a dress of heliotrope silk, elaborately trimmed with white
lace, and as the bride truly observed, "Fit for a princess."

But the heiress of Whichello had a lodging in all our hearts, and when
I, one midwinter morning, saw her distraught with a troubled look in her
soft brown eyes, I was grieved, and begged her to confide in me.

"If I do, you cannot help me, Gloria," said Maura. "The fact is, I'm
short of money."

"Not an unusual state of affairs," rose to my lips, but the words
changed as I uttered them.

"Poor Maura! Surely _you_ have a little left?"

"Only these," and she drew out two shillings.

"Well, you must draw on my little bank, until your uncle sends your next
remittance," was my reply.

"It isn't any use. Gloria, you are nice, and sweet, but _your_ money
would only be a drop in the ocean! I'm not to have any money all next
quarter. This letter came this morning. Read it."

I did. It was a letter from Maura's guardian, who informed her that he
desired to give her an object lesson in thrift, and, therefore, would
hold her next remittance--which had already been anticipated--over. He
also intimated that any applications to him would be useless.

"Well, things might be worse," was my comment, as I returned the letter.
"You must let _me_ be your banker and must economise, and be prudent
till the next cheque arrives."

"Yes, I will--but----"

"But what, Maura?"

"I'm in debt--dreadfully in debt. See."

With this she drew some papers from her pocket, and handed them to me.

One by one I looked them over. The first was a coal dealer's bill for a
fairly large load of coal.

"_That_," said Maura, "was for old Mrs. Grant, in Black-Cross Buildings.
She was _so_ cold, it made me quite creepy to look at her."

I opened another. This was from a firm of motor-car and cycle dealers,
and was the balance due upon a lady's cycle. I was perplexed.

"Why, you said you never intended to cycle," I said, with amazement,
"and _now_ you have bought this Peerless bicycle!"

"Yes, but it was not for myself," she said, "I gave it to Meg Morrison
to ride to and from her work in the City! Trams and 'buses don't run to
Kersley, and it was a terrible walk for the poor girl."

"Could not Meg have bought one on the instalment system for herself?"

"Why, Gloria, how mean you are! She has seven brothers and sisters, and
four of them are growing boys, with appetites! The butcher and baker
claim just all she earns."

I op