expectation, his futile search, his
bitter disappointment. He had dropped everything, he declared, to take
the next train to Kentucky to find out what had changed her plans, and to
persuade her to be married at once and return with him to Chicago. The
epistle ended with a love rhapsody that deserved a better fate than to be
torn into shreds and consigned to the waste-basket.

"Tell the boy not to wait!" was Eleanor's furious instruction. "Tell him
there's no answer now or ever!"

Then she pitched the flowers after the note, locked her door, and refused
to admit any one for the rest of the day.

After that her one desire was to get away. She felt utterly humiliated,
disillusioned, disgraced, and her sole hope for peace lay in the further
humiliation of accepting Madam's offer and trying to go on with her work.
But even here she met an obstacle. A letter arrived from Papa Claude,
saying that he would not be able to get possession of the little
apartment until December first, a delay that necessitated Eleanor's
remaining with the Martels for another month.

The situation was a delicate and a difficult one. Eleanor was more than
willing to forgo the luxuries to which she had been accustomed and was
even willing to share Rose's untidy bedroom; but the knowledge that she
was adding another weight to Cass's already heavy burden was intolerable
to her. To make things worse, she was besieged with notes and visits and
telephone calls from various emissaries sent out by her grandmother.

"I'll go perfectly crazy if they don't leave me alone!" she declared one
night to Quin. "They act as if studying for the stage were the wickedest
thing in the world. Aunt Isobel was here all morning, harping on my
immortal soul until I almost hoped I didn't have one. This afternoon Aunt
Flo came and warned me against getting professional notions in my head,
and talked about my social position, and what a blow it would be to the
family. Then, to cap the climax, Uncle Ranny had the nerve to telephone
and urge me against taking any step that would break my grandmother's
heart. Uncle Ranny! Can you beat that?"

"I'd chuck the whole bunch for a while," was Quin's advice. "Why don't
you let their standards go to gallagher and live up to your own?"

"That's what I want to do, Quin," she said earnestly. "My standards are
just as good as theirs, every bit. I've got terrifically high ideals.
Nobody knows how serious I feel about the whole thing. It is