When she came within earshot of their pleading, desire in her bent a willing ear.

The voice of the so-called inanimate! Who shall translate for us the language of the stones?
"My dear," said the lace collar she secured from Partridge's, "I fit you beautifully; don't give me up." "Ah, such little feet," said the leather of the soft new shoes; "how effectively I cover them.

What a pity they should ever want my aid." Once these things were in hand, on her person.

She might dream of giving them up; the method by which they came might intrude itself so forcibly that she would ache to be rid of the thought of it, but she would not give them up.

"Put on the old clothes-that torn pair of shoes," was called to her by her conscience in vain.