ng emotion, was painful
to see. She was so weak, so useless, so driven. Joan looked away hastily
and went on with her work. From time to time, though, she stole a glance
at Miss Bacon. It was dreadful to know that the poor old woman was
crying; quietly, hopelessly, great drops that splashed on to her fingers
as they stumbled over the keys.

At last Joan could bear it no longer, she rose quickly and crossed over
to Miss Bacon, putting her hands over the useless fingers.

"Don't you bother with it any more, Miss Bacon," she said. "I am nearly
through with my share now and I can come early to-morrow and get it all
done before breakfast. It is silly to work away at it now when we are
both tired out."

Miss Bacon gulped down her tears and looked up nervously. "You think you
can," she asked; "you have realized how important it is?"

"Yes," Joan told her, "and I know I can. I won't disappoint you, really
I won't. Let us go across the road and get some tea before we go home,"
she suggested.

Miss Bacon looked away again hastily. "You go," she muttered, "I don't
need tea, I----"

"You are going to come and have tea with me," Joan interrupted. It had
flashed on her that Miss Bacon had not even the money for that.

Over the hot buttered toast and the tea Miss Bacon poured out her
troubles to Joan. They came, once she had started, in an unquenchable
flood of reminiscences. The little woman had reached the last inch of
endurance; the kindly sympathy, the touch of Joan's hands broke down all
barriers of reserve or caution. She had been a governess, it appeared,
and during all her years of service she had laid by enough money to buy
the business at Baker Street.

"I got it cheap," she owned. "I can see now that the other people must
have failed too, and I have no head for business. I am absolutely at the
end of things now; if I died to-morrow it would be a pauper's funeral. I
often think of that when I see a gorgeous hearse and procession passing
through the street."

Her words were ridiculous, but real tragedy looked out of her eyes.
"Ruin stares me in the face," she went on, "from every paper I read,
from every person I meet. I have no money, not even enough to buy food,
as you have guessed. Ruin! and I have not the courage to get out of it
all. I have never been very brave."

"But I think you have been brave," Joan tried to reassure her. "You
have held on for so long alone. And I expect we have turned a corner
now, thi