out because he does not come."

"Suppose," said Fräulein Vogel, "that he is seeking for you now?"

Kitty's wet eyes shone for a moment. "I am not worth that," she said.

"But if he loves you?"

"Oh, he loves me, I know!" she exclaimed. "And I doubted him. I thought
all manner of base thoughts, and I told him of them to his face,--to him,
the noblest, dearest,--and he never reproached me. Do you wonder I am
ashamed to write to him? Do you wonder I dare not ask his pardon?"

"If he loves you he would forgive anything," said Fräulein Vogel.

The room had grown dark, and they mechanically washed their brushes,
cleaned their palettes, and made ready to go home. As they crossed the Hof
Garten, two or three young painters joined them, and the talk ran on
gayly. Fräulein Vogel had heard Kitty's laugh ring out many a time before,
but never until now did she hear the sad note that dimmed the sweetness of
it. The young men turned away at last.

"To-morrow, then, at eight," sang out Otho Weiss.

"Until to-morrow," cried the others.

"Until to-morrow," Kitty echoed. "Always to-morrow," she added softly to
herself.

"I do not understand," said Fräulein Vogel, going back to the talk in the