Although her attire was about what one would expect of a drunkard’s child who had spent her later years in the kitchen and corridors of a hotel, Jane was not an unsightly creature.  There must have been good physical quality in one side or other of her family, in past generations, which was trying to reappear, for Jane had a fine figure, expressive eyes, and a good complexion.  Had any one followed her during her afternoon stroll, and observed her closely during her successive chance meetings with young men and women of her acquaintance, he would have seen hard lines, coarse lines, ugly lines, in her face; yet when in repose the same face was neither unwomanly nor without an occasional suggestion of soul.  It was a face like many others that one may see on the streets,—­entirely human, yet entirely under the control of whatever influence might be about it for the time being,—­the face of a nature untrained and untaught, which would have followed either Jesus or Satan, or both by turns, had both appeared before it in visible shape.

During a moment or two of her afternoon out, Jane found herself approaching Mrs. Prency and Eleanor, those ladies being out on one of those serious errands known collectively as “shopping.”

“Do see that dreadfully dowdy girl!” exclaimed Miss Eleanor, whose attire was always selected with correct taste.

“She has never had any one to teach her to dress properly, my dear,” suggested the mother.

“She might have some one who cared enough for her to keep her from appearing in public in red hair and a blue ribbon,” said the daughter.

“Such girls have no one to keep them from doing anything they like, my dear.  Let us try to be sorry for them, instead of being disgusted.”

“But, mother—­”

“Sh-h! she’ll hear you.  I’m going to bow to her; I wish you’d do the same.”

“Mother!”

“To oblige me; I’ll explain afterwards.”

The couple were now within several steps of Jane, who, with an odd mixture of wistfulness and scare, had been studying Eleanor’s attire.  When she saw both women looking at her, she began to take a defiant attitude, but the toss of her head was met by one of Mrs. Prency’s heartiest smiles, accompanied by a similar recognition from Eleanor.  Short as was the time that could elapse before the couple had passed her, it was long enough to show a change in Jane’s face,—­a change so notable that Eleanor whispered,—­

“Did you ever see any one alter looks so quickly?”

“Never; but I sha’n’t lose any opportunity to see it again,” said Mrs. Prency.

“Mother, dear,” said Eleanor, “I hope you’re not suddenly going to recognize every common person you may meet on the street.  You’re so enthusiastic.”

“And so different from my daughter in that respect,—­eh, dear?”

“But, mother, you’ve always been so careful and fastidious about your associations and mine.  I remember the time, only a year or two ago, while I was at school, when you would have been horrified if I’d had anything to do with a creature like that.”