as
slipped on the way, however pitiable and forgivable her fault. It is
the feeling with which the nun, however much a lover of her kind,
approaches the penitent committed to her care.

She suddenly realized that in this case she did not shrink. Whatever
difference there might be between her and Mrs. Wade there was not
_that_ difference. They met as one honourable woman meets another.
Lady O'Gara was glad that she had forgotten to shrink.

"Thank you very much," said Mrs. Wade. "It is kind of you to think of
it. But--I like the trees. You are very kind, Lady O'Gara. About the
dog,--if I had a little gentle one, who would stay with me while I
gardened and not want too much exercise, I should like it."

"I believe I can get you such a one. My cousin, Mrs. Comerford, or
rather her adopted daughter, has Poms. There is a little one, rather
lame, in the last litter. His leg got hurt somehow. I am sure I can
have him. You will be good to him."

Mrs. Wade had drawn back into the shadow. The one window lit the space
across by the fireside to the door and the other portion of the room
was rather dark. But Lady O'Gara had an idea that the woman's eyes
leaped at her.

"I saw the young lady," she said. "She came to Mrs. Horridge's lodge
one day I was there. She was so pretty, and the little dogs with her
were jumping upon her. Little goldy-coloured dogs they were."

"Yes, that would be Stella. She loves her dogs: I know she would be so
glad to give you one, because you would be good to it."

"Maybe she'd bring it to me one day? She's a pretty thing. It would
be nice to see her in this house."

The voice was low, but there was something hurried and eager about it.
Lady O'Gara imagined that she could see the heave of the woman's breast.

"Certainly. We shall bring the puppy together. I shall tell Stella."

A sudden misgiving came to her when she had said it. Perhaps she ought
to be too careful of Stella to bring her into touch with a woman who
had slipped from virtue, however innocently and pitiably. It was a
scruple which might not have troubled her if Stella had been her own
child. There was another thing. Would Grace Comerford, if she knew
all, be willing that her adopted daughter should be friends with Mrs.
Wade?

Again something leaped at her from the woman's eyes, something of a
gratitude which took Lady O'Gara's breath away.

"It will be nice to have a little dog of my own," she said. "I