Taken by the Hand. O. Douglas

as if I were going anywhere in particular. I enjoy shop windows and I’d like a walk in the Park—but what I can’t bear is to be a nuisance.”

      “You could never be that,” Betha assured her. “Well, I must fly. You won’t forget, Elaine, we’re dining with the Staceys to-night. Good-bye, darlings.”

      Beatrice put on her fur coat and a small black hat and went out with Elaine. She told her she wanted some new clothes, and asked for advice on where to go.

      “Now I wonder,” said Elaine. “It’s not much good taking you to my woman, or to mother’s; they’d make you look all wrong. I know. Bunsens—you’re their style exactly. D’you mind paying a good deal?”

      “Not too much,” said Beatrice cautiously. “One wears things such a short time that it doesn’t seem to me worth it, but I would like something really nice.”

      It was easy and pleasant, Beatrice found, to go with a clever young woman who knew exactly what was wanted, and see sylph-like creatures parade in lovely frocks in a restful room, while an older woman with white hair and a sympathetic voice cooed in the background.

      It was after one o’clock when they came out, and Elaine, whose breakfast consisted generally of a cup of coffee, announced that she was starving.

      “Luncheon’s my meal,” she said, “and I know where we’ll get a good one. Come along to the Black Cat,” and while they ate what, to Beatrice, were new and delicious dishes, Elaine pointed out well-known actors and actresses, and constantly leapt up to greet some acquaintance.

      “You don’t smoke?” said Elaine, over their coffee. “Why?”

      “Because I don’t like it,” said Beatrice; then she flushed and finished, “and because my mother didn’t care to see women smoke.”

      “I see. I rather think you’re right; it wouldn’t suit your style, and you can’t be too careful to be all of a piece. . . . Now, shall I drop you at Portland Place? Or is there anywhere else I can take you? I must be getting on.”

      “No, no. I’ll find my way back. I’ll have a look at the shop windows and there are one or two things I’d like to get. Thank you so much for your help . . . .”

      Beatrice walked along Oxford Street, enjoying the life and bustle, shopped a little, had tea, and went back to Portland Place in time to finish her letter to Mrs. Lithgow.

      “Elaine and I have been shopping and I’ve spent a great deal of money on clothes! Two evening dresses—a black velvet one, a beauty, and an embroidered net one, also a day dress and coat. After the buying was finished we lunched at a place called the Black Cat, a very smart place, to judge from the numbers of actors and actresses that seemed to frequent it, and most expensive. Later, walking in Oxford Street, I met so many poor men selling things, I felt guilty about spending so much, and so had to give each one a shilling! London looks very prosperous, there are crowds everywhere, but, I notice, not many buyers in the shops. The evening dress you got from Petrie and Pollock is the very last word in fashion. I am sure Glasgow gets the very best models. Elaine has a car of her own and drives very cleverly through the traffic. She is a pretty girl, and clever. She works beautifully, and seems to read pretty well everything that comes out. Her friends seem to be mostly writers and artists and actors. Betha doesn’t appear to be much older than her daughter, and has the air of enjoying life to the full. It is a very large house. I don’t know if you would care much for the way it is furnished. The drawing-room has very little furniture and only one picture! But the library is a comfortable room with a coal fire. I miss you all and think about you much. How can I thank you for your great kindness to me? I shall never forget it. You were all so good to me, and patient with me, you and Peggy and Mr. Lithgow. I felt quite home-sick when I left you yesterday morning.

      “Your loving and grateful

      “Beatrice.”

      When the letter was finished, she looked at the evening papers and then went up to her room, where Higgins, assisted by the kitten, was laying out her things for the evening.

      “You’re not going out to-night, are you, Miss? No? I daresay you’ll be quite glad to have dinner by yourself and get to bed reasonable like. I can feel for you, Miss, if you won’t think it a liberty on my part to say so. I lost my father only a year ago. Of course it was different, I had been away since I was fifteen, still it was always home so long as my father was there, but now—well, I have my sisters, but they’re both married and have their own interests. Sometimes when I get low, I feel like a knotless thread.”

      “A knotless thread,” thought Beatrice, “that’s what I am.” Aloud she said: “You need never feel that, Higgins. You are so useful. You’ve made a niche for yourself.”

      Higgins was deftly laying out the lace dress on the bed, the black satin slippers, the underwear, and she gave a small sigh as she said:

      “I don’t know about an ’iche, Miss, but I do try to be of some use in the world. You see, I belong to the chapel close by here, and they give me work to do. I can generally have my evenings after eight o’clock, so I can attend the meetings, which is a great privilege. And I’ve got some of the other maids in the houses round to go with me and they’re interested too, and help a bit. . . . You’d be surprised, Miss, what a difference it makes to have something outside the daily round. Every Wednesday there’s a work party to make things for a missionary sale, and we’re all as keen as can be to raise a lot. It sort of widens out your life thinking on big things like Foreign Missions and such like. Of course you understand, Miss, it’s only a few that go with me. I don’t blame them. Girls get a better time than they did when I was a young thing. . . . Come along now, Impudence, that’s not for you to sharpen your claws on.”

      At eight-thirty Beatrice went down to the dining-room and to a solitary dinner, waited on by Payne and the footman. She had never noticed the presence of servants at the table before, but eating in solemn silence made her nervous and self-conscious. She was glad to escape to the drawing-room, where she sat in lonely state beside an electric fire, and tried to interest herself in a book. At ten o’clock she turned off the lights in the drawing-room and went slowly upstairs to bed.