her
own brothers and sisters didn't know her again. I'm so glad I've seen
you, Mr. Brooks. I want to ask you something." "Well?"

"About Miss Scott. She's been so good to me, and I like her awfully.
We've just come up on the omnibus together."

"She has been my right hand from the very first," Brooks said, slowly.
"I really don't see how I could have done without her. She is such a
capital organizer, too."

"I know all that," Sybil declared. "She's wonderful. I don't want, of
course, to be inquisitive," she went on, after a moment's hesitation,
"but she interests me so much, and it was only this morning that I felt
that I understood her a little bit."

Brooks nodded.

"She is a very reserved young woman," he said.

"Yes, but isn't there some reason for it?" Sybil continued, eagerly. "I
have asked her lots of times to come and see me. She admits that she
has no friends in London, and I wanted to have her come very much. You
see, I thought she would be sure to like mother, and if she doesn't care
for society, we might go to the theatre or the opera, a it would be a
little change for her, wouldn't it?"

"I think it is very kind of you indeed," Brooks said.

"Well, she has always refused, but I have been very persistent. I just
thought that she was perhaps a little shy, or found it difficult to
break through her retirement--people get like that, you know, when they
live alone. So this morning I really went for her, and I happened to be
looking, and I saw something in her face which puzzled me. It stopped
my asking her any more. There is something underneath her quiet manner
and self-devotion. She has had trouble of some sort."

"How do you know?" he asked.

"A girl can always tell," Sybil answered. "Her self-control is
wonderful, but she just let it slip--for a moment. She has some
trouble, I am sure. I thought perhaps you might know. Isn't there
anything we could do? I am so sorry for her."

Brooks was very grave, and his face was curiously pale.

"Are you quite sure?" he asked.

"Certain!"

They walked on in silence for a few moments.

"You have asked me a very difficult question," he said at last. "She
has had a very unhappy sort of life. Her father and mother died in
Canada--her father shot himself, and her mother died of the shock. She
went to live with an uncle at Medchester, who was good to her, but his
household could scarcely have been very congenial. I met her there--she
was interested in chari