o opened the door.

She turned to the girl with outstretched hands.

"Come right in, my dear," she said, gently; "come right in."

"I was waiting for my husband, but somehow I missed him," explained
Bernardine. "The policeman will be sure to run across him and send him
around here."

The lady looked pityingly at the beautiful young face--a look that made
Bernardine a little nervous, though there was nothing but gentleness and
kindness in it.

"We will talk about that in the morning," she said. "I will show you to
a room. The house is quite full just now, and I shall have to put you in
a room with another young girl. Pardon the question, but have you had
your supper?"

"No," replied Bernardine, frankly, "and I am hungry and fatigued."

"I will send you up a bowl of bread and milk, and a cup of nice hot
tea," said the lady.

"How good you are to me, a perfect stranger!" murmured Bernardine. "I
will be glad to pay you for the tea and----"

The lady held up her white hand with a slow gesture.

"We do not take pay for any services we render here, my dear," she said.
"This is a young girls' temporary shelter, kept up by a few of the very
wealthy women in this great city."

Bernardine was very much surprised to hear this; but before she could
reply, the lady threw open a door to the right, and Bernardine was
ushered into a plain but scrupulously neat apartment in which sat a
young girl of apparently her own age.

"Sleep here in peace, comfort and security," said the lady. "I will have
a talk with you on the morrow," and she closed the door softly, leaving
Bernardine alone with the young girl at the window, who had faced about
and was regarding her eagerly.

"I am awfully glad you are come," she broke in quickly; "it was terribly
slow occupying this room all alone, as I told the matron awhile ago. It
seems she took pity on me and sent you here. But why don't you sit down,
girl? You look at me as though you were not particularly struck with my
face, and took a dislike to me at first sight, as most people do."

She was correct in her surmise. Bernardine _had_ taken a dislike to her,
she scarcely knew why.

Bernardine forgot her own trials and anxiety in listening to the
sorrowful story of this hapless creature.

"Why don't you try to find work in some other factory or some shop?"
asked Bernardine, earnestly.

"My clothes are so shabby, my appearance is against me. No one wants to
employ a girl whose dress is