She paused to readjust the bottle to the child’s bubbling mouth. “You precious—don’t you be in too much of a hurry! Was it mad with mommer for getting its supper so late? Marry Anto’nette—that’s what we call her: after the French queen in that play at the Garden—I told George the actress reminded me of you, and that made me fancy the name.... I never thought I’d get married, you know, and I’d never have had the heart to go on working just for myself.” She broke off again, and meeting the encouragement in Lily’s eyes, went on, with a flush rising under her anaemic skin: “You see I wasn’t only just SICK that time you sent me off—I was dreadfully unhappy too. I’d known a gentleman where I was employed—I don’t know as you remember I did type-writing in a big importing firm—and—well—I thought we were to be married: he’d gone steady with me six months and given me his mother’s wedding ring. But I presume he was too stylish for me—he travelled for the firm, and had seen a great deal of society. Work girls aren’t looked after the way you are, and they don’t always know how to look after themselves. I didn’t . . . and it pretty near killed me when he went away and left off writing.... “It was then I came down sick—I thought it was the end of everything. I guess it would have been if you hadn’t sent me off. But when I found I was getting well I began to take heart in spite of myself. And then, when I got back home, George came round and asked me to marry him. At first I thought I couldn’t, because we’d been brought up together, and I knew he knew about me. But after a while I began to see that that made it easier. I never could have told another man, and I’d never have married without telling; but if George cared for me enough to have me as I was, I didn’t see why I shouldn’t begin over again—and I did.” The strength of the victory shone forth from her as she lifted her irradiated face from the child on her knees. “But, mercy, I didn’t mean to go on like this about myself, with you sitting there looking so fagged out. Only it’s so lovely having you here, and letting you see just how you’ve helped me.” The baby had sunk back blissfully replete, and Mrs. Struther softly rose to lay the bottle aside. Then she paused before Miss Bart. “I only wish I could help YOU—but I suppose there’s nothing on earth I could do,” she murmured wistfully. Lily, instead of answering, rose with a smile and held out her arms; and the mother, understanding the gesture, laid her child in them.