icity of her nature upheld her; she had not found Jimsy, but
she would find him; she was going to him without a day's delay; she
could "rest in action."

The soft-footed, soft-voiced Kada brought her a tea tray and arranged it
deftly on a small table by the window. He smiled incessantly and kept
sucking in his breath in his shy and respectful pleasure. "Veree glod,"
he said as the gardener had said before him, "Veree _glod_! I lige veree
moach you comin' home! Now when thad Meestair Jeemsie comin' home too,
happy days all those days!" He had brought her two kinds of tiny
sandwiches which she had favored in the old tea times, chopped olives
and nuts in one, cream cheese and dates in the other, and there was a
plate of paper-thin cookies and some salted almonds and he had put a
half blown red rose on the shining napkin.

"Kada, you are very kind. You always do everything so beautifully! How
are you coming on with your painting?"

"Veree glod, thank-you-veree-moach!" He bowed in still delight.

"You must show me your pictures in the morning, Kada."

"Thank-you-veree-moach! Soon I have one thousand dollar save', can go
study Art School."

"That's fine, Kada!"

"_Bud_"--his serene face clouded over--"veree sod leavin' theeze house!
When you stayin' home an' thad Meestair Jeemsie here I enjoy to work
theeze house; is merry from moach comedy!"'

He bowed himself out, still drawing in his breath and Honor smiled.
"Merry from much comedy" the house had been in the old gay days; dark
from much tragedy it seemed to-day. What would it be to her when she
came back again? But, little by little, the old room soothed and stilled
her. There were the sedate four-poster bed and the demure dresser and
the little writing desk, good mahogany all of them; come by devious
paths from a Virginia plantation; the cool blue of walls and rugs and
hangings; the few pictures she had loved; three framed photographs of
the Los Angeles football squad; a framed photograph of Jimsy in his
class play; a bowl of dull blue pottery filled now with lavish winter
roses. It was like a steadying hand on her shoulder, that sane and
simple girlhood room.

The window gave on the garden and the King house beyond it. She wondered
whether she should see James King before she went to Mexico. She felt
she could hardly face him gently,--Jimsy's father who had failed him in
his dark hour. In view of what his own life had been! She leaned forward
and watched inten