stroking her arm, and now and then kissing it longingly. I was obliged
to turn my face away and look out of the window, because I knew the man
with the kind face saw the tears well up into my eyes.

The poor woman did not travel far with us. She left the train after a
few stations were passed. Our fellow-traveler got out before her to help
her on to the platform. He stood with bared head while he assisted her,
but she scarcely saw him. And even then she seemed to forget the child.
The poor thing was dragged out by her dress as it had been dragged in. I
put out my hand involuntarily as it went through the door, because I was
afraid it might fall. But it did not. It turned its fair little face
and smiled at me. When the kind traveler returned to his place in the
carriage again, and the train left the station, the black-draped woman
was walking slowly down the platform and the child was still clinging to
her skirt.



CHAPTER IV

My guardian was a man whose custom it was to give large and dignified
parties. Among his grand and fashionable guests there was nearly always
a sprinkling of the more important members of the literary world. The
night after I arrived there was to be a particularly notable dinner. I
had come prepared to appear at it. Jean had brought fine array for
me and a case of jewels. I knew I must be "dressed up" and look as
important as I could. When I went up-stairs after tea, Jean was in my
room laying things out on the bed.

"The man you like so much is to dine here to-night, Ysobel," she said.