he radiated it. She was miraculously well dressed,
in her knowingly simple blue serge suit, and her tiny hat, and her neat
shoes and gloves.

"Ah! And how's the little girl to-night?" said Henry Selz.

Floss dimpled, blushed, smiled, swayed. "Did I keep you waiting a
terribly long time?"

"No, not a bit. Rose and I were chinning over old times, weren't we,
Rose?" A kindly, clumsy thought struck him. "Say, look here, Rose. We're
going to a show. Why don't you run and put on your hat and come along.
H'm? Come on!"

Rose smiled as a mother smiles at a child that has unknowingly hurt her.
"No, thanks, Henry. Not to-night. You and Floss run along. Yes, I'll
remember you to Ma. I'm sorry you can't see her. But she don't see
anybody, poor Ma."

Then they were off, in a little flurry of words and laughter. From force
of habit Rose's near-sighted eyes peered critically at the hang of
Floss's blue skirt and the angle of the pert new hat. She stood a
moment, uncertainly, after they had left. On her face was the queerest
look, as of one thinking, re-adjusting, struggling to arrive at a
conclusion in the midst of sudden bewilderment. She turned mechanically
and went into her mother's room. She picked up the tray on the table by
the bed.

"Who was that?" asked the sick woman, in her ghostly, devitalised voice.

"That was Henry Selz," said Rose.

The sick woman grappled a moment with memory. "Henry Selz! Henry--oh,
yes. Did he go out with Rose?"

"Yes," said Rose.

"It's cold in here," whined the sick woman.

"I'll get you a hot bag in a minute, Ma." Rose carried the tray down the
hall to the kitchen. At that Al emerged from his bedroom, shrugging
himself into his coat. He followed Rose down the hall and watched her as
she filled the bag and screwed it and wiped it dry.

"I'll take that in to Ma," he volunteered. He was up the hall and back
in a flash. Rose had slumped into a chair at the dining-room table, and
was pouring herself a cup of cold and bitter tea. Al came over to her
and laid one white hand on her shoulder.

"Ro, lend me a couple of dollars till Saturday, will you?"

"I should say not."

Al doused his cigarette in the dregs of a convenient teacup. He bent
down and laid his powdered and pale cheek against Rose's sallow one. One
arm was about her, and his hand patted her shoulder.

"Oh, come on, kid," he coaxed. "Don't I always pay you back? Come on! Be
a sweet ol' sis. I wouldn't ask you only I've got