"After all, life is inexhaustible," said Katherine. She was speaking to Rachel Trant, who had laid aside her work to speak with the good friend who had come, as she often did, to see how she was going on and to cheer her. "Life is very cruel," she returned. "Neither sorrow nor repentance can alter its pitiless law. "Still, there are compensations." Katherine did not exactly think what she was saying; her mind was filled with the desire of knowing her interlocutor's story. "Compensations!" echoed Rachel. "Not for those who deserve to suffer, nor, indeed, often for the innocent. I don't think we often find vice punished and virtue rewarded in history and lives--true stories, I mean--as we do in novels." Katherine did not reply at once; she thought for a moment, and then, looking full into Rachel's eyes, said: "I wonder how you came to be a dressmaker? You have read a great deal for a girl who must have had her hands full all day. I am not asking this from idle curiosity, but from real interest." "I may well believe you. I should like to tell you much; but--" She paused and grew very white for a second, her lips trembling, and a troubled look coming into her eyes. "I always loved reading," she resumed; "it has been almost my only pleasure, though I was apprenticed to a milliner and dressmaker when little more than sixteen. Then I went to work with another, a very great person in her way, and I like the work. Still I used to think I was a sort of lady; my poor mother certainly was." "I am sure of it," cried Katherine, impulsively. "I quite feel that _you_ are."