CHAPTER VI.
Ici bas tous les hommes pleurent Leurs amities et leurs amours.
-- BOURGET.
Many sarcastic but true words have been said by man, and in no jealous spirit, concerning woman's friendship for woman.

The passing judgment of the majority of men on such devotion might be summed up in the words, "Occupy till I come." It does occupy till they do come.

And if they don't come the hastily improvised friendship may hold together for years, like an unseaworthy boat in a harbor, which looks like a boat but never goes out to sea.
But, nevertheless, here and there among its numberless counterfeits a friendship rises up between two women which sustains the life of both, which is still young when life is waning, which man's love and motherhood cannot displace nor death annihilate; a friendship which is not the solitary affection of an empty heart, nor the deepest affection of a full one, but which nevertheless lightens the burdens of this world and lays its pure hand upon the next.
Such a friendship, very deep, very tender, existed between Rachel West and Hester Gresley.

It dated back from the nursery days, when Hester and Rachel solemnly eyed each other, and then made acquaintance in the dark gardens of Portman Square, into which Hester introduced a fortified castle with a captive princess in it, and a rescuing prince and a dragon, and several other ingredients of romance to the awed amazement of Rachel--stolid, solid, silent Rachel--who loved all two and four legged creatures, but who never made them talk to each other as Hester did.

And Hester, in blue serge, told Rachel, in crimson velvet, as they walked hand in hand in front of their nursery-maids, what the London sparrows said to each other in the gutters, and how they considered the gravel path in the square was a deep river suitable to bathe in.