eminded her of Reanda. She was no
longer so sure that the reminiscence was all painful.

CHAPTER XXXV.

IN spite of all that Griggs could do, and he did his utmost, it was hard
to live in anything approaching to comfort on the meagre remuneration he
received for his correspondence, and his pride altogether forbade him to
allow Gloria to contribute anything to the slender resources of the
small establishment. At first, it had amused her to practise little
economies, even in the matter of their daily meals. Griggs denied
himself everything which was not absolutely necessary, and it pleased
Gloria to imitate him, for it made her feel that she was helping him.
The housekeeping was a simple affair enough, and she undertook it
readily. They had one woman servant as cook and maid-of-all-work, a
strong young creature, not without common-sense, and plentifully gifted
with that warm, superficial devotion which is common enough in Italian
servants. Gloria had kept house for her father long enough to understand
what she had undertaken, and it seemed easy at first to do the same
thing for Griggs, though on a much more restricted scale.

But the restriction soon became irksome. In a more active and
interesting existence, she would perhaps not have felt the constant
pinching of such excessive economy. If there had been more means within
her reach for satisfying her hungry vanity, she could have gone through
the daily round of little domestic cares with a lighter heart or, at
least, with more indifference. But she and Griggs led a very lonely
life, and, as in all lonely lives, the smallest details became
important.

It was not long before Gloria wished herself in her old home in the
Corso, not indeed with Reanda, but with Paul Griggs. He had made her
promise to use only the money he gave her himself for their
housekeeping. She secretly deceived him and drew upon her own store, and
listened in silence to his praise of her ingenuity in making the little
he was able to give her go so far. He trusted her so completely that he
suspected nothing.

She expected that at the end of three months her father would send her
another draft, but the day passed, and she received nothing, so that she
at last wrote to him again, asking for money. It came, as before,
without any word of inquiry or greeting. Dalrymple evidently intended to
take this means of knowing from time to time that his daughter was alive
and well. She would be obliged