"But I'm not very tall, am I?" said the little book-keeper, coming close to the counter so as to prevent me from seeing that she was standing on tiptoe. "A _p'tite_ woman," said I, "goes straight to my heart." The book-keeper blushed and looked down, and began fingering a bunch of keys with one hand. "How is the cold?" I asked. "You don't seem to cough so much to-day." "It always gets bad again at night," she answered, still looking down and playing with her keys. I reached over to them, and she moved her hand quickly away and clasped it tightly with the other. I picked up the keys:--"Store-room, Cellar, Commercial Room, Office," said I, reading off the names on the labels--"why, you seem to keep not only the books, but everything else as well." She turned away to measure out some whisky at the other window, and then came back and held out her hand for the keys. "What a pretty ring," I said; "I wonder I haven't noticed it before. You can't have had it on lately." She looked at me fearfully and again covered her hand. "Please give me my keys." "Yes, if I may look at the ring." The little book-keeper turned away, and slipping quietly on to her chair, burst into tears. I pushed open the door of the office and walked in. "What is it?" I whispered, bending over her and gently smoothing her hair. "I--I hate him!" she sobbed. "Him?--Him?" "Yes,--the--the ring man." I felt for the little hand among the folds of the inky table-cloth, and stooped and kissed her forehead. "Forgive me, dearest----" "Go away," she sobbed, "go away. I wish I had never seen you. It was all my fault: I left off wearing the ring on purpose, but he's coming here to-day----and--and we are so many at home--and have so little money----" And as I went upstairs to pack I could see the little brown head bent low over the inky table-cloth. II--A Purple Patch By O. I It was nearly half-past four. Janet was sitting in the drawing-room reading a novel and waiting for tea. She was in one of those pleasing moods when the ordinary happy circumstances of life do not pass unnoticed as inevitable. She was pleased to be living at home with her father and sister, pleased that her father was a flourishing doctor, and that she could sit idle in the drawing-room, pleased at the pretty furniture, at the flowers which she had bought in the morning. She seldom felt so. Generally these things did not enter her head as a joy in themselves; and this mood never came upon her when, according to elderly advice, it would have been useful. In no trouble, great or small, could she gain comfort from remembering that she lived comfortably; but sometimes without any reason, as now, she felt glad at her position.