"Paris! Rome!" echoed Shirley. "How I envy you! Yes, you are
right. Get away from this country where the only topic, the only
thought is money, where the only incentive to work is dollars. Go
where there are still some ideals, where you can breathe the
atmosphere of culture and art."

Forgetting momentarily her own troubles, Shirley chatted on about
life in the art centres of Europe, advised Jefferson where to go,
with whom to study. She knew people in Paris, Rome and Munich and
she would give him letters to them. Only, if he wanted to perfect
himself in the languages, he ought to avoid Americans and
cultivate the natives. Then, who could tell? if he worked hard and
was lucky, he might have something exhibited at the Salon and
return to America a famous painter.

"If I do," smiled Jefferson, "you shall be the first to
congratulate me. I shall come and ask you to be my wife. May I?"
he added,

Shirley smiled gravely.

"Get famous first. You may not want me then."

"I shall always want you," he whispered hoarsely, bending over
her. In the dim light of the porch he saw that her tear-stained
face was drawn and pale. He rose and held out his hand.

"Good-bye," he said simply.

"Good-bye, Jefferson." She rose and put her hand in his. "We shall
always be friends. I, too, am going away."

"You going away--where to?" he asked surprised.

"I have work to do in connection with my father's case," she said.

"You?" said Jefferson puzzled. "You have work to do--what work?"

"I can't say what it is, Jefferson. There are good reasons why I
can't. You must take my word for it that it is urgent and
important work." Then she added: "You go your way, Jefferson; I
will go mine. It was not our destiny to belong to each other. You
will become famous as an artist. And I--"

"And you--" echoed Jefferson.

"I--I shall devote my life to my father. It's no use,
Jefferson--really--I've thought it all out. You must not come back
to me--you understand. We must be alone with our grief--father and
I. Good-bye."

He raised her hand to his lips.

"Good-bye, Shirley. Don't forget me. I shall come back for you."

He went down the porch and she watched him go out of the gate and
down the road until she could see his figure no longer. Then she
turned back and sank into her chair and burying her face in her
handkerchief she gave way to a torrent of tears which afforded
some relief to the weight on her heart. Presently the others
ret