It was only next morning, when the world showed its practical side, that she realized how seldom in real life romances can be worked out to a happy ending—­or, at all events, the kind of happy ending the people concerned are striving after.

“I’ll do my best, though,” she reiterated, “for Petro’s sake and for mine.”

For her the lost dryad was but a shadowy figure in the background, necessary to the picture, perhaps, yet not of poignant, personal interest.  It was only of Petro she thought.

CHAPTER XVII

TOYLAND

From her own point of view, the lost dryad was a prominent figure in the middle of the foreground; for life was strenuous for those in the grasp of the Hands, and it was only at night, when her body could lie quiet while her brain was still terribly active, that other figures assumed their due importance for Win in the great, bright picture of New York.

It was something to be thankful for that she had escaped Peter the day of that visit of inspection to the store.  Not that she was afraid of him or anything he could do if they should meet.  That would have been too silly and Victorian!  Girls were not like that nowadays, if they had any sense, no matter how “dangerous” men might be.  But she had liked him so much, and had been so bitterly disappointed to learn from his own loving sister that he was not the “Mr. Balm of Gilead” created by her imagination that it would be unbearable to meet him again, to see him “giving himself away,” and thus proving his sister right.

To be sure, after seeing Miss Rolls in the lift, certain kind protestations of friendship had been contradicted by a frozen smile, a cold, embarrassed eye.  If Peter’s sister were insincere in one way, why not untrustworthy in others?  This was one of the questions that darted into Win’s brain at night through one of the holes made there by the giant bees of the “L” road.  But the answer was obvious.  Miss Rolls might be superficial, insincere, and snobbish enough to dislike claiming acquaintance with a girl of the “working classes,” but there was no motive strong enough to make her traduce her brother’s character.  Even untrustworthy people told the truth sometimes.

It was rather fortunate, perhaps, that Win had another exciting thought to engross her attention at this time, though it was no more agreeable than the thought of Peter Rolls.  After her conversation with Mr. Meggison, she confidently expected to find her dismissal in the next pay envelope.  It was not there; but, suddenly and without warning, she was dragged out of Blouses and Neckwear and dumped into Toys.