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 until then did the social worker venture upon the real subject of the interview.

"Do you feel like talking about Walter, now, Nina?" she asked. Walter was the name of the father of the baby.

The girl began to cry. She had kept her troubles to herself for so long a time, she said, that she had become hopeless. She was relieved to be able to speak about her anxieties. Secure in the friendly interest of the social worker, she told her story.

Sometimes so gradual an approach to the facts is unnecessary and it is possible to go directly to the heart of the trouble.

Two friends who had not seen each other for more than a year chanced to meet on the street.

"How have things been going?" asked the first.

"Fairly well," was the somewhat doubtful reply, and the first speaker, observing a cloudiness about the usually clear and alert glance of his friend, went straight to that which he desired to know.

"Jim," he said, with concern, "are you worried?"

Jim was worried. His friend had opened the door to his story and he laid bare his anxieties.

Even more interesting was the opening ques-