Wentworth were altogether broke," he
thought.

A strange servant opened the door. Mrs. Wentworth was not at home. The
other lady was in--would the gentleman come in? There was the flutter of
a dress at the top of the stair.

Keith said no. He would call again. The servant looked puzzled, for the
lady at the top of the stair had seen Mr. Keith cross the street and had
just given orders that he should be admitted, as she would see him. Now,
as Keith walked away, Miss Lois Huntington descended the stair.

"Why didn't you let him in, Hucless?" she demanded.

"I told him you were in, Miss; but he said he would not come in."

Miss Huntington turned and walked slowly back up to her room. Her face
was very grave; she was pondering deeply.

A little later Lois Huntington put on her hat and went out.

Lois had not found her position at Mrs. Wentworth's the most agreeable
in the world. Mrs. Wentworth was moody and capricious, and at
times exacting.

She had little idea how often that quiet girl who took her complaints so
calmly was tempted to break her vow of silence, answer her upbraidings,
and return home. But her old friends were dropping away from her. And it
was on this account and for Norman's sake that Lois put up with her
capriciousness. She had promised Norman to stay with her, and she
would do it.

Mrs. Norman's quarrel with Alice Lancaster was a sore trial to Lois.
Many of her friends treated Lois as if she were a sort of upper servant,
with a mingled condescension and hauteur. Lois was rather amused at it,
except when it became too apparent, and then she would show her little
claws, which were sharp enough. But Mrs. Lancaster had always been
sweet to her, and Lois had missed her sadly. She no longer came to Mrs.
Wentworth's. Lois, however, was always urged to come and see her, and an
intimacy had sprung up between the two. Lois, with her freshness, was
like a breath of Spring to the society woman, who was a little jaded
with her experience; and the elder lady, on her part, treated the young
girl with a warmth that was half maternal, half the cordiality of an
elder sister. What part Gordon Keith played in this friendship must be
left to surmise.

It was to Mrs. Lancaster's that Lois now took her way. Her greeting was
a cordial one, and Lois was soon confiding to her her trouble; how she
had met an old friend after many years, and then how a contretemps had
occurred. She told of his writing her, and of her fa