Gladys, who had
sunken entirely into the lower stratum of society in which she
belonged. Gladys had left school, where she had not learned much, and
she went out cleaning and doing house-work, at seventy-five cents a
day. Sometimes Maria met her going to and fro from a place of
employment, and at such times there was fear in Maria's face and a
pathetic admiration and reassurance in the other girl's. Gladys had
grown hard and large as to her bones and muscles, but she did not
look altogether well. She had a half-nourished, spiritually and
bodily, expression, which did not belie the true state of affairs
with her. She had neither enough meat nor enough ideality. She was
suffering, and the more because she did not know. Gladys was of the
opinion that she was, on the whole, enjoying life and having a pretty
good time. She earned enough to buy herself some showy clothes, and
she had a lover, a "steady," as she called him. It is true that she
was at times a little harassed by jealousy concerning another girl
who had a more fully blown beauty than she, and upon whom she
sometimes suspected her lover was casting admiring eyes.

It was at this time that Gladys, whose whole literature consisted of
the more pictorial of the daily papers, wrote some badly spelled and
very pathetic little letters, asking advice as to whether a girl of
her age, who had been keeping steady company with a young man of her
lover's age, whom she dearly loved, should make advances if he seemed
to exhibit a preference for another girl, and she inquired pitifully
of the editor, as of some deity, as to whether she thought her lover
did really prefer the other girl to her. These letters, and the
answers, were a source of immense comfort to Gladys. Sometimes, when
she met Maria, they made her feel almost on terms of equality with
her. She doubted if Maria, smart as she was, had ever really appeared
in the papers. She wrote her letters under different names, and even
sent them from neighboring towns, and walked long distances, when she
felt that she wanted to save car-fare, to post them. Once Maria met
her as she was walking along with an evening paper in her hand,
reading the reply to one of her letters, and Maria wondered at the
expression on Gladys's face. She at once pitied, feared, and detested
Gladys. She doubted if she were a good girl; she herself, like a nun
without even dreams, seemed living in another sphere, she felt so far
removed. She was in real