rm that April
morning. Besides he had so many, many things to do; so many pleasures
promised and accepted, visits to college friends, a fishing trip with
his father,--really there seemed to be no hour in the long vacation
unengaged.

He always wanted to see her when he thought of her; he really meant to
find a moment to do it, too. But there seemed to be no moment
suitable.

Even when he was back in Cambridge he thought about her occasionally,
and planned, vaguely, a trip to New York so that he might redeem his
promise to her.

He took it out in thinking.

At Christmas, however, he sent her a wrist-watch, a dainty French
affair of gold and enamel; and a contrite note excusing himself for
the summer delinquencies and renewing his promise to call on her.

The Dead Letter Office returned watch and letter.

CHAPTER V

There was a suffocating stench of cabbage in hallway and corridor as
usual when Athalie came in that evening. She paused to rest a tired
foot on the first step of the stairway, for a moment or two, quietly
breathing her fatigue, then addressed herself to the monotonous labour
before her, which was to climb five flights of unventilated stairs,
let herself into the tiny apartment with her latch-key, and
immediately begin her part in preparing the evening meal for three.

Doris, now twenty-one, sprawled on a lounge in her faded wrapper
reading an evening paper. Catharine, a year younger, stood by a
bureau, some drawers of which had been pulled out, sorting over odds
and ends of crumpled finery.

"Well," remarked Doris to Athalie, as she came in, "what do _you_
know?"

"Nothing," said Athalie listlessly.

Doris rattled the evening paper: "Gee!" she commented, "it's getting
to be something fierce--all these young girls disappearing! Here's
another--they can't account for it; her parents say she had no love
affair--" And she began to read the account aloud while Catharine
continued to sort ribbons and Athalie dropped into a big, shabby
chair, legs extended, arms pendant.

When Doris finished reading she tossed the paper over to Athalie who
let it slide from her knees to the floor.

"Her picture is there," said Doris. "She isn't pretty."

"Isn't she?" yawned Athalie.

Catharine jerked open another drawer: "It's always a man's doing. You
bet they'll find that some fellow had her on a string. What idiots
girls are!"

"_I_ should worry," remarked Doris. "Any fresh young man who tries to
g