ives which were all
that life had to offer them. So, little by little, she was brought to
think in a broader way of problems puzzling enough to wiser heads than
hers. Social miseries, which she had previously regarded as mere
matters of fact, having never enjoyed the opportunities of comparison
which alone can present them in any other light, began to move her to
indignation. Often it was with a keen sense of shame that she took the
weekly rent, a sum scraped together Heaven knew how, representing so
much deduction from the food of the family. She knew that it would be
impossible to remit the rent altogether, but at all events there was
the power of reducing it, and this she did in many cases.

The children she came to regard as her peculiar care. Her strong common
sense taught her that it was with these that most could be done. The
parents could not be reformed; at best they might be kept from that
darkest depth of poverty which corrupts soul and body alike. But might
not the girls be somehow put into the way of earning a decent
livelihood? Ida knew so well the effect upon them of the occupations to
which they mostly turned, occupations degrading to womanhood, blighting
every hope. Even to give them the means of remaining at home would not
greatly help them; there they still breathed a vile atmosphere. To
remove them altogether was the only efficient way, and how could that
be done?

The months of late summer and autumn saw several more garden-parties.
These, Ida knew, were very useful, but more enduring things must be
devised. Miss Hurst was the only person with whom she could consult,
and that lady's notions were not very practical. If only she could have
spoken freely with Waymark; but that she could no longer on any
subject, least of all on this. As winter set in, he had almost forsaken
her. He showed no interest in her life, beyond asking occasionally what
she was reading, and taking the opportunity to talk of books.
Throughout November she neither saw him nor heard from him. Then one
evening he came.

She was alone when the servant announced him; with her sat her old
companion, Grim. As Waymark entered, she looked at him with friendly
smile, and said quietly--

"I thought you would never come again"

"I have not kept away through thoughtlessness," he replied. "Believe
that; it is the truth. And to-night I have only come to say good-bye. I
am going to leave London."

"You used to say nothing would induce y