"I don't think we are wise in wishing troubles to be stronger than they are," she said gravely. "As it is, I fancy they are as much as we can manage." "I don't mind fighting; it is the waiting," said Bice with a little perverseness. "Why are women expected to be able to endure? Is it because they have the hardest work and the least credit always?" "You can tell me something more as to what is making you unhappy," said Phillis, evading the question. "Has your brother himself written to you?" "Yes, he has." "And are things going on no better?" "You shall see for yourself," said the girl with a sudden resolve. And she produced a letter from her pocket. "The first part is nothing," she said, leaning on her hand and looking over Phillis's shoulder. "There, begin there." "Trent has been awfully useful to me," the letter said. "I don't know how ever I should have got through without him. It's not much use trying to explain, particularly to anyone who doesn't know the sort of life one has to live here; and I suppose a good lot of fellows buy their experience much in the same way as I've bought it, but that doesn't prevent one's seeing when one has made a fool of oneself. I expected by this time I should have been able to do something for old Kitty and you all. Better luck soon; I don't owe any money to a soul except Trent. You'll be glad to hear he has got it all into his own hands, and, of course, I feel pounds more comfortable. By the way, he says he has done it for you, and that I may tell you so." "Well?" said Bice, taking back the letter. Phillis was considering. The letter was boyish and inexperienced, but there was a tone about it which did not seem to her that of a young fellow who had entered on a course of crime, and her distrust of Oliver Trent had never abated. Yet what could she say? She had no real grounds for her opinion. She could not utter any word of warning which should touch Clive in his security. Yet with this conviction of hers growing in her heart, it would be impossible for a woman of Phillis's nature not to do something or other by-and-by. She contented herself at present by saying-- "Poor fellow! No doubt he has been imprudent." Bice started. She had been thinking of herself rather than Clive, and considering the weight of those words which sounded to her almost like a threat. What was it that Oliver had done for her of which he desired her to be reminded? "Imprudent, yes! Weak and wicked too," she said impatiently. "He does not care or even remember that others have to suffer besides himself." "Perhaps he does not know."