guests; and sometimes I go driving by myself, down to the mill
towns, and go through them and talk to the children. I came to know
some of them quite well--poor little wretches."

They stepped out of the elevator, and moved toward the art-gallery.
"It used to make me so unhappy," she went on. "I tried to talk to my
husband about it, but he wouldn't have it. 'I don't see why you
can't be like other people,' he said--he's always repeating that to
me. And what could I say?"

"Why not suggest that other people might be like you?" said the man,
laughing.

"I wasn't clever enough," said she, regretfully.--"It's very hard
for a woman, you know--with no one to understand. Once I went down
to a settlement, to see what that was like. Do you know anything
about settlements?"

"Nothing at all," said Montague.

"Well, they are people who go to live among the poor, and try to
reform them. It takes a terrible lot of courage, I think. I give
them money now and then, but I am never sure if it does any good.
The trouble with poor people, it seems to me, is that there are so
many of them."

"There are, indeed," said Montague, thinking of the vision he had
seen from Oliver's racing-car.

Mrs. Winnie had seated herself upon a cushioned seat near the