
herself.

"You are looking--well, Mrs. Lauzoon." Drew felt the awkwardness of the
situation growing.

"Please, Mr. Drew, I'm just Joyce again. Perhaps you have not heard?"
Her great eyes were still smiling that contented, peaceful smile.

"I've heard. Need we talk of it, Joyce?"

"Unless you're too weak, we must; now or at some other time. You see I
have been waiting to talk to you. I've been saying over and over, 'He'll
understand. He'll make me sure that I've done right.'"

Drew, for the life of him, could not repress a feeling of repulsion.
Joyce noticed this, and leaned back, folding her hands in her lap.

Drew saw that her hands were white and smooth. Then she gathered her
heavy, red cloak around her, and hid those silent marks of her new
refinement.

"They call me"--the old, half-childish smile came to the face looking
full at Drew--"the worst woman in town. At least, they call me that when
they think I won't hear. You know they were always afraid of Mr. Gaston
a little. But I hear and it makes me laugh."

The listener closed his eyes for a moment. He could better steady his
moral sense when that sweet beauty did not interfere with his judgment.

"You see, if I had stayed on--with Jude, and lived--that--awful life": a
sudden awe stole into her voice--"then, if they had thought of me at
all, they would have thought of me as--good. It would have been--good
for me to have--poor, sad little children--like--like my--my
baby--You've heard?" Her lips were quivering. The play of expression on
he