in silence.

"Dearest," said Rachel, "don't give me new things. It isn't that--you
know I did take it when I was in need. But, oh, Hester, I know you can't
afford it. I should not mind if you were rich, at least, I would try
not, but--if you would only give me some of your old clothes instead. I
should like them all the better because you had worn them." And Rachel
kissed the lapel of Hester's coat.

"I can't," whispered Hester into Rachel's hair. "The best is only just
good enough."

"Wouldn't it be kinder to me?"

Hester trembled, and then burst into tears.

"I will wear it, I will wear it," said Rachel, hurriedly. "Look, Hester!
I have got it on. How deliciously warm! and--do look!--it has two little
pockets in the fur lining."

But Hester wept passionately, and Rachel sat down by her on the floor in
the new cloak till the paroxysm was over.

How does a subtle affinity find a foothold between natures which present
an obvious, a violent contrast to each other? Why do the obvious and the
subtle forget their life-long feud at intervals and suddenly appear for
a moment in each other's society?

Rachel was physically strong. Hester was weak. The one was calm,
patient, practical, equable, the other imaginative, unbalanced,