d after the young woman had
told with great simplicity and earnestness of the struggle to support
herself and lead an honest and self-respecting existence, it seemed to
Honora that at last she had opened the book of life at the proper page.

Afterwards there were questions, and a report by Miss Harber, a
middle-aged lady with glasses who was the secretary. Honora looked
around her. The membership of the Society, judging by those present,
was surely of a sufficiently heterogeneous character to satisfy even
the catholic tastes of her hostess. There were elderly ladies, some
benevolent and some formidable, some bedecked and others unadorned;
there were earnest-looking younger women, to whom dress was evidently a
secondary consideration; and there was a sprinkling of others, perfectly
gowned, several of whom were gathered in an opposite corner. Honora's
eyes, as the reading of the report progressed, were drawn by a continual
and resistless attraction to this group; or rather to the face of one
of the women in it, which seemed to stare out at her like the eat in
the tree of an old-fashioned picture puzzle, or the lineaments of George
Washington among a mass of boulders on a cliff. Once one has discovered
it, one can see nothing else. In vain Honora dropped her eyes; some
strange fascination compelled her to raise them again until they met
those of the other woman: Did their glances meet? She could never
quite be sure, so disconcerting were the lights in that regard--lights,
seemingly, of laughter and mockery.

Some instinct informed Honora that the woman was Mrs. Grainger, and
immediately the scene in the Holland House dining-room came back to her.
Never until now had she felt the full horror of its comedy. And then,
as though to fill the cup of humiliation, came the thought of Cecil
Grainger's call. She longed, in an agony with which sensitive natures
will sympathize, for the reading to be over.

The last paragraph of the report contained tributes to Mrs. Joshua Holt
and Mrs. Cecil Grainger for the work each had done during the year, and
amidst enthusiastic hand-clapping the formal part of the meeting came
to an end. The servants were entering with tea as Honora made her way
towards the door, where she was stopped by Susan Holt.

"My dear Honora," cried Mrs. Holt, who had hurried after her daughter,
"you're not going?"

Honora suddenly found herself without an excuse.

"I really ought to, Mrs. Holt. I've had such a go