morning, and Mrs. Lawrence's sister, Miss Bacon, came in; and she happened to ask me -oh, if only she hadn't!-if I knew that they meant to let Yates operate on Chrissy's throat. She said she thought it was a great pity. Oh, if only I'd held my tongue! But before I thought, I said, yes, I thought so, too. And now here's this note from Mrs. Lawrence saying that she cannot overlook the fact that her conduct was criticized and discussed before Christina! Here, read it!" "Beast!" Susan scowled at the monogrammed sheet and the dashing hand. Miss Lydia clutched her wrist with a hot hand. "What shall I do, Sue?" she asked, in agony. "Well, I'd simply-" Susan began boldly enough. But a look at the pathetic, grayhaired figure on the bed stopped her short. She came, with the glory of her bright hair hanging loose about her face, to sit beside Lydia. "Really, I don't know, dear," she said gently. "What do you think?" "Sue, I don't know!" And to Susan's horror, poor Lydia twisted about, rested her arm on the foot of the bed and began to cry. "Oh, these rich!" raged Susan, attacking her hair with angry sweeps of the brush. "You couldn't take the public school examinations, could you, Miss Lydia? It would be so glorious simply to let Mrs. Lawrence slide!" "I always meant to do that some day," said Lydia, wiping her eyes and gulping, "but it would take time. And meanwhileAnd there are Mary's doctor's bills, and the interest on our Piedmont lot-" For the Lord sisters, for patient years, had been paying interest, and an occasional instalment, on a barren little tract of land nine blocks away from the Piedmont trolley. "You could borrow-" began Susan. But Lydia was more practical. She dried her eyes, straightened her hair and collar, and came, with her own quiet dignity, to the discussion of possibilities. She was convinced that Mrs. Lawrence had written in haste, and was already regretting it. "No, she's too proud ever to send for me," she assured Susan, when the girl suggested their simply biding their time, "but I know that by taking me back at once she would save herself any amount of annoyance and time. So I'd better go and see her tonight, for by tomorrow she might have committed herself to a change." "But you hate to go, don't you?" Susan asked, watching her keenly. "Ah, well, it's unpleasant, of course," Lydia said simply. "She may be unwilling to accept my apology. She may not even see me. One feels so- -so humiliated, Sue." "In that case, I'm going along to buck you up," said Susan cheerfully. In spite of Lydia's protests, go she did. They walked to the Lawrence home through a night so dark that Susan blinked when they finally entered the magnificent, lighted hallway. The butler obviously disapproved of them. He did not quite attempt to shut the door on them, but Susan felt that they intruded. "Mrs. Lawrence is at dinner, Miss Lord," he reminded Lydia gravely. "Yes, I know, but this is rather-important, Hughes," said Lydia, clearing her throat nervously. "Will you say that I am here, Hughes?" "Presently," he answered impassively. Susan followed him for a few steps across the hall, spoke to him in a low tone. "Too bad to ask you to interrupt her, Hughes," said she, in her friendly little way, "but you know Miss Lord's sister has been having one of her bad times, and of course you understand?" The blue eyes and the pitiful little smile conquered. Hughes became human. "Certainly, miss," he said hoarsely, "but madam is going to the theater tonight, and it's no time to see her." "I know," Susan interposed sympathetically. "However, you may depend upon my taking the best moment," Hughes said before disappearing, and when he came back a few moments later he was almost gracious. "Mrs. Lawrence says that if you wish to see her you'll kindly wait, Miss Lord. Step in here, will you please? Will you be seated, ladies? Miss Chrissy's been asking for you the whole evening, Miss Lord." "Is that so?" Lydia asked, brightening. They waited, with fast-beating hearts, for what seemed a long time. The great entrance to the flower-filled embrasure that led to the dining-room was in full view from where they stood, and when Mrs. Lawrence, elegantly emaciated, wonderfully gowned and jeweled, suddenly came into the tempered brilliance of the electric lights, both girls went to meet her. "There's nothing really wrong, Sue," Mary Lou reassured her. "But Georgie-she's married, dear, to Joe O'Connor." "But ma's going to have it annulled," said Virginia instantly. "Wouldn't you know if any of us did get married, it would be annulled!" Susan said disgustedly Susan's heart burned for Lydia, faltering out her explanation in the hearing of the butler. "This is hardly the time to discuss this, Miss Lord," Mrs. Lawrence said impatiently, "but I confess I am surprised that a woman who apparently valued her position in my house should jeopardize it by such an extraordinary indiscretion." Susan's heart sank. No hope here! But at this moment some six or seven young people followed Mrs. Lawrence out of the dining-room and began hurriedly to assume their theater wraps, and Susan, with a leap of her heart, recognized among them Peter Coleman-Peter, splendid in evening dress, with a