"You shan't be any longer, Philia. After your supper I'm going to tell you everything." "I'll buck up, then. 'A full stummick maketh a wise 'ead and a kind 'eart'--Shakespeare." Ere long she had finished her meal, and was ensconced in the arm-chair. Evarne drew up a footstool and sat down, resting against the old woman's knee. But she remained without speaking. Once or twice she half started upon her task, but the words died on her lips. Philia at length broke the silence. "Dearie, I'm almost old enough to be your grandmother, but for all that we're jist real pals, ain't we? Remember, pals can always trust each other, and nothin' ever makes any real difference between 'em." Thus encouraged, Evarne took the plunge and told the story of her life. When she had finished, she asked pleadingly-- "You don't mind? You're not very disappointed in me, are you, Philia? I did care for him, really and truly I did." Her eyes were downcast, the tone of her voice was full of anxiety. The old woman's response took the form of a query. "What do yer expect me to say to yer?" Evarne shook her head somewhat hopelessly. "I don't know," she murmured. "Can't yer look me straight in the face? I can't answer proper-like if yer won't." Evarne's mind was far too entirely taken up with deeper thoughts, with future schemes, for her to be really overweighed with embarrassment before Philia. Without any effort she raised her head instantly. The necessity of an upturned face for an answer was then made clear. The old woman bent forward and kissed her straight on the lips--a noisy, unabashed kiss. "I might think badly of some gals, Evarne, but you--why, no matter who was to tell me yer was a bad lot, I'd say 'Beggin' yer pardin', I knows 'er too well! She's real good!'" Evarne threw her arms impulsively around her old friend's neck, and murmured her thanks. "But listen," she continued, settling herself down again upon the footstool. "What I've told you is only the cause of my present trouble." But almost in the same instant Philia had exclaimed-- "My gosh, what about Mr. Danvers?" "That's it--that's it! I haven't told him, and I never mean to, never, never!" "And yer'd be a regular fool if yer did," declared this worldly-minded counsellor. "But--oh, it's too dreadful; it's too horrid!" "Hush, hush! Don't git excited." Evarne waited a minute, then went on quietly enough to relate the whole of her doubts and anxieties. "At first I was in despair, as you may imagine," she concluded; "but now I've got a fresh idea in my mind, and I want your help." Philia rubbed her hands together with evident satisfaction. She had flung herself whole-heartedly on her pal's side in this affair.