This girl whom he had met by chance and befriended had done both. Then he looked across at Mrs Sindlesham. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. We met dissecting dogfish. Not us. “Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element of Faith.
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