made her what she was? But hope predominated. Forget! Could she ever forget those faces in the slums on the day when she bade farewell to poverty and all its attendant wretchedness? Litany Lane and Elm Court were names which already symbolised a purpose. If ever she still looked at her grandfather with a remnant of distrust, it was because she thought of him as drawing money from such a source, enjoying his life of ease in disregard of the responsibilities laid upon him. The day would come when she could find courage to speak to him. She waited and prepared herself. Prepared herself, for that, and for so much else. Waymark's behaviour would have cost her the bitterest misery, had she not been able to explain it to her own satisfaction. There could be but one reason why he held aloof from her, and that an all-sufficient one. In her new position, it was impossible for him to be more than just friendly to her. If that had been his attitude in the old days, how could his self-respect allow him to show the slightest change? In his anxiety not to do so, he had even fallen short of the former kindness. No forgiveness was needed, when she felt that she understood him so well. But all the more did it behove her to make herself worthy of him in all things. She had still so much to learn; she was so far his inferior in culture and understanding. Her studies with Miss Hurst were fruitful. Nor were her domestic duties forgotten. Mr. Woodstock had supplied her with a good housekeeper, to help her inexperience, but Ida took an adequate burden on her own shoulders. This again was a new and keen joy. Waymark dined with them one Sunday in June, and, in the course of the evening, went with Abraham to the smoking-room for some private conversation. "Do you remember," he began, "once offering to buy those shares of mine?" "Yes, I do," replied Mr. Woodstock, narrowing his eyes. "Does the offer still hold good?" "Yes, yes; if you're anxious to realise." "I am. I want money--for two purposes." "What are they?" Abraham asked bluntly. "One is a private matter, which I don't think I need speak of; but the other I can explain. I have found a courageous publisher who has offered to bring my book out if I take a certain risk. This I have made up my mind to do. I want to get the thing out, if only for the sake of hearing Mrs. Grundy lift up her voice; and if it can't be otherwise, I must publish at my own expense." "Will it repay you?" Mr. Woodstock asked. "Ultimately, I have no doubt; but I don't care so much about that." "H'm. I should think that's the chief matter to be considered. And you won't tell me what the other speculation is?" "I'm going to lend a friend some money, but I don't wish to go into detail." The old man looked at him shrewdly. "Very well," he said presently. "I'll let you have the cash. Could you manage to look in at the office to-morrow at mid-day?"