huddered as she
thought of it. To such degradation as this she would never sink. Never
would she marry a man whom she did not truly love. If it came to the
worst she would go as domestic servant or even starve rather than
surrender her self-respect.

Graduation day was almost at hand, but the dress was still unfinished.
There was considerable work yet to be done on it. The nearer came the
important event, the more nervous and exhausted Mrs. Blaine showed
herself. She had already had several fainting spells and on one
occasion the girls were so alarmed that they thought the end had come,
peacefully and suddenly. But the widow rallied and, in spite of her
daughter's protests, insisted on continuing with her work. Marvelling
at her determination, touched by this pathetic exhibition of maternal
devotion, Virginia would sit silently for hours, her eyes filled with
tears, watching the dear, tired fingers swiftly and skillfully plying
the needle.

One evening the little family was assembled in the stuffy parlor back
of the store. Mrs. Blaine, tired after a long day's toil, had sunk
back in her armchair, dozing. Her head had fallen forward on her
breast, a piece of hemming on her knee. In order not to disturb her,
the girls conversed in low tones. Virginia was reading, her favorite
occupation, while her elder sister, engaged perhaps more usefully, was
darning stockings.

Suddenly the front door bell rang. With an anxious glance at her
mother to make sure that the noise had not disturbed her, Fanny
tip-toed out of the room and presently returned, followed by James
Gillie. The shipping clerk entered clumsily, in his characteristic,
noisy style. Jocularly he cried out:

"Good evening, everybody!"

Virginia quickly held up a protesting finger, while Fanny exclaimed
angrily:

"Don't you see that mother's asleep?"

Throwing his hat and coat on a sofa, the newcomer sat down gingerly on
a chair. With a glance at the old lady, he demanded:

"What's she sleepin' here for? Why don't she go to bed?"

Virginia, always irritated by his _gaucheries,_ pretended not to
hear and went on with her book, but Fanny answered him. In a whisper
she said:

"She's tired out." Anxiously she, added: "I don't like the way she
looks to-day. I think it's the heart. I'll telephone the doctor
to-morrow--"

Jimmie gave a snort of disapproval.

"Pshaw! What's the good?" he exclaimed contemptuously. "Those doctors
can't do nothing; they're the wo