"Not this time. Harry, dear, let's go to Mrs. Wickham's to board."

"Mrs. Wickham's!" he echoed. "Why, you wouldn't stay in her dull little
place a week."

But even as he spoke there flashed through his mind in rapid
calculation, "Twenty dollars a week there, forty here; eighty dollars
a month saved; nearly a thousand dollars a year."

"Don't you like it here?" were his next words, as he glanced around the
luxurious suite.

"Yes," she said, "except there are too many people. It is so noisy."

"Very well, then, we will try it; anything to please my darling," and he
drew her close, wrapped in his arms as one might lull a restless child.

The move was made, and Eleanor found that she was not as much fatigued
as she had often felt after a day's lounging with a novel. Her husband
thought it only a new whim; but as it was not expensive one, he could
not remonstrate. When he wanted to take her driving, she playfully told
him she was learning to walk--horses made her nervous.

The first step, she thought; now for the next. It came to her almost by
magic. In a little rear hall-room sat Margaret Dewees, clicking away at
her typewriter. A strong, clear-headed girl who had maintained herself
these ten years, and had put by her savings. She was soon to be married
to a stalwart young farmer, the lover of her early youth. They had been
working and waiting. From the first she took an interest in the young
wife, and it was given to her energy and common sense to help a