arned, she promised him five dollars
at the end of the year. And if he kept his pledges he was to have ten
thousand dollars when the experiment was over, whether he succeeded or
failed. He and Barbara were to live in different parts of the city, to
be ignorant of each other's addresses, and to see each other only
twice."

She stopped for breath. Her friend drove an urgent elbow into her side.

"Go on!" she pleaded. "What happened?"

"Something very unexpected," chuckled Mrs. Lytton. (For some reason,
Barbara's friends always chuckled at this point in the story.) "Barbara,
who is so clever," she went on, "almost starved to death. And Laurie,
the black sheep, after various struggles and failures fell in with some
theatrical people and finally collaborated with a successful playwright
in writing a play. Perhaps it was partly luck. But the play made a
tremendous hit, Laurie kept his pledges, and Barbara has had to pay him
a small fortune to meet her bargain!"

The hearer smiled sympathetically.

"That's splendid," she said, "for Laurie! But is the cure permanent, do
you think? The boy's so young, and so awfully good-looking--"

"I know," Mrs. Lytton looked ominous. "He is straight as a string so
far, and absorbed in his new work. But of course his future is on the
knees of the gods, for Barbara is going to Japan on her honeymoon, and
Laurie will be alone in New York the rest of the winter. Barbara found
her husband in New York," she added. "He's a broker there, Robert
Warren. That's what _she_ got out of the experiment! She met him while
she was working in the mailing-department of some business house, for
seven dollars a week--" Mrs. Lytton stopped speaking and craned her head
backward. "They're coming!" she whispered excitedly. "Oh, dear, I hope I
sha'n't cry! I always _do_ cry at weddings, and I _never_ know why."

From the crowd outside there rose a cheer, evidently at the bride's
appearance. The echoes of it accompanied her progress into the church.

"The mill people adore Barbara," whispered Mrs. Lytton. "She built a big
club-house for them two years ago, and she's the president of most of
their clubs."

In his seat behind her, Jimmy Harrigan, who had given his attention to
the conversation, sniffed contemptuously. If the dame in front was goin'
to talk about Miss Devon, why didn't she tell somethin' worth while? Why
didn't she tell, fer ins'ance, that Miss Devon played the best golf of
any woman in the club