“Come, Tavia, we will surely miss that train if you do not make haste,” declared Dorothy for she could not understand why Tavia should not be more alert and more interested.

“I forgot my muff,” pleaded Tavia, “and had to go back for it.  I suppose I would forget my head, as mother says, if it were not tied on.”

Dorothy smiled and hurried on, with Tavia following.

Surely Christmas shopping was something any girl should love, Dorothy thought, as she wondered why Tavia appeared so indifferent.

Meanwhile, Tavia was struggling with her conscience.  She had accepted Dorothy’s money reluctantly, it might have been, but at the same time she had taken it.  And she told Dorothy her own money was spent for—­

Tavia jerked her fox fur boa impatiently.  How complicated the whole thing was getting!  What difference did it make to Dorothy for what the five dollars had been expended?  It was Tavia’s own money.  Her mother—­

“Dear me!” sighed the girl secretly.  “That makes it so much worse!  Mother did try so hard to save that money for me so that I might not always have to depend upon the goodness of Dorothy and her folks.”

“There’s the train,” called Dorothy, who was somewhat in advance of Tavia.  “We will have to run!  Look out for your purse!”

The mere mention of purse or money brought the hot blood to Tavia’s cheeks again.

“I’ll just tell her the whole thing when we get on the train,” she promised herself.  “If there is one thing I simply cannot stand it is a secret that threatens to pop out every time one turns around,” and with that satisfying assurance Tavia was able to put aside her worry for the time being, and was soon sitting comfortably beside Dorothy in the city express, awake at last to the joys of holiday shopping and the prospect of being able, after all, to get some gifts for dear ones, “and perhaps,” she pondered, “the old five dollars will stop haunting me.”

But alas for the hope of forgetting evil!  How strange it is that when one is tempted all shame and all self-respect seem to vanish, only to return with such gigantic power when the deed is done.

Tavia wanted to tell Dorothy what had become of the precious Christmas money.  In fact, she was on the very point of unburdening her mind when the attention of both girls was directed to a frail little woman, who occupied the seat directly opposite them.

She was dressed in black, and had the palest face, and such great hollow eyes.

As if by some magnetic attraction both Tavia and Dorothy discovered that this woman was watching them very closely.  In fact, she had her eyes so fastened on Dorothy’s money, which Dorothy had been counting in her lap, that it actually appeared the woman must be unconscious of her own actions.

“Good thing eyes are not magnets,” whispered Tavia, and Dorothy understood her perfectly.

“But how ill she looks!” answered Dorothy.  “Perhaps her mind is not—­right.”