There came into view a familiar figure, crossing from the other side
of the way. Nancy started, waved her hand, and went to open the
door. Her look had wholly altered; she was bright, mirthful,
overflowing with affectionate welcome.

This friend of hers, Jessica Morgan by name, had few personal
attractions. She looked overwrought and low-spirited; a very plain
and slightly-made summer gown exhibited her meagre frame with undue
frankness; her face might have been pretty if health had filled and
coloured the flesh, but as it was she looked a ghost of girlhood, a
dolorous image of frustrate sex. In her cotton-gloved hand she
carried several volumes and notebooks.

'I'm so glad you're in,' was her first utterance, between pants
after hasty walking and the jerks of a nervous little laugh. 'I want
to ask you something about Geometrical Progression. You remember
that formula--'

'How can I remember what I never knew?' exclaimed Nancy. 'I always
hated those formulas; I couldn't learn them to save my life.'

'Oh, that's nonsense! You were much better at mathematics than I
was. Do just look at what I mean.'

She threw her books down upon a chair, and opened some pages of
scrawled manuscript, talking hurriedly in a thin falsetto.

Her family, a large one, had fallen of late years from a position of
moderate comfort into sheer struggle for subsistence. Jessica, armed
with certificates of examinational prowess, got work as a visiting