knew what I know, and how indifferent all those things are to me!' ...
For these things are not indifferent, Richard, not to me, at
least.... And for the sake of the joy I take in them, you ..."

"Strange how she sees through me," he reflected, "I wonder she clings
to me as she does."

And while he was trying to think of something that might help her, the
dear boy came into his mind who had to-day divulged to him the sorrows
of youth and whom the unconscious desire for a higher plane of life
had driven weeping through the streets.

"I know of some one for you."

Her expression was serious.

"You know of some one for me," she repeated with painful
deliberateness.

"Don't misunderstand me. It's a playfellow, a pupil--something in the
nature of a pastime, anything you will."

He told her the story of _Siegfried_ and the two seamstresses.

She laughed heartily.

"I was afraid you wanted to be rid of me," she said, laying her
forehead for a few moments against his sleeve.

"Shame on you," he said, carelessly stroking her hair. "But what do