insinuated Elizabeth; but her mistress shook her head.

"No, no; my old black silk will do capitally, and I can easily put on
two shawls. Nobody knows me; and people may wear what they like in
London. Don't look so grave, Elizabeth. What does it signify if I can
but keep myself warm? Now, run away."

Elizabeth obeyed, but shortly reappeared with a bundle--a large, old
fashioned thick shawl.

"Mother gave it me; her mistress gave it her; but we've never worn
it, and never shall. If only you didn't mind putting it on, just this
once--this terrible soaking day!"

The scarlet face, the entreating tones--there was no resisting them.
One natural pang Hilary felt--that in her sharp poverty she had
fallen so low as to be indebted to her servant, and then she too
blushed, less for shame at accepting the kindness than for her own
pride that could not at once receive it as such.

"Thank you, Elizabeth," she said, gravely and gently, and let herself
be wrapped in the thick shawl. Its gorgeous reds and yellows would,
she knew, make her noticeable, even though "people might wear any
thing in London." Still, she put it on with a good grace, and all
through her peregrinations that day it warmed not only her shoulders,
but her heart.

Coming home, she paused wistfully before a glittering shoe shop; her
poor little feet were so soaked and cold. Could she possibly afford a
new pair of boots? It was not a matter of vanity--she had passed