"Almost closing time, isn't it?" Olga said, and added, as Lizette nodded silently, "I want to speak to you--I'll wait outside." In five minutes Lizette joined her. "Do you walk home?" Olga asked. "Yes, it isn't far--Ninth Street near T." "We're neighbours then. I live on Eleventh." "I know. Saw you going in there once," Lizette replied. There was little talk between them as they walked. Lizette was waiting--Olga wondering what she should say to this girl. "Well, here's where I hang out." In Lizette's voice there was a reckless and bitter tone. "O--here!" Olga's quick glance took in the ugly house-front with its soiled "Kensington" curtains--its door ajar showing worn oilcloth in the hall. "Cheerful place--eh?" Lizette said. "Want to see the inside, or is the outside enough?" "I want you to come home to supper with me--will you?" Olga said, half against her will. "Do you mean it?" Lizette's hard blue eyes searched her face. "Take it back in a hurry if you don't, for I'd accept an invitation from--anybody to-night, rather than spend the evening here." "Of course, I mean it. Please come." Olga laid a compelling hand on the other girl's arm and they went on down the street. "Now you are to rest while I get supper," Olga said as she threw open her own door. "Here--give me your things." She took Lizette's hat and coat. "Now you lie down in there until I call you." Without a word Lizette obeyed. Olga creamed some chipped beef, toasted bread, and made tea, adding a few cakes that she had bought on the way home. When all was ready, she stood a moment, frowning at the table. The cloth was fresh and clean, but the dishes were cheap and ugly. She had never cared before. Now, for this other girl, she wanted some touch of beauty. But Lizette found nothing lacking. "Everything tastes so good," she said. "You sure do know how to cook, Olga." "Just a few simple things. I never care much what I eat." "You'd care if you had to eat at Miss Rankin's table," Lizette declared. With a question now and then, Olga drew her on to tell of her life at Miss Rankin's, and her work at the store. After a little she talked freely, glad to pour the tale of her troubles into a sympathetic ear. "I _hate_ it all--that boarding-house, where nothing and nobody is really clean, and the store where only the pretty girls or the extra smart ones ever get on. The pretty girls always have chances, but me--I'm homely as sin, and I know it; and I'm not smart, and I know that, too. I shall get my walking ticket the first dull spell, and then----" "Then, what, Lizette?" "The Lord knows. It's a hard world for girls, Olga." "You've no relatives?" "Only some cousins. They're all as poor as poverty too, and they don't care a pin for me." "Is there any kind of work you would really like if you could do it?" "What's the use of talking--I can't do it." "But tell me," Olga urged. "You'll think I'm a fool." "No, I will not," Olga promised.