The girl blazed with defiance, but, in spite of her bravado, she was once more on the brink of tears. Her bosom rose and sank tumultuously, her full red lips gathered into a pout, her little hands, dimpled like an infant's, rested on her hips. She was a child too soon imprisoned in the rich envelope of womanhood. On every lineament of her pretty, pathetic, excited face potential weakness was stamped. Emily scrutinized her for a moment in silence. Still without expressing an opinion, she replaced the kettle on the gas stove; then she looked at the new-comer gravely: "Miss Beckett, this is Miss Holden. Have you anything else to turn to, Betty?" she asked. The other shook her head. "I haven't, but I'm going to an agency to-morrow. I thought I'd just stop in and tell you. No, thanks, I won't wait for tea. Tom's coming this very evening," she added with an audacious smile. When she had gone, Emily poured Rachel another cup of tea; then taking a chair directly in front of her, she looked at her shrewdly: "Have you got any work?" Rachel raised an anxious face. She had been seeking work for many months. "Can you do anything special?" Emily demanded. Rachel was dubious. "Unless it was to trim hats," she ventured. But Emily shook her head. "There's no chance in that line," she said decidedly. "Did you ever paint any?" "No, but I could do it. I've seen it done--that is, little things, like roses and lighthouses." Emily gave the other's hand two or three approving taps. "To-morrow I'll bring you the materials from a place I know." The next day she appeared with a supply of silk and paints and patterns. Rachel's work was to paint garlands of roses on candle-shades, but as she lacked even a rudimentary knowledge of colour and drawing, for a time the work went ill. Even Emily, when she compared Rachel's copy with the pattern, was less optimistic. "It's a knack, though, they say," she encouraged her; "and one can learn to do most anything if one goes about it firmly enough." A week later, Emily, in a state of repressed excitement, summoned Rachel to her room to see a mechanical toy she had devised. Rowing his tiny boat over the waters of a tub was a wee figure dressed in sailor costume. In Emily's cheeks was a spot of crimson and in her eyes, which ordinarily resembled little dark berries, was a peculiar brightness. As she looked at Emily the colour even left Rachel's face with the strength of her longing. When she returned to the garlands, the roses blossomed under her fingers. "So much for work!" she thought, and there arose in her a new and virile sensation of pride and joy. CHAPTER III SIMON HART TO THE RESCUE