"My job!" she whispered. "You'll take mine!"

Mary smiled rather wanly.

"I couldn't do that, of course," she said. "I haven't references—and they're expecting you. But I'll find something else; I'm sure of it."

She was anything but sure of it; she was quite certain it would be otherwise. But it was her duty, she felt, to make a brave front.

"No, no, no! You must take mine. Oh, can't you see——"

There was a knock, followed by a doctor. He seemed to be in a hurry, yet for all that he was quite positive about things. No, it wasn't contagious. The landlady vanished from the threshold to spread the joyous news down-stairs. But she was a sick girl, none the less. There would be ten days in bed, at the very least. She needed medicine, of course he would leave prescriptions. And there must be a special diet. There really ought to be a nurse. And—well, he would look in again that evening; he would decide about the nurse then.

Miss Norcross was sitting up again as the door closed behind him.

"See!" she cried. "You've just got to do it! What's going to become of me—and of you? It's for three o'clock. Oh, please go! Take my references. Take——"

She fell back on the pillow in a seizure of weakness.

Mary Wayne walked to the window and looked down into the drab street. Would she do it? Dared she? Had she any right? And if she did—— The sick girl was whispering for water. Mary carried it[Pg 14] to her, raised her head and steadied the glass at her lips.

[Pg 14]

"Oh, please! I'm frightened and worried—and——"

Mary made a decision.

[Pg 15]

[Pg 15]

 CHAPTER II

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