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 just say "Venice," simply and naturally? She propped it up against the hall lamp and went on dusting, but she had to keep turning her head to look at it, and once she childishly put out the tip of her tongue.

They had finished supper and Joe was in his room when Mr. Porter telephoned him. Kate shouted up the stairs.

"Joe-ho! Telephone!"

"I've got to go over to Mr. Porter's right away," he told her, shrugging into his overcoat. "He's going to New York on the night train, and he wants to tell me some things before he goes. 'By!"

"Good-by, darling. Be careful not to skid!" Kate called to the slamming door, and went upstairs for her darning basket.

Of course the careless boy had left his light on. She went in to turn it off, and saw lying on the desk under it Evelyn's letter, and the answer Joe had begun in his clear black writing.

Shuddering, ice-cold, sick with shame, she lay face down on her bed. Why had she done it? Why had she done it? The words leaped at her again.

"I'm trying with all my might to earn enough for us and for mother too. I know you understand about her, and I bless you for it, my darling. Somehow we must be together. I can't bear the torture of another summer like this empty one that was meant for you"