ble and unescapable, had
brought her sharply to a realization of how little she was doing with
the time that was hers, and she had been honest and sincere when she
had come to Mother McNeil's and asked to be shown the side of life she
had hitherto known but little--the sordid, sinful, struggling side in
which children especially had so small a chance. In these years of
absence he had made no sign. Even if it were true, what Carmencita had
said, that he--that is, a man named Van Something--was looking for
her, until he found her she could not tell him where she was.

She had not wished her friends to know. Settlements and society were
as oil and water, and for the present the work she had undertaken
needed all her time and thought. If only people knew, if only people
understood, the things that she now knew and had come to understand,
the inequalities and injustices of life would no longer sting and
darken and embitter as they stung and darkened and embittered now, and
if she and Stephen could work together--

He was living in the same place, his offices were in the same place,
and he worked relentlessly, she was told. Although he did not know she
was in the city, she knew much of him, knew of his practical
withdrawal from the old life, knew of a certain cynicism that was
becoming settled; and a thousand times she had blamed herself for the
unhappiness that was his as well as hers. She loved her work, would
always be glad that she had lived among the people who were so
singularly like those other people who thought themselves so
different, but if he still needed her, wanted her, was it not her
duty--

With an impatient movement of her hands she got up and went over to
the window. There was no duty about it. It was love that called him to
her. She should not have let Carmencita go without finding from her
how it happened that she had met Stephen Van Landing on Custer Street.
She must go to Carmencita and ask her. If he were really looking for
her they might spend Christmas together. The blood surged hotly to her
face, and the beating of her heart made her hands unsteady. If
together--

A noise behind made her turn. Hand on the door-knob, Carmencita was
standing in the hall, her head inside the room. All glow was gone, and
hope and excitement had yielded to dejection and despair.

"I just came to beg your pardon for--for stamping my foot, and I'm
sorry I said what I did." The big blue eyes looked down on the floor
a