aining time for the maturity of
her judgment.

"I feel awfully sorry for him. He went out again when I came in."

"Takes it badly, then?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You're sorry for him?"

"Yes."

"Why? You haven't thrown him over. He's taken his chance--he'll get
over it. You're very soft-hearted. It's all in the game. You'll have
to take your chance as well, and no one'll be sorry for you if you
come worst out of it."

Sally looked at her thoughtfully. "I don't believe you've got a heart,
Janet," she said.

"Don't you?"

"Well, have you?"

"It's not a weakness I care to confess to."

"That's as good as admitting it."

Janet was slowly driving to the point. In another moment, she knew
that she would have the truth.

"If having a heart means wasting one's sorrows on men like Mr. Arthur,
I'm glad I haven't." Janet threw her work over the end of her bed,
and looked up at Sally.

"Who is he, Sally?" she asked abruptly. "What's his name? Where does
he live?"

"Who?" She tried to lift her eyebrows in surprise, but the blood
rushed to her cheeks and burnt them red. "Who?" she repeated.

"The man you're in love with. I asked you before if there was some
one in the office; it's silly going on denying it. You'd never have
told Mr. Arthur so soon. You'd have hung it on and hung it on for
heaven knows how long. No, something's happened, happened to-day.
Do you think I can't see? You're bubbling over with it, longing to
tell me, and afraid I'll laugh at you." She rose to her feet and stuck
her needle into the pincushion, then she put her arm round Sally's
waist, and hugged her gently. "Poor, ridiculous, little Sally," she
said, the first soft note that had entered her voice. "I wouldn't
laugh at you. Don't you know you're made to be loved--not like me.
Men hate thin, bony faces and scraggy hair; they want something they
can pinch and pet. Lord! Imagine a man pinching my cheeks--it 'ud
be like picking up a threepenny bit off a glass counter. Who is he,
Sally?"

Sally lifted up her face and kissed the thin cheek.

"Let's get into bed," she whispered.

They undressed in silence. Once, when Sally was not looking, Janet
stole a glance at her soft round arms; then gazed contemplatively
at her own. They were thin, like the rest of her body--the elbows
thick, out of proportion to the arm itself. She bent it, and felt
the sharp bone tentatively with her hand. Sally looked up, and she
converted the motion of feeling int