continued　Joan；　〃but　afterwards　you　will　be　glad　that　you　have　done　it。　　It　is　a　duty　you　owe　to　your　position　as　the　wife　of　a　great　leader　of　the　people。〃
  The　firelight　showed　to　Joan　a　comically　frightened　face；　with　round；　staring　eyes　and　an　open　mouth。
  〃What　is　it　you　want　me　to　do？〃　she　faltered
  〃I　want　you　to　be　just　yourself；〃　said　Joan；　〃a　kind；　good　woman　of　the　people；　who　will　win　their　respect；　and　set　them　an　example。〃　She　moved　across　and　seating　herself　on　the　arm　of　Mrs。　Phillips's　chair；　touched　lightly　with　her　hand　the　flaxen　hair　and　the　rouged　cheek。　　〃I　want　you　to　get　rid　of　all　this；〃　she　whispered。　　〃It　isn't　worthy　of　you。　　Leave　it　to　the　silly　dolls　and　the　bad　women。〃
  There　was　a　long　silence。　　Joan　felt　the　tears　trickling　between　her　fingers。
  〃You　haven't　seen　me；〃　came　at　last　in　a　thin；　broken　voice。
  Joan　bent　down　and　kissed　her。　　〃Let's　try　it；〃　she　whispered。
  A　little　choking　sound　was　the　only　answer。　　But　the　woman　rose　and；　Joan　following；　they　stole　upstairs　into　the　bedroom　and　Mrs。　Phillips　turned　the　key。
  It　took　a　long　time；　and　Joan；　seated　on　the　bed；　remembered　a　night　when　she　had　taken　a　trapped　mouse　（if　only　he　had　been　a　quiet　mouse！）　into　the　bathroom　and　had　waited　while　it　drowned。　It　was　finished　at　last；　and　Mrs　Phillips　stood　revealed　with　her　hair　down；　showing　streaks　of　dingy　brown。
  Joan　tried　to　enthuse；　but　the　words　came　haltingly。　　She　suggested　to　Joan　a　candle　that　some　wind　had　suddenly　blown　out。　　The　paint　and　powder　had　been　obvious；　but　at　least　it　had　given　her　the　mask　of　youth。　　She　looked　old　and　withered。　　The　life　seemed　to　have　gone　out　of　her。
  〃You　see；　dear；　I　began　when　I　was　young；〃　she　explained；　〃and　he　has　always　seen　me　the　same。　　I　don't　think　I　could　live　like　this。〃
  The　painted　doll　that　the　child　fancied！　the　paint　washed　off　and　the　golden　hair　all　turned　to　drab？　　Could　one　be　sure　of　〃getting　used　to　it；〃　of　〃liking　it　better？〃　　And　the　poor　bewildered　doll　itself！　　How　could　one　expect　to　make　of　it　a　statue：　　〃The　Woman　of　the　People。〃　　One　could　only　bruise　it。
  It　ended　in　Joan's　promising　to　introduce　her　to　discreet　theatrical　friends　who　would　tell　her　of　cosmetics　less　injurious　to　the　skin；　and　advise　her　generally　in　the　ancient　and　proper　art　of　〃making　up。〃
  It　was　not　the　end　she　had　looked　for。　　Joan　sighed　as　she　closed　her　door　behind　her。　　What　was　the　meaning　of　it？　　On　the　one　hand　that　unimpeachable　law；　the　greatest　happiness　of　the　greatest　number；　the　sacred　cause　of　Democracy；　the　moral　Uplift　of　the　people；　Sanity；　Wisdom；　Truth；　the　higher　Justice；　all　the　forces　on　which　she　was　relying　for　the　regeneration　of　the　worldall　arrayed　in　stern　demand　that　the　flabby；　useless　Mrs。　Phillips　should　be　sacrificed　for　the　general　good。　　Only　one　voice　had　pleaded　for　foolish；　helpless　Mrs。　Phillipsand　had　conquered。　The　still；　small　voice　of　Pity。
  CHAPTER　X
