se to the exact contrary, to
hope that none of her friends would pass. She knew her set well enough
to know that it would cause something almost like a scandal if she
were seen out alone, on foot, on the very eve of her wedding day, when
all well bred brides ought to be invisible--repenting their sins, and
praying for blessings on the future in theory, but in reality, fussing
themselves ill over belated finery.

She had had for some years a number of poor protegees in the lower end
of the city, which she had been accustomed to visit on work of a
charitable nature begun when she was a school girl. She had found work
enough to do there ever since.

It was work of which her father, a hard headed man of business,
strongly disapproved, although he was ready enough to give his money.
Jack was of her father's mind. She realized that when she returned
from the three years' trip round the world, on which she was starting
the day after her wedding, she would have other duties, and she knew
it would be harder to oppose Jack,--and more dangerous--than it had
been to oppose her father.

In this realization there was a touch of self-reproach. She knew, in
her own heart, that she would be glad to do no more work of that sort.
Experience had made her hopeless, and she had none of the spiritual
support that made women like St. Catherine of Sienna. But, if
experience had robbed her of her illusions, she knew, too, that it had
set a seal of pain on all the future for her. She could never forget
the misery she had seen. So it had been a little in a desire to give
one more sop to her conscience, that she had dedicated her last
afternoon to freedom to her friends in the very worst part of the
town.

If her mother had remained at home, she would never have been allowed to
go. All the more reason for returning in good season, and here it was
dark! Worse still, the trip had been in every way unsuccessful. She had
turned her face homeward, simply asking herself, as she had done so many
times before, if it were "worth while," and answered the question once
more with: "Neither to me nor to them." She had already learned, though
too young for the lesson, that each individual works out his own
salvation,--that neither moral nor physical growth ever works from the
surface inward. Opportunity--she could perhaps give that in the future,
but she was convinced that those who may give of themselves, and really
help in the giving, are elected to the t