loth covered
with the remains of tea; all the flower vases wore crimped paper
petticoats; all the people inside the cheerless rooms looked tired.

Jenny pulled out the foreign letter and read of sunlight and love. She
began to dream of kisses amid surroundings something like the principal
scene of an Orient ballet, and, as London became more and more
intolerably dreary, over her senses stole the odor of a cigar that
carried her mind racing back to the past. Somewhere long ago her mother,
wanting to go away with someone, had stayed behind; and for the first
time Jenny comprehended mistily that now forgotten renunciation. She
fell to thinking of her mother tenderly, began to be oblivious of
interference, to remember only her merry tales and laughter and
kindness. The strength which long ago enabled Mrs. Raeburn to refuse the
nice little house and the Ralli car seemed to find a renewed power of
expression in her daughter. At present, Jenny thought, kisses in Spain
must still be dreams. That night, in the cheerless parlor of the Dales,
she wrote in watery ink to Maurice that she could not meet him in Paris.

43 STACPOLE TERRACE, CAMDEN TOWN.

Friday.

My darling Maurice,

I can't come to Spain--I can't leave my mother like that--I should
feel a sneak--hurry up and come home because I miss you very much
all the time--It's no use to wish I could come--But I will tell you
about it when you come home--I wish you was here now. With heaps of
love from your darling Jenny.

Irene sends her love and hopes you're having a good time.

Chapter XXIV: _Journey's End_

Jenny received a post card from Maurice in answer to her letter. She was
glad he made no attempt to argue a point of view which his absence had
already modified more persuasively than any pleading. During the summer,
perhaps on one of those expeditions long talked of, she would make him
her own with one word; having sacrificed much on account of her mother,
she was not prepared to sacrifice all; and when Maurice came back, when
she saw his blue eyes quick with love's fires, and knew again the
sorcery of hands and breathless enfolding of arms, it would be easy upon
his heart to swoon out of everything except compliance. Aglow with
tenderness, she wrote a second letter hinting that no chain was wanting
but the sight of him to bind her finally and completely. Yet, with
whatever periphrasis she wrapped it round, the