fair. But, Dick, . . O Dick, my darling! . . don't ever think I don't love you! It is because our love must be worthy of what you and I know love ought to be, that we must think of her."

Richard again rose and walked back and forth trying to think of some solution of the problem.

"I can't believe that happiness could come to her through anything that brought misery to us," he said soberly, at length. "We must take time to think it out. Surely there is some way other than that which wrecks our lives just as we have discovered what they might contain."

"I hope so, Dick! . . oh! my very dear, I hope so!" Richard held out his arms to her with such yearning in his face that she could no longer resist.

"This at least is our moment . . . Come!"

Without taking her eyes from his, she rose slowly from the chair and permitted him to fold her in his great arms.

"It is this that counts!" he whispered.

The anxious lines disappeared from Lola's face. She yielded herself wholly to the joy of the moment, deliberately forgetting that it was but a haven she had found and not the port where she might gain protection from the storm. She raised her eyes shyly, and smiled into his. Then their lips met.

"Oh, Dick!" she cried as he released her, . . Dick . . . always whatever happens!"

"my

CHAPTER XXXIV

R

I

ICHARD found Olga in the little flat which he had turned over for her occupancy. She heard

the familiar footsteps upon the stairs, and when Richard reached the top landing she was waiting for him in the open doorway. In her face pleasure mingled with apprehension.

"You recognized my step?" Richard inquired, surprised now to find her there.

"Is there anything strange in that?" she asked, not defiantly, as had been her wont, but with a sad, wistful smile which hurt him. "I wondered if I should ever hear it again."

"Surely you could never believe that, after being such comrades, I would let you drop out of my life!"

"You will be a great man, Mr. Richard Norton, and a factory-girl does not belong in the life of a great

They entered the room and seated themselves. Both felt the restraint, and Olga made no effort to relieve it. "When I say to you what I have come to say," Richard replied seriously, "you will understand how far I am from the exhalted position you suggest, and you will

also realize how much a part of my life I consider one little factory-girl, who is not very distant now."

She waited for him to continue.

"Until we talked things over that last time," he went on, "I was not convinced that you seriously cared for

"I told you so, over and over again."

"I know you did, and I should have believed you. Instead, I thought it was just your way of saying that you liked me.”

"I promised you that I would try to turn my love back into friendship," Olga reminded him, striving bravely to prevent her voice from breaking. "Truly, I am doing my best to keep my promise.'

"Dear Olga!" Richard cried, affected by her struggle. "It is for me to turn my friendship into love."

She looked at him with uncomprehending eyes. She had changed even since he saw her last. Her face was still beautiful, but it lacked the color which had previously added so great a charm. Yet it was not the face which had changed so much as her manner. The hoydenish abandon had disappeared long since. Now she displayed a calm self-control he scarcely recognized. She sensed what was passing through his mind.

"Is it an improvement?" she asked. "If you blame yourself for some things you must take credit for others. As for my loving you... Miss Lola has forgiven me, and so must you."

"Don't, Olga, I beg of you!" he cried. "You and Lola make me feel contemptibly small when you assume responsibility which belongs to me. I can never repay

you for what you did for me, yet in return I have made you unhappy . . . the one thing I would have avoided!”

He hesitated for an instant, then asked the question abruptly.

"Do you think you could really be happy as my wife, Olga?"

For a moment surprise filled her eyes, then all the color which Richard missed returned to her face.

"Did Miss Lola tell you to ask me that?" she inquired at length.

"No; she urged me to decide, and I have done so." "Does that mean that you love me?”

The momentary hesitation gave her a truer answer than the evasive words which followed.

"There would be no question of that, dear, if we were married."

The look which came into Olga's face was that which Richard would always remember when he thought of her in later years. He had called her beautiful, but never had she seemed so radiantly lovely. Her eyes never left his, and into them came a look . . . inscrutable as it was tender, . . which he had seen before only in the eyes of Mona Lisa.

"Then you have discovered that you can be married and still accomplish your great work?" she inquired. "I know now that I can't possibly accomplish it unless I am."

"And you will marry me?"

"Yes, Olga; and I will do my best to make you happy."

The girl again relapsed into silence. The moment

was too delicious to be hastened. Her dream had come true! What others had mocked at was within her grasp. All that was necessary would be to forget what these last months had taught her, and to justify herself by declaring, with her former fierceness, that the buffeting old world owed her anything she could get out of it in compensation for the price it had made

her pay.

But forgetfulness was not possible after the lessons learned from her association with Lola. Previously, it would have been class against class; now it was one woman's heart against another's. Lola, surrounded by every luxury, who had never been forced to practice the self-restraint which formed a part of Olga's daily life, stood ready to make the supremest sacrifice a woman knows. Olga had not believed this at first; it was too incredible. Later, as she came to understand her better through Lola's determination to protect her, she was convinced of her sincerity. Now that Richard had come with his offer of marriage, she knew that Lola's words were as true as her heart. If a girl brought up as she had been could prove herself so loyal to her ideals, what of Olga, to whom sacrifice had become second nature?

There was but one more question which she put to Richard.

"Do you love Miss Lola?"

It was one he could not answer by evasion. The great brown eyes, looking so tenderly and trustfully into his, demanded an admission of the truth which they already knew.