The morning was pleasant, though cool, and the air refreshing after the odor of mingled grease and stale tobacco-smoke which filled the house.
As they passed out, Fanny quietly sat down upon the step, leaned her chin upon one hand, and looked up and down the street, which, it seemed to Hope, offered a prospect that would hardly enliven her mind.

There was something more touching to Hope in this dull apathy than in the most positive grief.
"Fanny Newt!" she said to her, suddenly.
Fanny lifted her lazy eyes.
"If I can do nothing for your brother, can I do nothing for you?
You will rust out, Fanny, if you don't take care." Fanny smiled languidly.
"What if I do ?" she answered.
Thereupon Hope sat down by her, and told her just what she meant, and what she hoped, and what she would do if she would let her.

And the eager young woman drew such pleasant pictures of what was yet possible to Fanny, although she was the wife of Alfred Dinks, that, as if the long-accumulating dust and ashes were blown away from her soul, and it began to kindle again in a friendly breath, Fanny felt herself moved and interested.

She smiled, looked grave, and finally laid her head upon Hope's shoulder and cried good, honest tears of utter weariness and regret.
"And now," said Hope, "will you help me about Abel ?" "I really don't see that you can do any thing," said Fanny, "nor any body else.

Perhaps he'll get a new start in Congress, though I don't know any thing about it." Hope Wayne shook her head thoughtfully.
"No," she said, "I see no way.