hat he has delivered a knock-down blow to all your arguments?" Mrs.
Lenox suddenly pulled herself together and turned toward Lena, who sat
silently drinking her tea and taking no part in the conversation.

"Did you tell me that your mother is an invalid, Miss Quincy?"

"Not exactly; but she can't go about much. It seems to play her out to
walk."

"It must be very hard on her to stay in the house all the time. I wonder
if I might take her to drive with me once in a while?" A scarlet flush
passed over Lena's face at the very idea of her mother's querulous
vulgarity being displayed to this woman, and Mrs. Lenox could not help
seeing her embarrassment.

A little wave of pity swept over the older woman. It must be a cruel
fate to be ashamed of one's surroundings. Mrs. Lenox herself was one of
those serious-minded persons who regard their opportunities as
responsibilities. She waged constant warfare with the dominion of
externals, and believed with all her heart that the life was more than
raiment; but a momentary doubt assailed her as to whether, after all, it
might not be easier to conquer things when one owned them, rather than
when one had to do without them. It has generally been Dives who is
represented as enslaved by the goods of this world. Perhaps Lazarus, if
his heart is absorbed in sordid longing for what others have and he has
not, stands just as poor a chance of the kingdom of Heaven.

What could she do to make Miss Quincy feel at ease? The girl certainly
had brains and character. Dick had told them of her brave bearing of
burdens. This stiff back and this silence were but the tribute of
shyness to new surroundings. So ran Mrs. Lenox's swift thoughts and she
set herself to make Lena talk about the things with which she was
familiar, to link her past to this present.

Evidently the same thought was flitting through Madeline's brain, for
before Mrs. Lenox spoke she began:

"Do you know, Miss Quincy, I have felt a little envy of you ever since
Dick first told us about you."

"Envy! Of me?" Lena exclaimed, moved to genuine surprise.

"Yes," Madeline went on, leaning forward, eager to explain herself. "You
see, I seem to have had a good deal of training, which looks as though
it should prepare me to do something, and then--then I don't do
anything. It makes me feel flat and unprofitable. I'd like to feel like
you every night--as though I'd really accomplished a thing or two."

"Isn't it like Madeline to try