g a scarf of some
gauzy green stuff that heightened her color. The lamplight, or some
inner flame of her own, drew opalescent gleams from her gray-greenish
eyes as she descended. She was no longer the desperate, petulant little
Rosie of the afternoon. Her face was aglow with an eager life. The
difference was that between a blossom wilting for lack of water and the
same flower fed by rain.

In the tiny living-room at the foot of the stairs her father was eating
the supper she had laid out for him. It was a humble supper, spread on
the end of a table covered with a cheap cotton cloth of a red and
sky-blue mixture. Jasper Fay, in his shirt-sleeves, munched his cold
meat and sipped his tea while he entertained himself with a book propped
against a loaf of bread. Another small kerosene hand-lamp threw its
light on the printed page and illumined his mild, clear-cut,
clean-shaven face.

"She's asleep," Rosie whispered from the doorway. "If she wakes while
I'm gone you must give her the second dose. I've left it on the
wash-stand."

The man lifted his starry blue eyes. "You going out?"

"I'm only going for a little while."

"Couldn't you have gone earlier?"

"How could I, when I had supper to get--and everything?"

He looked uneasy. "I don't like you to be running round these dark
roads, my dear. You've been doing it a good deal lately. Where is it you
go?"

"Why, father, what nonsense! Here I am cooped up all day--"

He sighed. "Very well, my dear. I know you haven't much pleasure. But
things will be different soon, I hope. The new night fireman seems a
good man, and I expect we'll do better now. He'll be here at ten. Were
you going far?"

She answered promptly. "Only to Polly Wilson's. She wants me to"--Rosie
turned over in her mind the various interests on which Polly Wilson
might desire to consult her--"she wants me to see her new dress."

"Very well, my dear, but I hope after this evening you'll be able to do
your errands in the daytime. You know how it was with Matt. If he hadn't
gone roaming the streets at night--"

Rosie came close to the table. Her face was resolute. "Father, I'm not
Matt. I know what I'm doing." She added, with increased determination,
"I'm acting for the best."

He was mildly surprised. "Acting for the best in going to see Polly
Wilson's new dress?"

She ignored this. "I'm twenty-three, father. I've got to follow my own
judgment. If I've a chance I must use it."

"What sort of a