  Arthur　sprang　himself　upon　her　a　little　before　Christmas。　　He　was　full　of　a　great　project。　　It　was　that　she　and　her　father　should　spend　Christmas　with　his　people　at　Birmingham。　　Her　father　thought　he　would　like　to　see　his　brother；　they　had　not　often　met　of　late；　and　Birmingham　would　be　nearer　for　her　than　Liverpool。
  Joan　had　no　intention　of　being　lured　into　the　Birmingham　parlour。　She　thought　she　could　see　in　it　a　scheme　for　her　gradual　entanglement。　　Besides；　she　was　highly　displeased。　　She　had　intended　asking　her　father　to　come　to　Brighton　with　her。　　As　a　matter　of　fact；　she　had　forgotten　all　about　Christmas；　and　the　idea　only　came　into　her　head　while　explaining　to　Arthur　how　his　impulsiveness　had　interfered　with　it。　　Arthur；　crestfallen；　suggested　telegrams。　　It　would　be　quite　easy　to　alter　everything；　and　of　course　her　father　would　rather　be　with　her；　wherever　it　was。　But　it　seemed　it　was　too　late。　　She　ought　to　have　been　consulted。　A　sudden　sense　of　proprietorship　in　her　father　came　to　her　assistance　and　added　pathos　to　her　indignation。　　Of　course；　now；　she　would　have　to　spend　Christmas　alone。　　She　was　far　too　busy　to　think　of　Birmingham。　　She　could　have　managed　Brighton。　　Argument　founded　on　the　length　of　journey　to　Birmingham　as　compared　with　the　journey　to　Brighton　she　refused　to　be　drawn　into。　　Her　feelings　had　been　too　deeply　wounded　to　permit　of　descent　into　detail。
  But　the　sinner；　confessing　his　fault；　is　entitled　to　forgiveness；　and；　having　put　him　back　into　his　proper　place；　she　let　him　kiss　her　hand。　　She　even　went　further　and　let　him　ask　her　out　to　dinner。　As　the　result　of　her　failure　to　reform　Mrs。　Phillips　she　was　feeling　dissatisfied　with　herself。　　It　was　an　unpleasant　sensation　and　somewhat　new　to　her　experience。　　An　evening　spent　in　Arthur's　company　might　do　her　good。　　The　experiment　proved　successful。　　He　really　was　quite　a　dear　boy。　　Eyeing　him　thoughtfully　through　the　smoke　of　her　cigarette；　it　occurred　to　her　how　like　he　was　to　Guido's　painting　of　St。　Sebastian；　those　soft；　dreamy　eyes　and　that　beautiful；　almost　feminine；　face！　　There　always　had　been　a　suspicion　of　the　saint　about　him　even　as　a　boy：　　nothing　one　could　lay　hold　of：　　just　that　odd　suggestion　of　a　shadow　intervening　between　him　and　the　world。
  It　seemed　a　favourable　opportunity　to　inform　him　of　that　fixed　determination　of　hers：　　neverin　all　probabilityto　marry：　　but　to　devote　her　life　to　her　work。　　She　was　feeling　very　kindly　towards　him；　and　was　able　to　soften　her　decision　with　touches　of　gentle　regret。　　He　did　not　appear　in　the　least　upset。　　But　'thought'　that　her　duty　might　demand；　later　on；　that　she　should　change　her　mind：　　that　was　if　fate　should　offer　her　some　noble　marriage；　giving　her　wider　opportunity。
  She　was　a　little　piqued　at　his　unexpected　attitude　of　aloofness。　What　did　he　mean　by　a　〃noble　marriage〃to　a　Duke；　or　something　of　that　sort？
  He　did　not　think　the　candidature　need　be　confined　to　Dukes；　though　he　had　no　objection　to　a　worthy　Duke。　　He　meant　any　really　great　man　who　would　help　her　and　whom　she　could　help。
