t awful chamber. A whole Fourth of July fireworks display, Roman
candles, sky-rockets, pin-wheels, set pieces and all, could not have
made that room take on a festive air.

As I unpacked I thought of my cosy room at Knapfs', and as I thought
I took my head out of my trunk and sank down on the floor with a satin
blouse in one hand, and a walking boot in the other, and wanted to
bellow with loneliness. There came to me dear visions of the friendly
old yellow brocade chair, and the lamplight, and the fireplace, and
Frau Nirlanger, and the Pfannkuchen. I thought of the aborigines. In my
homesick mind their bumpy faces became things of transcendent beauty. I
could have put my head on their combined shoulders and wept down their
blue satin neckties. In my memory of Frau Knapf it seemed to me that I
could discern a dim, misty halo hovering above her tightly wadded hair.
My soul went out to her as I recalled the shining cheek-bones, and the
apron, and the chickens stewed in butter. I would have given a year out
of my life to have heard that good-natured, "Nabben'." One aborigine
had been wont to emphasize his after-dinner arguments with a toothpick
brandished fiercely between thumb and finger. The brandisher had
always annoyed me. Now I thought of him with tenderness in my heart and
reproached myself for my fastidiousness. I should have wept if I had
not had a walking boot in one hand, and a satin blouse in the other. A
walking boot is but a cold comfort. And my thriftiness denied my tears
the soiling of the blouse. So I sat up on my knees and finished the
unpacking.

Just before dinner time I donned a becoming gown to chirk up my courage,
groped my way down the long, dim stairs, and telephoned to Von Gerhard.
It seemed to me that just to hear his voice would instill in me new
courage and hope. I gave the number, and waited.

"Dr. von Gerhard?" repeated a woman's voice at the other end of the
wire. "He is very busy. Will you leave your name?"

"No," I snapped. "I'll hold the wire. Tell him that Mrs. Orme is waiting
to speak to him."

"I'll see." The voice was grudging.

Another wait; then--"Dawn!" came his voice in glad surprise.

"Hello!" I cried, hysterically. "Hello! Oh, talk! Say something nice,
for pity's sake! I'm sorry that I've taken you away from whatever you
were doing, but I couldn't help it. Just talk please! I'm dying of
loneliness."

"Child, are you ill?" Von Gerhard's voice was so satisfyingly
solicitou