of life come in the shape of lawyers' clerks
with writs and summonses. It's a relief from those mad fashion plates I
draw, anyway. Do you know, Mrs. Morgan, that the sight of a dressmaker's
shop window makes me positively ill!"

Mrs. Morgan shook her head sympathetically and Lydia changed the
subject.

"Has anybody been this afternoon?" she asked.

"Only the young man from Spadd & Newton," replied the stout woman with a
sigh. "I told 'im you was out, but I'm a bad liar."

The girl groaned.

"I wonder if I shall ever get to the end of those debts," she said in
despair. "I've enough writs in the drawer to paper the house, Mrs.
Morgan."

Three years ago Lydia Beale's father had died and she had lost the best
friend and companion that any girl ever had. She knew he was in debt,
but had no idea how extensively he was involved. A creditor had seen
her the day after the funeral and had made some uncouth reference to the
convenience of a death which had automatically cancelled George Beale's
obligations. It needed only that to spur the girl to an action which was
as foolish as it was generous. She had written to all the people to whom
her father owed money and had assumed full responsibility for debts
amounting to hundreds of pounds.

It was the Celt in her that drove her to shoulder the burden which she
was ill-equipped to carry, but she had never regretted her impetuous
act.

There were a few creditors who, realising what had happened, did not
bother her, and there were others....

She earned a fairly good salary on the staff of the _Daily Megaphone_,
which made a feature of fashion, but she would have had to have been the
recipient of a cabinet minister's emoluments to have met the demands
which flowed in upon her a month after she had accepted her father's
obligations.

"Are you going out to-night, miss?" asked the woman.

Lydia roused herself from her unpleasant thoughts.

"Yes. I'm making some drawings of the dresses in Curfew's new play. I'll
be home somewhere around twelve."

Mrs. Morgan was half-way across the room when she turned back.

"One of these days you'll get out of all your troubles, miss, you see if
you don't! I'll bet you'll marry a rich young gentleman."

Lydia, sitting on the edge of the table, laughed.

"You'd lose your money, Mrs. Morgan," she said, "rich young gentlemen
only marry poor working girls in the kind of stories I illustrate. If I
marry it will probably be a very poor youn