  She　promised；　somewhat　shortly；　to　consider　the　matter；　whenever　the　Duke；　or　other　class　of　nobleman；　should　propose　to　her。　　At　present　no　sign　of　him　had　appeared　above　the　horizon。　　Her　own　idea　was　that；　if　she　lived　long　enough；　she　would　become　a　spinster。　　Unless　someone　took　pity　on　her　when　she　was　old　and　decrepit　and　past　her　work。
  There　was　a　little　humorous　smile　about　his　mouth。　　But　his　eyes　were　serious　and　pleading。
  〃When　shall　I　know　that　you　are　old　and　decrepit？〃　he　asked。
  She　was　not　quite　sure。　　She　thought　it　would　be　when　her　hair　was　greyor　rather　white。　　She　had　been　informed　by　experts　that　her　peculiar　shade　of　hair　went　white；　not　grey。
  〃I　shall　ask　you　to　marry　me　when　your　hair　is　white；〃　he　said。　〃May　I？〃
  It　did　not　suggest　any　overwhelming　impatience。　　〃Yes；〃　she　answered。　　〃In　case　you　haven't　married　yourself；　and　forgotten　all　about　me。〃
  〃I　shall　keep　you　to　your　promise；〃　he　said　quite　gravely。
  She　felt　the　time　had　come　to　speak　seriously。　　〃I　want　you　to　marry；〃　she　said；　〃and　be　happy。　　I　shall　be　troubled　if　you　don't。〃
  He　was　looking　at　her　with　those　shy；　worshipping　eyes　of　his　that　always　made　her　marvel　at　her　own　wonderfulness。
  〃It　need　not　do　that；〃　he　answered。　　〃It　would　be　beautiful　to　be　with　you　always　so　that　I　might　serve　you。　　But　I　am　quite　happy；　loving　you。　　Let　me　see　you　now　and　then：　　touch　you　and　hear　your　voice。〃
  Behind　her　drawn…down　lids；　she　offered　up　a　little　prayer　that　she　might　always　be　worthy　of　his　homage。　　She　didn't　know　it　would　make　no　difference　to　him。
  She　walked　with　him　to　Euston　and　saw　him　into　the　train。　　He　had　given　up　his　lodgings　and　was　living　with　her　father　at　The　Pines。　They　were　busy　on　a　plan　for　securing　the　co…operation　of　the　workmen；　and　she　promised　to　run　down　and　hear　all　about　it。　　She　would　not　change　her　mind　about　Birmingham；　but　sent　everyone　her　love。
  She　wished　she　had　gone　when　it　came　to　Christmas　Day。　　This　feeling　of　loneliness　was　growing　upon　her。　　The　Phillips　had　gone　up　north；　and　the　Greysons　to　some　relations　of　theirs：　　swell　country　people　in　Hampshire。　　Flossie　was　on　a　sea　voyage　with　Sam　and　his　mother；　and　even　Madge　had　been　struck　homesick。　　It　happened　to　be　a　Sunday；　too；　of　all　days　in　the　week；　and　London　in　a　drizzling　rain　was　just　about　the　limit。　　She　worked　till　late　in　the　afternoon；　but；　sitting　down　to　her　solitary　cup　of　tea；　she　felt　she　wanted　to　howl。　　From　the　basement　came　faint　sounds　of　laughter。　　Her　landlord　and　lady　were　entertaining　guests。　　If　they　had　not　been；　she　would　have　found　some　excuse　for　running　down　and　talking　to　them；　if　only　for　a　few　minutes。
  Suddenly　the　vision　of　old　Chelsea　Church　rose　up　before　her　with　its　little　motherly　old　pew…opener。　　She　had　so　often　been　meaning　to　go　and　see　her　again；　but　something　had　always　interfered。　　She　hunted　through　her　drawers　and　found　a　comparatively　sober…coloured　shawl；　and　tucked　it　under　her　cloak。　　The　service　was　just　commencing　when　she　reached　the　church。　　Mary　Stopperton　showed　her　into　a　seat　and　evidently　remembered　her。　　〃I　want　to　see　you　afterwards；〃　she　whispered；　and　Mary　Stopperton　had　smiled　and　nodded。　　The　service；　with　its　need