unhappy event; and, not even then filled to repletion, she resolved to call at the first decent opportunity on Ruth herself, and learn at first hand, if possible, the intimate details of the tragedy. Mary Bradley too was interested; and not only interested but deeply concerned. Not that she deprecated the breaking of the engagement. Quite the contrary. She had never felt that a woman with Ruth Tracy's ideals could be happy with a man like Westgate, apostle of conservatism, pledged to the perpetuation of the present iron-clad social order, a man toward whom her resentment had never waned since the day he had compassed her defeat in a court of law. But for Miss Tracy she had an ever-growing respect, and admiration, and fondness. While she regarded her as still bound, in a way, by religious superstition, and the conventions of society, she nevertheless gave her credit for having noble aspirations, and for seeking by every possible means to realize them. And especially did she give her credit for having cast off such a drag on her ambitions as Westgate was and always would have been. It was a fine and courageous thing to do, and more fine and courageous because she undoubtedly loved him. Mary Bradley felt that she wanted to tell her so; that she wanted to give her a word of encouragement and comfort and hope. In spite of many invitations from Ruth to do so, she had never yet called at the Tracy house. She had felt that such action would be not quite consistent, either with her social position or her present vocation. But the time had come now to cast these considerations aside, to visit Ruth Tracy in her home, to invade the precincts of aristocracy and conservatism, and carry courage and comfort to the "prisoner of hope" environed there by subtle and antagonistic forces.
So, one cold, clear December afternoon, she made her way to the unfamiliar neighborhood of Fountain Park. It was the same afternoon that Jane Chichester had chosen for her call on Ruth. Miss Chichester had
