position, the man was able to see the girl's face. Very lovely it was, he
thought. Very pure, almost radiant--and young. From the middle age of his
almost thirty years, she was a child. There had been a boy in the shadows
when he came up the Street. Of course there would be a boy--a nice,
clear-eyed chap--

Sidney was looking at the moon. With that dreamer's part of her that she
had inherited from her dead and gone father, she was quietly worshiping the
night. But her busy brain was working, too,--the practical brain that she
had got from her mother's side.

"What about your washing?" she inquired unexpectedly.

K. Le Moyne, who had built a wall between himself and the world, had
already married her to the youth of the shadows, and was feeling an odd
sense of loss.

"Washing?"

"I suppose you've been sending things to the laundry, and--what do you do
about your stockings?"

"Buy cheap ones and throw 'em away when they're worn out." There seemed to
be no reserve with this surprising young person.

"And buttons?"

"Use safety-pins. When they're closed one can button over them as well
as--"