felt if she should be cordial now there could be but one
interpretation for Frances to put on it, and that would be: she had an
"axe to grind."

She bowed coldly and Frances returned the salutation, but she stopped
her to ask if the Browns were in Chartres, too.

"No, I am here alone," said Judy with great nonchalance, "I bid you good
afternoon," and she walked on, trying to keep her back from looking
dejected.

"Grandmother, there is something the matter with Miss Kean and I feel as
though I should find out if she needs help," said Frances, gazing after
Judy until she turned the corner.

"Nonsense, my child. She is a bad-mannered piece. I have an idea I know
why she is in Chartres. I believe it is a runaway match between her and
that dark, middle-aged man we met at the Browns' tea. I caught a glimpse
of him at the hotel at dejeuner to-day. Kinsella is his name. I could
not quite place him but knew his face was familiar. You keep out of it.
It is none of your business if persons choose to make fools of
themselves," and the irate old woman clutched her granddaughter's arm
and dragged her along.

"There is no use in trying to stop me, Grandmother. She is Molly Brown's
friend, and while she is horrid to me, I am going to see if she needs my
help for Molly's sake. You can get back to the hotel alone; if you
can't, just call a cab," and Frances whisked off, leaving her aged
relative fussing and fuming in the street.

With all of Judy's acting, Frances had seen that she was excited about
something and she certainly had not the air of one coming to meet a
lover. The day in the country had not been conducive to tidiness. Judy's
hair was blown, her collar and shirtwaist were rumpled, her shoes dusty
and the tears in the train had left a smudge on her cheek.

On turning the corner, Judy had discovered a pawnbroker's shop. "That is
where people in books go when they are hard up, so that is where I am
going," she thought.

It was kept by a benevolent looking old Jew, and benevolent he may have
been, but Judy soon found out, as she expressed it, "He was not in
business for his health."

She asked him what he would give her for her sketching kit. It was a
very attractive and expensive little box, with a palette, a drawer full
of color tubes, a partition with sliding panels for sketching and a tray
of brushes. He sniffed with disgust and said, "Two francs."

Judy's heart sank. Forty cents for a box that cost at least ten d