s dreadfully unhappy too. I'd
known a gentleman where I was employed--I don't know as you remember I
did type-writing in a big importing firm--and--well--I thought we were to
be married: he'd gone steady with me six months and given me his mother's
wedding ring. But I presume he was too stylish for me--he travelled for
the firm, and had seen a great deal of society. Work girls aren't looked
after the way you are, and they don't always know how to look after
themselves. I didn't . . . and it pretty near killed me when he went away
and left off writing . . .

"It was then I came down sick--I thought it was the end of everything. I
guess it would have been if you hadn't sent me off. But when I found I
was getting well I began to take heart in spite of myself. And then,
when I got back home, George came round and asked me to marry him. At
first I thought I couldn't, because we'd been brought up together, and I
knew he knew about me. But after a while I began to see that that made it
easier. I never could have told another man, and I'd never have married
without telling; but if George cared for me enough to have me as I was, I
didn't see why I shouldn't begin over again--and I did."

The strength of the victory shone forth from her as she lifted her
irradiated face from the child on her knees. "But, mercy, I didn't mean
to go on like this about myself, with you sitting there looking so fagged
out. Only it's so lovely having you here, and letting you see just how
you've helped me." The baby had sunk back blissfully replete, and Mrs.
Struther softly rose to lay the bottle aside. Then she paused before Miss
Bart.

"I only wish I could help YOU--but I suppose there's nothing on earth I
could do," she murmured wistfully.

Lily, instead of answering, rose with a smile and held out her arms; and
the mother, understanding the gesture, laid her child in them.

The baby, feeling herself detached from her habitual anchorage, made an
instinctive motion of resistance; but the soothing influences of
digestion prevailed, and Lily felt the soft weight sink trustfully
against her breast. The child's confidence in its safety thrilled her
with a sense of warmth and returning life, and she bent over, wondering
at the rosy blur of the little face, the empty clearness of the eyes, the
vague tendrilly motions of the folding and unfolding fingers. At first
the burden in her arms seemed as light as a pink cloud or a heap of down,
but as she