gave a glance of disapproval at the table covered with cloth, where the copies of “The Bazaar” lay.
“It is only alpaca,” she ventured timidly.
“Don’t think, dear Caroline, that I reproach you Things of this kind depend wholly upon the individual. Every one must act as he thinks he is answerable to his own conscience.”
The conversation continued in this manner, and Mrs. Warden explained that she was now on her way to visit one of the poorest quarters of the city, in order to see conditions with her own eyes, and to convince herself of the way in which the poor really live.
A few days before, she had read the yearly statement of a private institution for the poor, of whose board of managers her husband was a member. She had purposely avoided asking the police, or the Superintendent of the Poor, for statements, because it was her intention to see for herself, and to form her own opinion. The good-by of the friends was a little cooler than usual. Both were in serious mood. Mrs. Abel remained in the garden room. She did not feel inclined to proceed further with the design for the street dress, although the material was unusually attractive. She heard the sound of the wagon wheels upon the level roadway of the residence quarter as it rolled away.
“What a good heart Emilie has!” she sighed.
Nothing was further from this young woman’s disposition than envy and ill will, and yet it was with a feeling akin to this that to-day she watched the trap
