"You have a daub of ochre on your nose," said Fräulein Vogel.

"Anyway," Kitty remarked after a while, "if worse came to worst I could
teach. There is German. Now, I really speak German well, don't I? I could
teach that."

"Oh, you have the gift o' gab!" said the painter. "But you will be married,
sure."

A long silence followed. "I am twenty-four," said Kitty.

"There is no safety for you this side of the grave," said Fräulein Vogel.

"I may be married, but I doubt it," Kitty continued. "I--" And then she
dropped her brushes, flung herself prone on the floor, and burst into
passionate tears. Hedwig Vogel did not try to comfort her, but she knelt
beside her and put her strong right arm about the girl's quivering
shoulders. At last Kitty sat up and brushed back her tangled hair.

"Every day I think of him," she said. "Every day I hope, I pray he will
come. I watch for the postman,--I have watched for him so long. He never
brings me a letter, but my heart stops beating when he draws near the
house. When he rings the bell, when the servant comes up the stairs, I
shut my eyes. I can almost believe I have the letter in my hand. I almost
see the words. But there is never a letter,--there never can be. Oh, I--"
She rose and walked to and fro. "I am to blame," she added, laying her
hand on Fraulein Vogel's shoulder. "I wronged him by my suspicion, my
petty jealousy; then I ran away from him, and expected him to roam over
Europe trying to find me. I hid myself from him, and I am eating my heart