eful apologies to her mother, in
response to which Mrs. Raymond only sighed:

"Oh, of course, it does n't matter; but you _know_ how haste and
confusion annoy me, and how bad it is for me!"

It had all resulted as Helen had feared that it would result--she was
late; and tardiness at Henderson & Henderson's meant a sharp reprimand,
and in time, a fine. Helen's place in the huge department store was
behind a counter where spangled nets and embroidered chiffons were sold.
It had seemed to Helen today that half the world must be giving a ball to
which the other half was invited, so constant--in spite of the rain--were
the calls for her wares. The girl told herself bitterly that it would
not be so unendurable were she handling anything but those filmy,
glittering stuffs that spoke so loudly of youth and love and laughter.
If it were only gray socks and kitchen kettles that she tended! At least
she would be spared the sight of those merry, girlish faces, and the
sound of those care-free, laughing voices. At least she would not have
all day before her eyes the slender, gloved fingers which she knew were
as fair and delicate as the fabrics they so ruthlessly tossed from side
to side.

Annoyances at the counter had been more frequent to-day than usual, Helen
thought. Perhaps the rain had made people cross. Whatever it was, the
hurried woman had been more hurried, and the insolent woman more
unbearable. There had been, too, an irritating repetition of the woman
who was "just looking," and of her sister who "did n't know"; "was n't
quite sure"; but "guessed that would n't do." Consequently Helen's list
of sales had been short in spite of her incessant labor--and the list of
sales was what Henderson & Henderson looked at when a promotion was being
considered.

And through it all, hour after hour, there had been the shimmer of the
spangles, the light chatter of coming balls and weddings, the merry
voices of care-free girls--the youth, and love, and laughter.

"Youth, and love, and laughter." Unconsciously Helen repeated the words
aloud; then she smiled bitterly as she applied them to herself.
Youth?--she was twenty-five. Love?--the grocer? the milkman? the
floorwalker? oh, yes, and there was the postman. Laughter?--she could
not remember when she had seen anything funny--really funny enough to
laugh at.

Of all this Helen thought as she plodded wearily homeward; of this, and
more. At home there would be supper to