Joan slipped her hand through the other’s arm. “Ever spent a day at the Home for Destitute Gentlewomen at East Sheen?” demanded Madge.!

She gave a slight start, for in their letters to one another they had been discussing this very point. Palace Yard, save for a statuesque policeman, was empty.

“I will stay with her for a little while,” she said. “Till I feel there is no more need. Then I must get back to work.” It was vexing his having moved round the corner, into North Street. Why couldn’t the silly woman have been content where she was. Living under one roof, they could have seen one another as often as was needful without attracting attention. Now, she supposed, she would have to be more than ever the bosom friend of Mrs. Phillips—spend hours amid that hideous furniture, surrounded by those bilious wallpapers. Of course he could not come to her. She hoped he would appreciate the sacrifice she would be making for him. Fortunately Mrs. Phillips would give no trouble. She would not even understand. “Didn’t you love him?” asked the girl, staring. “Wouldn’t you have helped him?”