I am a reliable purveyor of facts and nothing but facts." She pounded on the library table with her clenched fist to emphasize her words.
"I believe you," assured Patience with mock solemnity, "and salute you as a disciple of truth." Leaving her friends to exchange confidences, Grace ran lightly up the stairs and knocked on Mary Reynolds' door.

Receiving no answer, she knocked again.
"She must be asleep," thought Grace.

Then she turned the knob and entered the room.

Surely enough the tired stranger lay on her couch bed, tranquil and slumber-wrapped.

Sleep had smoothed away the lines of care and, in repose, her face looked soft and childish.
"Miss Reynolds." The girl sat up with a little, startled cry.