She had to have a horse and carriage, as these were needed for making calls. She was obliged to keep servants, because she was so busy with social life. Had her visits been among the poor or the unfortunate, they might have helped the world; but her time now was spent simply for her own social pleasure, and with the thought, perhaps, that she was adding to Mr. Morris’s popularity. He cared for his home, however, far more than for the outside world, and would have been happier had he been permitted to enjoy it. Mrs. Morris, by persistent effort and tact, had become quite a social leader. It never seemed to occur to her that, when people lived beyond their means, there must sometime be a settlement. This came one day when Mr. Morris was severely injured by a street-car, lingered for several months, and then died. It was a great blow to Mrs. Morris in more ways than one. When the income ceased the house was sold to pay borrowed money, the parties and suppers were over, the fine clothes disappeared, and with them Mrs. Morris’s position in society. The world forgot her. It was a hard lesson to learn, but a lesson that many women have learned to their sorrow. Yet many must travel the old road of experience. TWO AT ONCE. IT WAS the afternoon of May 15. A young lady sat by an open window looking out upon the hawthorn and laburnum trees, and yet her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. About her was every luxury. The brick house, in Queen Anne style, was set in the midst of trees, many of them now in blossom, or graceful with their seed-tassels. Far away in the distance the ocean could be seen. The girl herself added much to this charm of the picture, as she rested her elbow upon her blue-velvet writing-desk, where scores of addressed envelopes were piled up. She took up one and read the superscription—“Herbert Underwood, 7 Brompton Place.” “I am really sorry. I wish it had not gone so far,” she said aloud, as the color faded a little from her cheek; “but then,” and the color came back, “Herbert will not mind it more than other men. They seem to forget such things soon. I have loved him for years, as two may who grow up together, but other girls are ready to accept him. “I wonder if he will really care much. He will be surprised when he reads these cards announcing my marriage to another. Engaged to two at once! I suppose they will say I am a coquette. It is so delightful to be admired—to be loved. I really wish I had told him that Robert loves me also. Robert is not richer nor handsomer, but Herbert seems more like a brother.