r failed to go out to the downtrodden or oppressed,
beast or human. Now she suddenly saw Millicent Gray, erstwhile teacher
in Second-year English, as an appealing figure, very shabby, a pinched
look on her oval-shaped face that gave the impression of hunger. Her
hair would really be very pretty if she did not twist it back quite so
tight. She was not nearly as old as Gyp had thought she was. And her
tears were very pathetic; she was sniffing and searching in a pocket for
the handkerchief that was probably in her knitting bag.

"T-that will d-do, Miss Westley," she managed to say, still searching
and sniffing.

But Gyp stood rooted.

"I'm sorry you feel bad, Miss Gray. Will you take my handkerchief? It's
clean," and Gyp, from the pocket of her middy blouse, proudly produced a
folded square of linen.

"You wouldn't believe that just _that_ could open the flood-gates of a
broken heart," she exclaimed later to Jerry and Pat Everett, feeling
very important over her astonishing revelation.

"Who'd ever dream that Miss Gray could squeeze out the littlest tear,"
laughed Pat, at which Gyp shook her head rebukingly.

"Teachers are human and have hearts, Pat Everett, even if they _are_
teachers. And romance comes to them, too. Miss Gray is very pretty if
you look at her real close and she's quiet because her bosom carries a
broken heart."

Sympathetic Jerry thought Gyp's description very wonderful. Pat was less
moved.

"What did she tell you, Gyp?"

Gyp hesitated, in a maddening way. "Well, I suppose it was giving her
the handkerchief made her break down and I don't believe she thought I'd
come straight out here and tell you girls. And I'm _only_ telling you
because I think maybe we can help her. After she'd taken the
handkerchief and wiped her nose she took hold of my hand and pressed it
hard and told me she hoped I'd never know what loneliness was. And then
I asked her if she didn't have anyone and she said no--not a soul in the
whole wide world cared whether she lived or died. Isn't that dreadful?
And she said she didn't have a home anywhere, just lived in a horrid old
boarding house. Well, she was beginning to act more cheerful and I was
afraid she was recovering enough to tell me to go on with the scanning,
so I got up my nerve and I asked her point-blank if she'd ever had a
lover----"

"_Gyp Westley_----" screamed Pat.

"Well, there wasn't any use beating 'round the bush and I knew we'd want
to know and I read