"Your father...." he murmured; "I suppose you feel--"

She interrupted with a sudden radiance: "Oh, no, it's not that. My
father is married again, you know.... I don't often talk of it; it was a
grief to me. We were so everything to each other. But I don't go home
very often, because of that. I would love to come, Mr. Ruan. I wonder if
I can; I wonder...."

"But why should you wonder?" he urged more boldly; "one advantage of
your lonely situation is that you are free to decide for yourself. Do
promise me!"

She turned her head away as though to hide eyes suddenly dewy, then met
his look with her wonted level candour.

"I'll come," she said; "I'll come. Oh, it will he heavenly!... You don't
know what the mere thought of it means.... To get away, even for a
little while, from all this...." She swept her hands expressively around
on the lodging-house surroundings.

"It must be rotten," said Ishmael in heartfelt accents. "I know how I
felt in the parlour at home after my sister Vassie had done it up for my
return. I felt as though the woolly mats were choking me. And I couldn't
say anything for fear of hurting her feelings."

"And have you got used to it? That's what I'm always so afraid
of--getting used to ugliness."

"Vassie has altered. She is the cleverest girl at picking up ideas I've