“Mrs. Covering! you haven’t forgotten me?” she cried. The woman started at the sound of her name, and turned sharply. She was painted more than a little, and inartistically. She gave a queer little laugh as she took Muriel’s outstretched hand. “Dear me, no!” she said; “I am not the one who forgets, Miss Dallerton.” Muriel held her hand and looked into her eyes. “I suppose you will think me very rude to stop you like this!” she said; “but I should like so much to talk to you a few moments, if you are not engaged.” Mrs. Covering withdrew her hand. She was embarrassed, puzzled, and a trifle defiant. “I cannot think what you wish to say to me, Miss Dallerton,” she answered; “but I am quite at your disposal for the next few minutes.” They walked together in silence for a moment, Muriel searching for the right word. She remembered the woman’s story now. She had left her husband, and made what the set she lived in called the “dreadful break.” Muriel could not quite remember with whom; but people did not talk to her much about that kind of thing, and she had only heard the outlines of the story. What Muriel finally did say was not in the least what Mrs. Covering expected. “You have never been to see me,” she said, “in my new home.” “Oh! I don’t see people now,” said Mrs. Covering, with some bitterness; “I have got out of the habit.” “Mrs. Covering,” said Muriel, “I should like to be able to contradict a report about you. Will you give me leave?” Mrs. Covering made an attempt to remain defiant. “Really, Miss Dallerton,” she began, “I cannot conceive——” But as she looked at the girl’s honest, tender eyes her lips quivered. “It’s no use,” she said. “Please let us say good-bye here. It was very good of you to speak to me.” “But it isn’t true?” said Muriel. Mrs. Covering looked back to where through the trees her old acquaintances in ostentatious conversation pretended not to be watching them. “Well, anyway,” she said, “I was honest enough to leave my husband; if I hadn’t I might be over there now with your friends.” Muriel took her hand. She knew that sometimes the human touch does more than the work of words. “Will you come to me?” she said. “Will you promise to come to me when you want help? That you will want help I feel sure; for you are sad already, and you can’t help being more sad. Only don’t get desperate. Come to me, and we will find some way out of it together!” “I’m not sad!” said Mrs. Covering quickly. “I don’t see why you should think so. I’m happy—absolutely happy! Can’t you see how happy I am?” She bit her lip to keep it from quivering. “And as for there being an end—Oh, Miss Dallerton, there isn’t an _end_ for a woman like me, there’s only—a new beginning!” “And that you will try with me?” said Muriel with an insistence that she herself could scarcely understand.