h pleasure and grasping the little hand.

"I am glad of that," answered Sibyl. "I have come, Mr. Holman, to buy
a big thing, it will do your shop a lot of good. I am going to spend
twenty shillings in your shop. What would you like me to buy?"

"You thought a doll's house," interrupted Miss Winstead, who stood
behind the child.

"Oh, it don't matter about that," said Sibyl, looking gravely back at
her; "I mean it don't matter now. Mr. Holman, what's the most dusty of
your toys, what's the most scratched, what's the toy that none of the
other children would like?"

"I have a whole heap of 'em," said Holman, shaking his head sadly.

"That he have, poor dear," here interrupted Mrs. Holman. "How do you
do, Missy, we are both glad to see you back again; we have had a dull
season, very dull, and the children, they didn't buy half the toys
they ought to at Christmas time. It's because our shop is in a back
street."

"Oh, but it's a very nice street," said Sibyl; "it's retired, isn't
it? Well, I'll buy twenty shillings' worth of the most dusty of the
toys, and please send them home to-morrow. Please, Miss Winstead, put
the money down."

Miss Winstead laid a sovereign on the counter.

"Good-by, Mr. Holman; good-by, Mrs. Holman," said Sibyl. She shook
hands solemnly with the old pair, and then went out of the shop.

"What ails her?" said Holman. "She looks as if something had died
inside her. I don't like her looks a bit."

Mrs. Ogilvie enjoyed herself very much that evening. Her friends were
glad to see her back. They were full of just the pleasant sympathy
which she liked best to receive. She must be lonely without her
husband. When would he return? When she said in a few months' time,
they congratulated her, and asked her how she had enjoyed herself at
Grayleigh Manor. In short, there was that sort of fuss made about her
which most appealed to her fancy. She forgot all about Sibyl. She
looked at other women of her acquaintance, and thought that when her
husband came home she would wear just as dazzling gems and just as
beautiful dresses, and she, too, might talk about her country place,
and invite her friends down to this rural retreat at Whitsuntide, and
make up a nice house-party in the autumn, and again in the winter. Oh,
yes, the world with its fascinations was stealing more and more into
her heart, and she had no room for the best of all. She forgot her
lonely child during these hours.

Mrs. Ogilvie returned