I'll never
forgive myself!"

"He'll forgive you," said Sadie Corn; "but you'll never forgive
yourself. That's as it should be. That, you know, is our punishment for
what we say in thoughtlessness and anger."

They turned the corridor corner. Standing before the desk near the
stairway was the tall figure of Donahue, house detective. Donahue had
always said that Julia was too pretty to be a hotel employe.

"Straighten up, Julia!" whispered Sadie Corn. "And smile if it kills
you--unless you want to make me tell the whole of it to Donahue."

Donahue, the keen-eyed, balancing, as was his wont, from toe to heel and
back again, his chin thrust out inquiringly, surveyed the pair.

"Off watch?" inquired Donahue pleasantly, staring at Julia's eyes.
"What's wrong with Julia?"

"Neuralgy!" said Sadie Corn crisply. "I've just told her to quit rubbing
her head with peppermint. She's got the stuff into her eyes."

She picked up the bottle on her desk and studied its label, frowning.
"Run along downstairs, Julia. I'll see if they won't send you some hot
tea."

Donahue, hands clasped behind him, was walking off in his leisurely,
light-footed way.

"Everything serene?" he called back over his big shoulder.

The neuralgic eye closed and opened, perhaps with another twinge.

"Everything's serene!" said Sadie Corn.

IX

THE GUIDING MISS GOWD

It has long been the canny custom of writers on travel bent to defray
the expense of their journeyings by dashing off tales filled with
foreign flavour. Dickens did it, and Dante. It has been tried all the
way from Tasso to Twain; from Raskin to Roosevelt. A pleasing custom it
is and thrifty withal, and one that has saved many a one but poorly
prepared for the European robber in uniform the moist and unpleasant
task of swimming home.

Your writer spends seven days, say, in Paris. Result? The Latin Quarter
story. _Oh, mes enfants!_ That Parisian student-life story! There is the
beautiful young American girl--beautiful, but as earnest and good as she
is beautiful, and as talented as she is earnest and good. And wedded, be
it understood, to her art--preferably painting or singing. From New
York! Her name must be something prim, yet winsome. Lois will do--Lois,
_la belle Americaine_. Then the hero--American too. Madly in love with
Lois. Tall he is and always clean-limbed--not handsome, but with one of
those strong, rugged faces. His name, too, must be strong and plain, yet
snapp