Nora did all she could to console the poor girl, talked of "trust" and "patience," till the words, coming from one in her position, to one in Lizzie's, seemed almost to die on her tongue, and she wondered they were not thrown back in her face.
But Lizzie had learned her lesson of "patience" better, and when Mrs. Travers said, rather bitterly, "Ah, yes, it's a poor world for us poor women," Lizzie only said, wiping away her tears:
"Oh, well, we must make the best of it! Tain't no good frettin'!"
Nora offered, rather hesitatingly, to go to see Lizzie next afternoon, if she liked, and the offer was gratefully accepted.
"And maybe you could say a good word to Jim; he'll be at home then, and though I never can get Jim to go to church, I guess he would listen to you!—and p'raps Nelly might be there, too. I do wish you could get to know Nelly! She'd mind what you would say, a sight better than anything I can tell her."
Nora walked silently homeward, with a new sorrowful image before her. As she dressed for the dinner-party, the pale tear-stained face seemed still before her, and she was calculating how much it would cost to buy a good warm winter jacket for the half-clad girl.
Little Cecilia had begged to be allowed to help her to dress, and eagerly did all she was permitted to do, admiring with silent intentness the rich soft folds of the velvet that showed to such advantage the straight, graceful, rounded figure, and the white neck and arms that gleamed out of the fine old lace; and, what seemed to the child the most beautiful of all, the cross of pure, translucent pearls which so fitly adorned the white throat above the square-cut corsage. This old pearl cross, Aunt Margaret's parting gift, and a prized relic of her long-past girlhood, was Nora's favorite ornament. Its form was symbolical of a thousand tender, sacred associations, and the purity of the pearls seemed emblematic of a higher purity, divine and human. She liked to wear it as a reminder to herself of many things that she desired never to forget, even in the gladdest and most festive moment. And to-night it seemed connected in her thoughts with Lizzie's pale pathetic face, and her life of perpetual self-sacrifice.
"Well, you look very nice!" said Mrs. Blanchard, approvingly, as she came in to make an inspection—"only you're pale—you want some roses."
And as she spoke, she produced a lovely cluster of pink and blush roses, which she fastened on the creamy lace of Nora's corsage; while deftly twisting an opening bud among her silky coils of hair, to Cecilia's manifest delight.
"There," she said, "that lights it up a good deal!" and she walked back, casting critical glances at the general effect. "The severe style does suit you—that can't be denied!" she added.