light overcoat over his arm and a silk hat in his hand. His face brightened when he saw her. He dropped his coat and came quickly across the hall. A rapid fire of questions followed; he was apparently unconscious of or indifferent to the curiously watching group. "Well, you two seem to be great friends," Mrs. Lawrence said graciously, turning from her conversation with Miss Lord. "This is our cue to sing 'For You Was Once My Wife,' Susan!" Peter suggested. Susan did not answer him. She exchanged an amused, indulgent look with Mrs. Lawrence. Perhaps the girl's quiet dignity rather surprised that lady, for she gave her a keen, appraising look before she asked pleasantly, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your old friend, Peter?" "Not old friends," Susan corrected serenely, as they were introduced. "But vurry, vurry de-ah," supplemented Peter, "aren't we?" "I hope Mrs. Lawrence knows you well enough to know how foolish you are!" Susan said composedly. And Mrs. Lawrence said brightly, "Indeed I do! For we are very old friends, aren't we, Peter?" But the woman's eyes still showed a little puzzlement. The exact position of this girl, with her ready "Peter," her willingness to disclaim an old friendship, her pleasant unresponsiveness, was a little hard to determine. "Well, we must run," Mrs. Lawrence recalled herself to say suddenly. "But why won't you and Miss Lord run up to see Chrissy for a few moments, Miss Brown? The poor kiddy is frightfully dull. And you'll be here in the morning as usual, Miss Lord? That's good. Good night!" "You did that, Sue, you darling!" exulted Lydia, as they ran down the stone steps an hour later and locked arms to walk briskly along the dark street. "Your knowing Mr. Coleman saved the day!" And in the exuberance of her spirits, she took Susan into a brightly lighted little candy store and treated her to ice-cream. They carried some home in a dripping paper box for Mary, who was duly horrified, agitated, and rejoiced over the history of the day. Through Susan's mind, as she lay wakeful in bed that night, one scene after another Etted and faded. She saw Mrs. Lawrence, gittering and supercilious; saw Peter, glowing and gay: saw the butler, with his attempt to be rude, and the little daughter of the house, tossing about on the luxurious pllows of her big bed. She thought of Lya Lord's worn gioves, fumbling in her purse for money, of Mary Lord, so gratefully eating melting ice-cream from a pink saucer with a silver souvenir spoon! Two different worlds, and she, Susan, torn between them! How far she was from Peter's world she felt that she had never realized until tonight. How little gifts and pleasures signified from a man whose life was crowded with nothing else! How helpless she was, standing by while his life whirled him farther and farther away from the dull groove in which her own feet were set! Yet Susan's evening had not been without its little cause for satisfaction. She had treated Peter coolly, with dignity, with reserve, and she had seen it not only spur him to a sudden eagerness to prove his claim to her friendship, but also have its effect upon his hostess. This was the clue at last. "If ever I have another chance," decided Susan, "he won't have such easy sailing! He will have to work for my friendship as if I were the heiress and he a clerk in Front Office." The next instalment of Saturday's Child will appear in the February issue You May Have The Coles Phillips Girl vb. figures on this month's cover, printed without any lettering on 14 x 11 inch pebbled paper, for 15 cents. This charming picture, which is entitled "Good Resolutions," is the cleventh of the series, and the entire set of eleven may be procured during the mouch of January edy at the special price of $1.35. Single prints -15 cents each. Two More Christy Pictures We have received such an astonishingly large number of requests for two of Mr. Howard Chandler Christy's recent paintings that we have arranged to reproduce them, and they are now offered you under the titles of" At the Woodland Pool" and "She Loves a Sailor." These are printed in full color on the regulation 14x 11 inch pebbled paper, and sell tor 25 cents apiece. You will find them reproduced in miniature in the illustrated supplement to our catalogue which is now ready. Send for it. It is free. GOOD HOUSEKEEPING PRINT DEPARTMENT Tro West 40th Street New York City HE cabbage of our modern kitchengardens is a semi-artificial plant, the product of our agricultural ingenuity quite as much as of the niggardly gifts of nature. Spontaneous vegetation supplied us with the long-stalked, scanty-leaved, illsmelling wilding, as it is found, so the botanists tell us, on the ocean cliffs. He had need of a rare inspiration who first showed faith in this clown, and proposed to improve it in his garden-patch. Progressing by infinitesimal degrees, culture wrought miracles. It began by persuading the wild cabbage to discard its miserable leaves, beaten by the sea-winds, and to replace them by others, ample and fleshy and close fitting, becoming then a product held in high esteem by classic an *Translated by Alexander Tiexeira de Mattos. Copyright U. S. A. by Charles Delagrave. |