with the girls who stood behind the counter, or worked in a
dress-maker's shop.

She often saw Miss Leslie Graham as she darted into the house and out
again, on a flying visit to her grandmother, but she had no opportunity
of meeting her.

So in spite of her brave attempts to forget her grief in her work, and
in spite of Madame's unfailing kindness and help, the girl was often
very lonely. The big echoing house of Rosemount was always deserted of
an evening. Grandma went to bed, and either Helen or the little maid
was left on guard, while the two ladies went to a dinner-party or an
evening at cards.

One soft languorous September evening, the loneliness promised to be
unbearable, and she determined to go alone for a walk. Madame was
always too tired for a tramp after school, and she knew no one else who
would accompany her.

She spoke of it at the tea-table in the faint hope that Miss Annabel
might suggest coming too, but was disappointed.

"Why that'll be lovely, dearie," she cried, "go and have a run in the
park. It will do you good. I'd dearly love to go with you, but
there's Mrs. Captain Willoughby's musicale. There won't be a soul
there that isn't old enough to be in her dotage, but I promised that
nothing short of sudden death would make me miss it."

"Annabel, I am surprised at you," said her sister reprovingly. "I
wouldn't go far in the evening alone, Miss Murray," she added in her
stately way. "It does not seem just--well--exactly proper, don't you
know."

"Nonsense, Elinor. How's the poor child to help going alone, when
there's no one to go with her?"

Helen had learned to look for these slight altercations at the table.
While the sisters were apparently of one mind on all the larger issues
of life, they had a habit of arguing and cavilling over the little
things that often left their young boarder in a state of wonder.

She slipped away as soon as the meal was over, for the evenings were
growing short and she wanted to see the lake in its sunset glory. The
night was warm and all the young people were on the lake. The streets
were deserted. But on the pretty vine-clad verandas, the heads of
families sat sewing or reading and smoking, with the little ones
tumbling about the grass. On one veranda a gramophone, the first in
the town, screeched out a strain from a Grand Opera to the wonder and
admiration of all the neighbours. Helen moved along the street more
lonely than ever in the mid