"When one travels with Uncle John," returned Beth, smiling, "she
knows exactly--nothing. That is why I am always eager to accept if he
invites me to go anywhere with him."

The passengers thronging the platform--"stretching their legs" after
the confinement of the tedious railway journey--eyed these two girls
admiringly. Beth was admitted a beauty, and one of the society
journals had lately announced that she had few peers in all the great
metropolis. Chestnut brown hair; dark, serious and steady eyes; an
exquisite complexion and rarely regular features all conspired to
render the young girl wonderfully attractive. Her stride was athletic,
free and graceful; her slender form well poised and dignified. Patsy,
the "plug-ugly," as she called herself, was so bright and animated and
her blue eyes sparkled so constantly with fun and good humor, that
she attracted fully as much attention as her more sedate and more
beautiful cousin, and wherever she went was sure to make a host of
friends.

"See!" she cried, clasping Beth's arm; "there is that lovely girl at
the window again. I've noticed her ever since the train left Chicago,
and she is always in the same seat in that tourist coach. I wonder why
she doesn't get out for a bit of fresh air now and then."

Beth looked up at the fair, girlish face that gazed wistfully from
the window. The unknown seemed very young--not more than fourteen or
fifteen years of age. She wore a blue serge suit of rather coarse
weave, but it was neat and becoming. Around the modest, sweet eyes
were deep circles, denoting physical suffering or prolonged worry; yet
the lips smiled, wanly but persistently. She had evidently noticed
Uncle John's two nieces, for her eyes followed them as they marched