"Oh, you mustn't grieve about me!" she exclaimed; "it isn't worth that; _I'm_ not worth it. You know--you know, so many women in the world have to make a living; and they do make it, somehow. It's only one more." "And so many women find they can't! Tell me, _must_ you go? Are you quite sure you're not exaggerating the necessity? I don't ask you your reasons, I never meddle in people's private affairs. But are you sure you aren't looking on anything in a false light and going to extremes?" "Oh!" responded Mary, carried into sudden candour, "do you suppose I don't shiver at the prospect? Do you suppose it attracts me? I'm not a girl, I'm not quixotic; I _can't_ stop here!" The elder woman sighed. "Why couldn't you care for such a good fellow as my son?" she thought. "Then there would have been none of this bother for any of us!" "I hope you'll be fortunate," she said gently. "Anything I can do to help you, of course, I will!" "Thank you," said Mary. "I mean, you mustn't scruple to refer to me; it's your only chance. Without any references----" "Yes, I know too well how indispensable they are; but----" "You have been here two years. I shall say I should have liked it to remain your home." "Thank you," said Mary, again. But she was by no means certain that she could avail herself of this recommendation given in ignorance of the truth. It was precisely the matter that she had been debating. If she attempted to avail herself of it, the doctor might have something to say; and she was loath to be indebted for testimony from the mother which the son would know to be undeserved, whether he interfered, or not; she wanted her renunciation to be complete. Yet, without this source of aid----She trembled. How speedily the few pounds in her possession would vanish! how soon there would be a revival of her past experience, with all its heartlessness and squalor! In imagination she was already footsore, adrift in the London streets. "Mrs. Kincaid----" she cried. A passionate impulse seized her to declare everything. If she had been seventeen, she would have knelt at the old woman's feet, for it is not so much the vehemence of our moods that diminishes with time as the power of restraint that increases. "Mrs. Kincaid, you must know? You must guess why----" "I know nothing," said the old woman, quickly; "I don't guess!" The colour sank from her face, and Mary had never heard her speak with so much energy. "My son shall tell me--I have a son--I will not hear from you!" "I beg your pardon," said Mary; and they were silent. The same evening Mrs. Kincaid sent a message to the hospital, asking her son to come round to see her. She had not mentioned that she was going to do so, and it was with a little shock that Mary heard the order given. She supposed, however, that it was given in her presence by way of a hint, and when the time-approached for him to arrive, she withdrew.