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 Family Herald, and she knew exactly what are the chances of romance to a humble companion in the family of a lady of title.

And now Maisie’s mother gave way to her, finally and completely, even on the question of dress. The old wardrobe was ransacked to find materials to fit her out with clothes for her new venture. It was a beautiful time for Maisie. New things, and old things made to look as good as new, or better. It was like having a trousseau. The mother lavished on her child every inch of the old lace, every one of the treasured trinkets—even the little old locket that had been the dead husband’s first love-gift.

And Maisie, in the flutter of her excitement and anticipation, was loving and tender and charming, and the mother had her reward.

Edward opposed a stolid and stony disapproval to all the new enthusiasm. He said little because he feared to say too much.

“Poor little Maisie!” he said. “You’ll soon find out that you didn’t know when you were well off.”

“Edward, I hate you,” said Maisie, and she thought she did.

But when all the beautiful new clothes were packed and her cab was at the door,