and never a man in the house."

Girls who seemed able and willing wouldn't go, two were willing to try
the place for a month, but Martha did not like their faces or their
voices. She was in despair, until one day, far from any employment
agency, a chance meeting settled the matter.

"Why, Martha!"

"If it isn't Miss Joy!"

And for a moment old Martha was dazed, for except in the pursuit of
sport, tennis or golf, Miss Joceylin Grey was not the sort of girl who
is met walking. And here she was crossing Madison Square on the long
diagonal, in shoes that had not been blacked that day, and furthermore
she was not headed for the avenue but away from it, and dusk was
descending upon the city. And furthermore the color that had been her
chiefest glory in the old Palm Beach and Newport days was all gone, and
she looked very thin and delicate, and tired and discouraged. And where,
oh where, were the gardenias that she always wore during the time of
year when they are rarest and most expensive? Where even were the
child's gloves, old Martha asked herself, her sables? Her pearls?

"Why, Miss Joy," she exclaimed, "you look as if your father had lost
every cint he had in the world."

The girl flushed uneasily, but her eyes did not fall from the old
woman's.

"Everybody knows that, Martha. Where _have_ you been?"

"Stone deaf," said Martha, "among me own sorrows. But you're all in
black."

"I lost my father, too."

Old Martha made a soft, crooning sound of pity.

"So," and Miss Joy tried to speak bravely. "I live all alone now, and--"

"Have ye no money?"

"Not a penny, Martha. I had a job as a reporter until they asked me to
do things that I wouldn't do."

"And when did you lose this job?"

"Day before yesterday."

"And now?"

"Oh, something will turn up."

"Meaning that nothing has."

"Not yet." She was beginning to shiver with the cold. "Good-by, Martha,
it's good to see you again, and I could stand here talking till all
hours if it wasn't for the wind."

She had given both her hands to Martha, but this one would not let them
go. Her fine, gentle, old face became set and obstinate.

"When did you eat last?"

The girl smiled wanly and shivered.

She felt her arm being drawn through Martha's. She felt herself pulled
rapidly toward the avenue.

Martha, satisfied with the face of a passing taxicab's driver, whistled
with sudden, piercing shrillness.

"Where are you taking me?"

Old Martha's eyes b