tlines of her lithe young
figure were to him adorable. He took her hand and held it for a minute
with a strong pressure which spoke for him of his longing to keep it in
his permanent possession.

"Will you send me off with the assurance that at least my friendship is
still something to you?" he asked her. "You can be as independent as you
like, but you need friends. Or, if that has small weight with you, let me
appeal to your generosity. I need your friendship even more than you need
mine."

"Unhappy Mr. Brant." She was smiling. "So few friends, so few pleasures,
he needs poor Charlotte Ruston's support!"

"Poor Charlotte Ruston is a greater inspiration to Eugene Brant's good
work than any dozen of his fashionable patrons."

"I am honoured--truly. And, of course, we are friends, the best of
friends. I will send you the print soon. Thank you for coming. You have
helped me very much."

With which he was obliged to be content.

CHAPTER XVI

IN FEBRUARY

One cold December morning Charlotte Ruston, sweeping up her hearth after
making her fire for the day, preparatory to bringing little Madam Chase
downstairs, heard the knock upon her door which heralded Mrs. Redfield
Pepper Burns. It was a peculiar knock, reminiscent of the days at
boarding-school when certain signals conveyed deep meaning. This
particular triple tattoo meant "I have something to tell you."

Charlotte opened the door, smiling at sight of her friend. "You are worth
looking at, in those beautiful furs, with the frost on your cheeks," she
said, drawing Ellen in to the fire, and passing a caressing hand over the
rich softness of her sleeve. "Furry hat and furry gloves--and furry
boots, too, probably--let me see? I thought so," as she examined Ellen's
footgear. "You could start on a trip to Greenland, this minute, and not
freeze so much as the tip of your nose, behind that wonderful muff."

"It will be Greenland on the Atlantic liner next week," said Ellen,
drawing off the enveloping coat at Charlotte's motion, and seating
herself in Granny's winged chair. "The trip to Germany is on foot, at
last. Red has had to put it off so many times I began to think we
shouldn't get away this year at all. But he's taken our passage now, and
vows that nothing shall hinder. So I'm packing in rather a hurry, for we
mean to be off on Saturday, though we shall not sail until Tuesday. One
can always use a day or two in New York."

"Lucky mortals. I wish I were