"I'm so sorry!" she murmured. "But if I don't know what the trouble is
--oh, don't tell me if you'd rather not!--I can't help you, can I? And
I do wish I could!"

"So do I. But I'm afraid nobody can help me. And yet, perhaps a fresh
eye--a woman's clearer insight--" He paused irresolute, then
succumbed to temptation. "Look here, Miss Urquhart, I'll just tell you
how it is, if you'll promise not to speak of it again. You are no
gossip, I know"--how did he know?--"and it will be such a blessed
relief to tell somebody. And perhaps you could advise me, after all--"

"Let me try," she broke in encouragingly. For an instant her pearly
hand touched his sleeve. "You may trust me," she said.

"I'm sure of it--I'm sure of it," he responded warmly. He drew his
chair closer, took a moment to collect himself, and plunged headlong.

"You see, she was related to the people my poor wife lived with when we
were first married, and she was a lot with her--it was lonesome for
her, with me away at sea--and they got to be sort of chums. She was
with us the night I lost my poor girl--I can't talk about that now,
but some day I'll tell you--and I know she was awfully fond of her.
That was just the difficulty."

"You are speaking," queried Alice gently, "of the person who has
the baby?"

"Exactly. I see you begin to understand."

"I think so," said Alice, with a smile broad enough to be visible in