and very different sort of life? For some reason, as Juliet stood and
looked and thought, her face grew very sober, and a long-drawn breath
escaped her lips.

The little kitchen was an exceedingly alluring place, gay in the bravery
of fresh paint and spotless, shining utensils. There were even crisp
curtains--at eight cents a yard--tied back at the high, wide-silled,
triple window with its diminutive panes. It needed only a pot or two of
growing plants in the window, and a neat-handed Phyllis in a figured gown,
to be the old-time kitchen of one's dreams.

But it was upon the rooms on the upper floor that Juliet had exhausted her
imagination and effort. Nothing could have been conceived of more dainty
than they. Here her denims and muslins had run riot. Low dressing-tables
clad in ruffled hangings, their padded tops delicate with the breath of
orris; beds valanced with similar stuffs; high-backed chairs, their seats
cushioned into comfort--everything was done in the cleverest imitation of
the ancient styles in keeping with the old-fashioned house. It all made
one think of the patter of high-heeled, buckled slippers, and stiff,
rustling, brocaded gowns, and powdered hair, and the odours of long ago.
Anthony would never know what his friendly home-maker had put into these
rooms of sentiment and charm.

VI.--A QUESTION OF IDENTITY

At the door of the blue-and-white room, the one upon which the girl had
lavished her most tender fancies, she stood at length, looking in. And as
she looked something swam before her eyes. A sob rose in her throat. She
choked it back; she brushed her hand across her face. Then she tried to
laugh. "Oh, what a goose I am!" she said sternly to herself. And then she
ran across the room, sank upon her knees before the window-seat with its
blue and white cushions, and burying her face in one of them cried her
wretched, jealous, longing heart out.

Anthony, coming in hastily but softly through the small kitchen, heard the
rush of footsteps overhead, and stopped. He waited a moment, listening
eagerly; then he came noiselessly into the living-room and stood still.
His face, always strong and somewhat stern in its repose, had in it
to-night a certain unusual intensity. He looked at his watch and saw that
there was an hour before train time. Then he sat down where he could see
the top of the staircase and waited.

By and by light footsteps crossed the floor above and came through the
little ha