the sight of it...."

So Hen presently said: "There's no use my pretending or being coy,
Cally. Oh, I'd dearly love to have it. I've been wondering what on earth
I'd do for a nice suit this year.... Why, it's like an answer to
prayer...."

And what had she ever done in a human world to entitle her to be
bestowing last-year's suits upon Henrietta Cooney, the busy and useful?
"She's worth three of me," thought Cally, "and I've been looking down
on her all this time just because they're poor. I seem to be little and
mean clear through...."

And suddenly she saw that memories had been gathering here; that
Saltman's hard-worked stenographer had grown intimate and dear....

Her hand closed over Hen's, and she was speaking hurriedly:

"Hen, do you know you're a great old dear? Don't look.... I've never
told you how good you were to me this summer, when I was so unhappy, and
nobody else seemed to care.... And since I've been back, too, helping me
more than you know, perhaps. I didn't appreciate it all at the time,
quite, but I do now. And I won't forget what a good friend you've been
to me, what an old trump...."

Hen, taken quite by surprise, turned on her a somewhat misty gaze. She
answered that Cally was a darling goose; with other things solacing and
sweet. And then the two cousins were parting, the one to her typewriter,
the other to her ease: but both feeling that a new tie bound them which
would not loosen soon.

The car started from Saltman's door, and Cally glanced at her watch: it
was just three o'clock. Probably at this moment Dr. Vivian and papa were
shaking hands in the office at the Works. Why, oh, why, hadn't she said
that she would go, too, as she had so much wanted to do? Surely she
could not have harmed that meeting; she might even have helped a little.

About her were the bustle and clangor of busy Centre Street. People
hurrying upon a thousand errands, each intent upon his own business,
under the last wrapping each soul alone in the crowded world. And no one
knew of his brother's high adventures. Men walked brushing elbows with
angels, and unaware....

She had had a little sister named Rosemary, two years older than she,
and very lovely in the little picture of her that papa always carried in
the locket on his watch-chain. Often Cally had wished for her sister;
never so much as through this day. There was one, she liked to think,
whom she could have talked her heart out to, sure that she would
und