Good Lord!" His vehemence was quite honest. The girl ceased
smiling. Sam was still jabbing at the gravel walk, his
profile toward her--and, unobserved, she could study his
face. It was an attractive face strong, clever, almost
illegally good-looking. It explained why, as , he had
complained to the city editor, his chief trouble in New York
was with the women. With his eyes full of concern, Sam turned
to her abruptly. "How much do they give you a month?" "Forty
dollars," answered Sister Anne. "This is what hurts me about
it," said Sam.

It is that you should have to work and wait on other people
when there are so many strong, hulking men who would count it
God's blessing to work for you, to wait on you, and give
their lives for you. However, probably you know that better
than I do."

"No; I don't know that," said Sister Anne.

Sam recognized that it was quite absurd that it should be so,
but this statement gave him a sense of great elation, a
delightful thrill of relief. There was every reason why the
girl should not confide in a complete stranger--even to
deceive him was quite within her rights; but, though Sam
appreciated this, he preferred to be deceived.

"I think you are working too hard," he said, smiling happily.
"I think you ought to have a change. You ought to take a day
off! Do they ever give you a day off?"