n the lock, and pushed the door
open.

"I suppose you have to say that," he exclaimed, "but of course there's
no honour about it to you. If your father was a clergyman, you
probably look down on me. My father was in the grocery business. He
got me into the bank because he had an account there."

He stood by to let her pass him into the hall.

"You're really quite wrong," she began, then she saw that he was not
following her. "I thought you were coming in," she said.

"No; I'm not coming in yet. Good night."

He closed the door behind him, and left her abruptly in the darkness
of the hall.

She stood there for a moment, listening to the departure of his
footsteps as he slouched aimlessly away. He was nobody--nobody in
her life--but she felt sorry for him. On the verge of love--in love
itself--is a boundless capacity for sympathy. She turned to go
upstairs, still feeling pity for him in the pain she had unavoidably
caused him. She did not realize that this was simply a reflection,
the first shadowing of her love for Traill, that sought any outlet
in which to find expression.

In the bedroom, Janet was making a strange costume for a student's
fancy dress ball. She did not look up when Sally entered. With her
inexperienced needle, the work occupied her whole attention. Sally
stood and watched her laborious efforts with a smile of gentle
amusement.

"Let me do it for you," she said at last--"those stitches 'll never
hold."

In her mood she was willing--anxious to do anything for any one. She
felt no fatigue from her day's work. In the everlasting routine, it
is the mind that makes the body tired. Her mind was lifted above the
ordinary susceptibility to exhaustion.

Janet stuck her needle into the material on her knee, and looked up
searchingly.

"What's the matter with you to-night?" she asked.

"Nothing's the matter. Why?"

"You're so officiously agreeable."

Sally laughed.

"You wanted to help Mrs. Hewson to make that mincemeat," Janet
continued; "now you want to help me; and you were the soul of
good-nature to Mr. Arthur. I'm sure he thinks you're going to accept
him."

"No, he doesn't."

"How do you know?"

"I told him after supper. He asked me to come out with him. I told
him I couldn't marry him."

Janet looked at her with curiosity, her eyes narrowed, judging the
tone of the words rather than the words themselves, as if they were
subject for her brush.

"How did he take it?" she asked, g