She was correct in her surmise. Bernardine had taken a dislike to her, she scarcely knew why.
Bernardine forgot her own trials and anxiety in listening to the sorrowful story of this hapless creature.
"Why don't you try to find work in some other factory or some shop?" asked Bernardine, earnestly.
"My clothes are so shabby, my appearance is against me. No one wants to employ a girl whose dress is all tatters."
A sudden thought came to Bernardine, and she acted on the impulse.
"Here," she said, pulling out her pocket-book—"here is ten dollars. Get a dress, and try to find work. The money is not a loan; it is a gift."
The girl had hardly heard the words, ere a cry of amazement fell from her lips. She was eyeing the well-filled pocket-book with a burning gaze.
CHAPTER XXXII.
The girl took the money which Bernardine handed to her, her eyes following every movement of the white hand that placed the wallet back in her pocket.
"You must be rich to have so much money about you," she said, slowly, with a laugh that grated harshly on Bernardine's sensitive ears.