'You look just as if you had been sitting there continuously since I saw you last,' Gladys said involuntarily. 'So I have, maistly,' replied Teen dully, 'an' will sit or they cairry me oot.' 'Oh, I hope not; indeed, you will not. Have you had a hard summer?' 'Middlin'; it's been waur. Five weeks in July I had nae wark; but I've been langer than that--in winter, too. In summer it's no' sae bad. When ye're cauld, ye feel the want o' meat waur.' 'Have you really sometimes not had food?' asked Gladys in a shocked voice. 'Whiles. Do _you_ ken onything aboot Liz?' she asked, suddenly breaking off, and lifting her large sunken eyes to the sweet face opposite to her. 'No; that is one of the things I came about to-day. Have you not heard anything of her?' 'No' a cheep. Naebody kens. I gaed up to Colquhoun Street one day to ask Walter, but he didna gie me muckle cuttin'. I say, he's gettin' on thonder.' She flashed a peculiar, sly glance at Gladys, and under it the latter's sensitive colour rose. 'I always knew he would,' she replied quietly. 'And he has not heard anything, either? Do you ever see her father and mother?' 'No; but it's the same auld sang. They're no' carin' a button whaur Liz is,' said Teen calmly. 'Have you _no_ idea?' asked Gladys. 'Not the least. I may think what I like, but I dinna ken a thing,' replied the girl candidly. 'What do you think, then? You knew her so intimately. If you would help me, we might do something together,' said Gladys eagerly. Teen was prevented answering for a moment by a fit of coughing--a dry, hacking cough, which racked her weary frame, and brought a dark, slow colour into her cadaverous cheek. 'Well, I think she's in London,' she replied at length. 'But it's only a guess. She'll turn up some day, nae doot; we maun jist wait till she does.' 'I am very sorry for _you_. Will you let me help you? I am living in my own home now in Ayrshire. It is lovely there just now--almost as mild as summer. Won't you come down and pay me a little visit? It would do you a great deal of good.' Teen laid down her heavy seam and stared at Gladys in genuine amazement, then gave a short, strange laugh. 'Ye're takin' a len' o' me, surely,' she said. 'What wad ye dae if I took ye at yer word?' 'I mean what I say. I want to speak to you, anyhow, about a great many things. How soon could you come? Have you any more work than this to do?' 'No; I tak' this hame the nicht,' replied Teen. 'I can come when I like.' 'If I stay in town all night, would you go down with me to-morrow?' 'Maybe; but, I say, what do ye mean?' She leaned her elbows on her knees, and, with her thin face between her hands, peered scrutinisingly into her visitor's face. There was a great contrast between them, the rich girl and the poor, each the representative of a class so widely separated that the gulf seems well-nigh impassable.