But Judith shook her head. "Oh, no, no!" she insisted; "Daisy
understands perfectly that I can stay here only two weeks. I explained
the situation fully in my letter. I mailed it myself, and I am sure that
she received it. And I couldn't thrust myself upon her, you know. She
has probably forgotten all about her invitation by this time; this visit
doesn't mean as much to her as to me."

"But I can't bear to be disappointed after going so far," said Miss
Barbara. "She'll surely write in a few days. You'll just have to stay
another week. I can arrange for that long. The landlady wants the room
after the twenty-first for a permanent boarder, but you can't go until
then."

In spite of all Judith's protestations, Miss Barbara kept her, and never
did a week drag by so slowly. It snowed incessantly. Miss Barbara was
unusually busy. Judith took a severe cold that confined her to the
house. Her eyes ached when she attempted to read, and all she could do
was to pace up and down the room and look out of the window, or watch
the clock in feverish impatience for Miss Barbara to return with the
mail.

But not until the sixteenth, the day of the musicale, did she lose hope.
When the hour came in which she should have been listening to the famous
violinist in Marguerite's elegant drawing-rooms, she threw herself on
the bed and cried as if her heart would break. It had been years since
she had given away to her emotions as she did then, but the
disappointment was a bitter one. She must go back home without even a
glimpse of the city of her dreams, and without meeting a single
interesting person. True, she had had a pleasant visit with Cousin
Barbara, but they both had thought of it as only the stepping-stone to