"You've always been extremely kind," she said in a low voice, half-choked with emotion. "And now that I find you alone, I feel impelled to confide in you and seek your advice." "I'm quite ready to offer any advice I can," I answered, quickly interested. "If I can render you any assistance I will certainly do so with pleasure." "Ah!" she exclaimed, sighing again, "I knew you would. I am in trouble--in such terrible trouble." "What has happened?" I inquired quickly, for I saw how white and wan she was, and of course attributed it to Dick's action in renouncing his pledge. "You, of course, know that Mr. Cleugh and I have parted," she said, looking up at me quickly. "He has told me so," I responded gravely. "I regret very much to hear it. What is the reason?" "Has he not told you?" she asked, her eyes filled with tears. "No," I answered. "He gave no reason." "Well," she explained, "he has judged me wrongly. I am entirely innocent, I assure you. In a place of business like ours we are compelled to be on friendly terms with the male assistants, and the other evening, as I was leaving the shop to go to the house where we girls live, at the other end of Rye Lane, one of the men--an insufferable young fellow in the hosiery department--chanced to be going the same way and walked with me. "On the way, Dick--Mr. Cleugh, I mean--passed us, and now he declares that I've been in the habit of flirting with these men. It is not pleasant for any girl to walk alone along Rye Lane at ten o'clock at night, therefore this young fellow was only escorting me out of politeness. Yet I cannot make Dick believe otherwise than that he is my lover." "He's jealous of you," I said. "Is not jealousy an index of true love?" "But if he loved me truly," she protested, bursting into tears, "he surely would not treat me so cruelly as this. I've done nothing to warrant this denunciation as a worthless flirt--indeed, I haven't." "And you love him?" I asked with deep sympathy, for I saw how intense was her suffering. "He knows that I do," she answered. "He could see but little of me because his work prevented him, yet I was supremely happy in the knowledge of his love. Yet now he has forsaken me," she added, sobbing. "I'm but a poor girl, and I suppose if the truth were known he admires some one else better educated and more attractive than I am." "No, I think not," I said, although at heart I felt that she spoke the truth. "This is merely a lover's quarrel, and you'll quickly make it up again. Look at the brighter side of things--come." But she shook her head gloomily, saying-- "Never. I feel confident that Dick will never come back to me, although--although I shall love him always," and she raised her veil to wipe the hot tears from her cheeks. "No, no," I exclaimed, endeavouring to comfort her, "don't meet trouble half-way. That's one of the secrets of happiness. We all of us have our little spasms of grief and despair sometimes, you know."