persons of high degree, of whom they spoke familiarly, as if they were
next-door neighbours. Although she was very young, and knew nothing of
their life, she gathered that its monotony was very irksome to them, and
that they were compelled to seek something, if only in the pages of an
unwholesome and unreal story, to lift them out of it. It was evident
that Liz, at least, chafed intolerably under her present lot, and that
her head was full of dreams and imaginings regarding the splendours so
vividly described in the story. All this time Gladys also wondered more
than once what had become of the parents, of whom there was no sign
visible, and at last she ventured to put the question--

'Is your mother not at home to-day?'

This question sent the little seamstress off into a fit of silent
laughter, which brought a dull touch of colour into her cheeks, and very
much improved her appearance. Liz also gave a little short laugh, which
had no mirth in it.

'No, she's no' at hame; she's payin' a visit at Duke Street.' And the
little grave nod with which Gladys received this information further
intensified the amusement of the two.

'Ye dinna see through it,' said Liz, 'so I'll gie ye'd flat. My faither
and mither are in the gaol for fechtin'. They were nailed on Saturday
nicht.'

'Oh!'

Gladys looked genuinely distressed, and perhaps for the first time Liz
thought of another side such degradation might have. She had often been