“Please don’t get a carriage.  It would frighten mamma terribly, and she would not let me come back, and I must come, for we need every penny I can earn.”

“Well, now, that’s sensible, and you save the carriage hire also.  You’re a fine-looking, plucky girl, and I’ll give you a place at the lace counter, near the door, where the air is better and the work lighter (and where her pretty face will do us no harm,” he added mentally).

“You are very kind, sir, and I can’t tell you how much I thank you.”

“All right, you’ll get into training and do as well as the best, so don’t be discouraged,” and the man had the grace or business thrift—­probably a blending of both—­to send her a cup of coffee.

She was then left to rest, and go home when she felt like it.  As early as she dared without exciting her mother’s suspicions, she crept away, almost as the wounded slowly and painfully leave a field of battle.  Her temples still throbbed; in all her body there was a slight muscular tremor, or beating sensation, and her step faltered from weakness.  To her delicate organization, already reduced by anxiety, sedentary life, and prolonged mental effort, the strain and nervous shock of that day’s experiences had been severe indeed.

To hide the truth from her despondent mother was now her chief hope and aim.  Her fatigue she would not attempt to disguise, for that would be unnatural.  It was with difficulty she climbed the one flight of stairs that led to their room, but her wan face was smiling as she pushed open the door and kissed her mother in greeting.  Then throwing herself on the lounge she cried gayly, “Come, little mother, give me an old maid’s panacea for every ill of life—­a cup of strong tea.”

“Millie,” cried Mrs. Jocelyn, bending over her with moist eyes, “you look pale and gone—­like—­”

“Oh no, mamma, I’m here—­a good hundred and ten pounds of me, more or less.”

“But how did you get through the day?”

“You will hardly believe it,” was the reassuring reply; “I’ve been promoted already from work that was hard and coarse to the lace counter, which is near the door, where one can breathe a little pure air.  If the goods were as second-hand as the air they would not have a customer.  But come, mamma dear, I’m too tired to talk, and would rather eat, and especially drink.  These surely are good symptoms.”

“Millie, you are a soldier, as we used to say during the war,” said Mrs. Jocelyn, hastening the preparations for supper; “but you cannot deceive a mother’s eyes.  You are more exhausted than you even realize yourself.  Oh, I do wish there was some other way.  I’d give all the world if I had Mrs. Wheaton’s stout red arms, for I’d rather wash all day and half the night than see you and Belle so burdened early in life.”

“I wouldn’t have my beautiful mamma changed even by one gray hair,” was the very natural response.