out, with momentary hesitation, a
thin paper bag, in which an oval form allowed its moist presence to be
discerned by partial adhesion to its envelope.

"I saw you ate no luncheon, Hester, so I have brought you a little sole
for supper."

Some of us poor Marthas spend all our existence, so to speak, in the
kitchens of life. We never get so far as the drawing-room. Our
conquests, our self-denials, are achieved through the medium of suet and
lard and necks of mutton. We wrestle with the dripping, and rise on
stepping-stones--not of our dead selves, but of sheep and oxen--to
higher things.

The sole was a direct answer to prayer. Mrs. Gresley had been enabled to
stifle her irritation against this delicate, whimsical, fine lady of a
sister-in-law--laced in, too, we must not forget that--who, in Mrs.
Gresley's ideas, knew none of the real difficulties of life, its
butcher's bills, its monthly nurses, its constant watchfulness over
delicate children, its long, long strain at two ends which won't meet.
We must know but little of our fellow-creatures if the damp sole in the
bag appears to us other than the outward and homely sign of an inward
and spiritual conquest.

As such Hester saw it, and she kissed Mrs. Gresley and thanked her, and
then ran, herself, to the kitchen with the peace offering, and came back
with her sister-in-law's down-at-heel in-door shoes.

Mr. Gresley was stabling his bicycle in the hall as she crossed it. He
was generally excessively jocose with his bicycle. He frequently said,
"Whoa, Emma!" to it. But to-day he, too, was tired, and put Emma away in
silence.

When Hester returned to the drawing-room Mrs. Gresley had recovered
sufficiently to notice her surroundings. She was sitting with her
tan-stockinged feet firmly planted on the carpet instead of listlessly
outstretched, her eyes ominously fixed on the tea-table and seed-cake.

Hester's silly heart nudged her side like an accomplice.

"Who has been here to tea?" said Mrs. Gresley. "I met the Pratts and the
Thursbys in Westhope."

Hester was frightened. We need to be in the presence of those who judge
others by themselves.

"The Bishop was here and Rachel West," she said, coloring. "They left a
few minutes ago."

"Well, of all unlucky things, that James and I should have been out.
James, do you hear that? The Bishop's been while we were away. And I do
declare, Hester," looking again at the table, "you never so much as
asked for the silve