I always knew he would,' she replied quietly. 'And he has not heard
anything, either? Do you ever see her father and mother?'

'No; but it's the same auld sang. They're no' carin' a button whaur Liz
is,' said Teen calmly.

'Have you _no_ idea?' asked Gladys.

'Not the least. I may think what I like, but I dinna ken a thing,'
replied the girl candidly.

'What do you think, then? You knew her so intimately. If you would help
me, we might do something together,' said Gladys eagerly.

Teen was prevented answering for a moment by a fit of coughing--a dry,
hacking cough, which racked her weary frame, and brought a dark, slow
colour into her cadaverous cheek.

'Well, I think she's in London,' she replied at length. 'But it's only a
guess. She'll turn up some day, nae doot; we maun jist wait till she
does.'

'I am very sorry for _you_. Will you let me help you? I am living in my
own home now in Ayrshire. It is lovely there just now--almost as mild as
summer. Won't you come down and pay me a little visit? It would do you a
great deal of good.'

Teen laid down her heavy seam and stared at Gladys in genuine amazement,
then gave a short, strange laugh.

'Ye're takin' a len' o' me, surely,' she said. 'What wad ye dae if I
took ye at yer word?'

'I mean what I say. I want to speak to you, anyhow, about a great many
things. How soon could you come? Have you any more work than this to
do?'

'No; I tak' this hame the nicht,' replied Teen. 'I can come when I
like.'

'If I stay in town all night, would you go down with me to-morrow?'

'Maybe; but, I say, what do ye mean?'

She leaned her elbows on her knees, and, with her thin face between her
hands, peered scrutinisingly into her visitor's face. There was a great
contrast between them, the rich girl and the poor, each the
representative of a class so widely separated that the gulf seems
well-nigh impassable.

'I don't mean anything, except that I want to help working girls. I so
wished for Liz, she was so clever and shrewd; she could have told me
just what to do. You can help me if you like; you must take her place.
And at Bourhill you will have a rest--nothing to do but eat and sleep,
and walk in the country. You will lose that dreadful paleness, which has
always haunted me whenever I thought of you.'

A curious tremor was visible on the face of the little seamstress, a
movement of every muscle, and her nerveless fingers could not grasp the
needle.

'A' richt,' s