news to her that evening before the time for
Sidney's arrival.

The little household was sharing in Harriet's prosperity. Katie had
a helper now, a little Austrian girl named Mimi. And Harriet had
established on the Street the innovation of after-dinner coffee. It was
over the after-dinner coffee that K. made his announcement.

"What do you mean by saying she is coming home for thirty days? Is the
child ill?"

"Not ill, although she is not quite well. The fact is, Harriet,"--for
it was "Harriet" and "K." by this time,--"there has been a sort of
semi-accident up at the hospital. It hasn't resulted seriously, but--"

Harriet put down the apostle-spoon in her hand and stared across at him.

"Then she has been suspended? What did she do? I don't believe she did
anything!"

"There was a mistake about the medicine, and she was blamed; that's
all."

"She'd better come home and stay home," said Harriet shortly. "I hope it
doesn't get in the papers. This dressmaking business is a funny sort of
thing. One word against you or any of your family, and the crowd's off
somewhere else."

"There's nothing against Sidney," K. reminded her. "Nothing in the
world. I saw the superintendent myself this afternoon. It seems it's a
mere matter of discipline. Somebody made a mistake, and they cannot let
such a thing go by. But he believes, as I do, that it was not Sidney."

However Harriet had hardened herself against the girl's arrival, all she
had meant to say fled when she saw Sidney's circled eyes and pathetic
mouth.

"You child!" she said. "You poor little girl!" And took her corseted
bosom.

For the time at least, Sidney's world had gone to pieces about her. All
her brave vaunt of service faded before her disgrace.

When Christine would have seen her, she kept her door locked and asked
for just that one evening alone. But after Harriet had retired, and
Mimi, the Austrian, had crept out to the corner to mail a letter back to
Gratz, Sidney unbolted her door and listened in the little upper hall.
Harriet, her head in a towel, her face carefully cold-creamed, had gone
to bed; but K.'s light, as usual, was shining over the transom. Sidney
tiptoed to the door.

"K.!"

Almost immediately he opened the door.

"May I come in and talk to you?"

He turned and took a quick survey of the room. The picture was against
the collar-box. But he took the risk and held the door wide.

Sidney came in and sat down by the fire. By being a