Mrs. Stanton made no objection to Aldyth's plan, though she thought it an incomprehensible whim of hers to wish to go to such a horrible place. It was a happy thing for Aldyth that her mother rarely interfered with her wishes, except when they were adverse to her own.
So Aldyth went to her work in Whitechapel, and made acquaintance with the factory girls of the East-end. It was work in which she soon became deeply interested, and it inspired her with many new solemn thoughts about life.
As Mrs. Wheatley had foreseen, the girls "took to her" at once, for women of the lower classes are quick to recognize a "real lady" when they see one, and to feel the charm of her gentleness and simplicity. Aldyth's pleasant look, her smile, the sweet tones of her voice, her fresh, pretty gowns, and the dainty, flower-like neatness of her person, could not have charmed any male admirer more than they charmed these girls. They clustered about her, they applauded the bright, well-chosen music she gave them, and they watched eagerly for the chance of a talk with her.
Aldyth had no difficulty in gaining their confidence. They could see that she liked to hear all they could tell her about themselves, and one by one they told her of the troubles and hardships of their lives, not complainingly, but in a simple, matter-of-fact manner, that was touching in its very unconsciousness.
One evening Aldyth, returning tired from Whitechapel, met Gladys alighting from a carriage at the door of their home. She had been spending the evening in a very different fashion at the house of some friends. She followed Aldyth into the dining room, where a light supper awaited her.
"I will sit with you while you take your chocolate," Gladys said, throwing off her cloak and sinking gracefully into an easy-chair by the fire. "The Andersons are so nice, Aldyth; I've had the most delightful time. You were a silly not to come with me instead of going to those stupid girls at Whitechapel."
Aldyth looked at her sister for a moment, ere she replied.
Gladys, dressed all in white, with her pretty neck uncovered and her coronal of golden hair gleaming in the lamplight, never looked more fair.
But Aldyth had a sudden painful sense of the contrast presented to her sister by the girls she had left, as young as Gladys, and some of them as fair, but with weary faces and thin, bent forms, whose clothes were shabby and tawdry, and whose lives had so little of what was bright and pleasant in them.
"Oh, Gladys!" she said. "Don't grudge our girls any pleasure I can give them by going. If you only knew what their lives are! If I were one of them, I think it would make me feel bad to look on a girl like you."