"But we must live, mustn't we, until we are called to come away?"

He asked the question shyly. He did not understand where the thought or
words came from. He was not conscious of evolving them from his own
mind.

She looked at him in sad acquiescence. "I know," she said, like a
submissive child; "and I'll try, pretty soon. But I can't just yet. It
would choke me!"

Even while they were talking a door in the front of the hall opened, and
an untidy person with unkempt hair appeared, asking the girl to come
into her room and have a bite. When she shook her head the woman said:

"Well, then, child, go out a few minutes and get something. You'll not
last the night through at this rate! Go, and I'll stay here until you
come back."

Courtland persuaded her at last to come with him down to a little
restaurant around the corner and have a cup of tea--just a cup of
tea--and with a weary look, as if she thought it was the quickest way to
get rid of their kindness, she yielded. He thought he never would
forget the look she cast behind her at the little, white, sheet-covered
cot as she passed out the door.

It was an odd experience, taking this stranger to supper. He had met all
sorts of girls during his young career and had many different
experiences, but none like this. Yet he was so filled with sympathy and
sorrow for her that it was not embarrassing. She did not seem like an
ordinary girl. She was set apart by her sorrow. He ordered the daintiest