The Honey-Pot. Countess Barcynska

the murmured "I'm afraid you won't do...."

      No, she would have to go on as she had begun or drop by the way.

      She walked the sun-blistered pavements, hardly noticing where she was going, trying to think what to do, where to go. The same old heart-rending round would begin again—Denton's, Blackmoore's, Hart's, the lesser known agencies, and "nothing for you to-day. Look in again, dear."

      How she was going to live she simply did not know. A fortnight's salary! ... She could not guess how many hundreds of men and women of the same profession as herself were facing the same problem without even the fortnight's salary between them and destitution.

      Then there was Maggy. Unless Maggy "conformed," she would be told to go too. De Freyne's words stuck in her mind: "Isn't it rather a shame to persuade her to buck up against things? It's not doing her a good turn." "Things," of course, was a euphemism for Fate. She had never meant to impose her own moral views on Maggy. She didn't want to spoil her material prospects. Maggy had shown again and again that it was only on her, Alexandra's, account that she had elected to make a stand. There was ever a hint of irresolution behind her apparent firmness. Alexandra was fairly sure that if Maggy found a man who would gain her affection and treat her well she would be ready to be convinced that there was no harm in an unlegalized union. That she had not succumbed in the past was no argument that she would remain unassailable in the future. Alexandra was perhaps standing in her light. In one sense she was protecting her, in the other she was taking the bread out of her mouth. She did not feel herself privileged to coerce the younger girl when she could not help her or even help herself. Maggy was not fiercely virginal. Once she had taken the initial step she would lose her sensitiveness. Nature would demand that she take it sooner or later. She was frail, because at heart she was so simple, so unhesitatingly unafraid to go where her instincts led her.

      Alexandra made up her mind that she would not try to influence her. It was not fair. But she hoped she would not yield to temptation. Something in the thought of Maggy surrendering twisted her heartstrings. It made her feel so dreadfully sorry. It was as though she dimly foresaw that if Maggy snatched at the sham thing Joy, she would see it turn to sorrow, to dust and ashes....

      She found herself before the door of their lodging. She had walked there mechanically with dragging steps. De Freyne had said that he had given Maggy a chance that afternoon. Alexandra recalled her happy, flushed face, the look of excitation in her eyes. Maggy had evidently liked the man, whoever he was. It was only three o'clock. She did not expect her back yet. She was probably still enjoying herself tremendously. Alexandra wondered how much Maggy cared for her after all, how soon before she would leave her to fight it out alone.