I am not going to write down here all the details of that search.
Some day I may relate them to you, but not now. I looked first for
a beautiful woman, for the straight, slim, and exquisite creature I
remembered. I did not find her. Then I tried another course. Her figure
might have changed in the ten years which had elapsed; so might her
expression. I would look for a woman with beautiful dark eyes; time
could not have altered them. I had forgotten the effect of constant
weeping. And I saw many eyes, but not hers; not the ones I had seen
smiling upon me as I lay in my crib before the days I was lifted to the
dignity of the little brass bed. So I gave that up too and listened to
the inner voice which said, "You must wait for her to recognize you. You
can never hope to recognize her." And it was by following this plan
that I found her. I had arranged to have my name spoken aloud at every
counter where I bargained; and oh, the bargains I sought, and the
garments I had tried on! But I made little progress until one day, after
my name had been uttered a little louder than usual I saw a woman turn
from rearranging gowns on a hanger, and give me one look.

I uttered a low cry and sprang impetuously, forward. Instantly she
turned her back and went on hanging, or trying to hang up, gowns on
the rack before her. Had I been mistaken? She was not the sister of
my dreams, but there was something fine in her outline; something
distinguished in the way she carried her head which--

Next minute my last doubt fled! She had fallen her length on the floor
and lay with her face buried in her hands in a dead faint.

Oh, Roger, Roger, Roger! I had that dear head on my breast in a moment.
I talked to her, I whispered prayers in her unconscious ear. I did
everything I should not have done till they all thought me demented.
When she came to, as she did under other ministrations than mine, I
was for carrying her off in my limousine. But she shook her head with
a gesture of such disapproval, that I realized I could not do that. The
limousine was my father's, and nothing of his was ever to be used for
her again. I would call a cab; but she told me that she had not the
money to pay for it and she would not take mine. Carfare she had; five
cents would take her home. I need not worry.

She smiled as she said this and for an instant I saw my dream-sister
again in this weary half-disheartened woman. But the smile was a
fleeting one, for this was t