verely, and then, with great dignity, she went home.

The young man lingered for a minute or two by the snow piles in front of
the hotel where they had been standing. Then he went into the hotel with
the uncertain step that betokens an undecided mind. When he got to the
window he looked out at her retreating figure--a white street with this
grey-clad healthy-looking girl walking down it, and the little red
box-sleigh with the baby in it which she pushed before her. He was quite
alone, and he gave vent to an emphatic half-whisper to himself.

"If she did it, she's a magnificent deep one--a magnificent deep one."
There was profound admiration in his voice.

That evening it was Mrs. Rexford who happened to wipe the tea-things
while Eliza washed them.

"That young Mr. Harkness, the dentist--" began Eliza.

"Yes," said Mrs. Rexford, alert.

"Twice when I've been to the shop he's tried to make himself pleasant to
me and the children. I don't suppose he means any harm, but he's not a
sensible young man, I think."

"You're a very sensible girl, Eliza," said Mrs. Rexford, with quick
vigour and without any sense of contrast.

"It doesn't matter to me," went on Eliza, "for I don't answer him more
than I can help; but if he was to talk to the other girls when they go
out, I suppose they'd know not to notice him too much."

Mrs. Rexford was one of those people who get accustomed to
circumstances in the time that it takes others to begin to wonder at
them. She often took for granted now that Eliza would consider her
daughters as, entirely on a level with herself, but less sensible. It
might not be wholly agreeable; neither, to Mrs. Rexford's mind, was it
agreeable to have the earth covered with snow for four months of the
year; but she had ceased wondering at that phenomenon a minute after she
had first read of it in a book of travels, and all the ever-fresh marvel
of its glossy brightness had, failed to bring fresh comment to her lips,
or to make her mind more familiar with the idea. In the same way, she
had accepted Eliza's position and character as a complex fact which,
like the winter, had advantages and disadvantages. Mrs. Rexford put up
with the latter, was thankful for the former, and wasted no more
thoughts on the matter.

Eliza's last remark, however, was a subject for consideration, and with
Mrs. Rexford consideration was speech.

"Dear me!" she said. "Well!" Then she took a few paces backward,
dish-cloth and d