But meantime in my mind was an excitement, spreading like a flame.
The loveliness of this young girl; the eagerness, the intensity of
feeling written upon her countenance; and above all, the strange
sense of familiarity! Surely, if I had met her before, I should
never have forgotten her; surely it could not be--not possibly--

My hostess came, and ended my bewilderment. "You ought to get Mrs.
van Tuiver on your child-labour committee," she said.

A kind of panic seized me. I wanted to say, "Oh, it is Sylvia
Castleman!" But then, how could I explain? I couldn't say, "I have
your picture in my room, cut out of a newspaper." Still less could I
say, "I know a friend of your husband."

Fortunately Sylvia did not heed my excitement. (She had learned by
this time to pretend not to notice.) "Please don't misunderstand
me," she was saying. "I really _don't_ know about these things. And
I would do something to help if I could." As she said this she
looked with the red-brown eyes straight into mine--a gaze so clear
and frank and honest, it was as if an angel had come suddenly to
earth, and learned of the horrible tangle into which we mortals have
got our affairs.

"Be careful what you're saying," put in our hostess, with a laugh.
"You're in dangerous hands."

But Sylvia would not be warned. "I want to know more about it," she
said. "You must tell me what I can do."

"Take her at her word," said Mrs. Allison, to me. "Strike while the