ut he had not been fair, neither
had his friends nor her own. Why had they always led her to believe by
their silences that there was something to be ashamed of in her mother's
story? It was odd, of course, to be different from other people, but
there was no sin in being a dreamer.

Nona could see the picture of her mother in the white muslin dress and
the blue sash there in their old drawing room in Charleston. She had
been only a girl of about her age when she remembered her.

But then what had become of her mother? Why had she gone away?

Again the girl picked up her letter, for the last few sheets must
explain.

This portion was hardest of the story to understand, but Sonya Valesky
had tried to make it clear.

Nona's father had insisted that his young wife give up her views of
life. She was to read no books, write no letters, have nothing to do
with any human being who thought as she did. Above all, she was to make
him a written and sacred promise that she would never reveal her ideas
of life to her daughter. This Nona's mother had refused to do and so had
gone away, expecting to come back some day when her husband relented.

Within a year she had died. But here Sonya Valesky's letter ended, for
she enclosed another written by Nona's mother to her friend.

If Nona had needed proof of the truth of the other woman's statement she
could find it here. The letter was yellow with age and very short. It
merely asked that if Sonya Valesky should ever find it possible to know
her daughter, Nona Davis, would she be her friend?

Then Sonya had also enclosed another proof, if proof were needed. This
was a small picture of Nona's mother which was exactly like the one the
girl had found concealed in the back of her father's watch. It was the
same watch with the same picture that she now wore always inside her
dress.

Then for nearly an hour the young American girl sat dreaming almost
without a movement of her body.

Little by little she recalled stray memories in her life which made her
mother's history appear not so impossible as she had at first conceived.
Always she had thought of her as foreign. She had only believed her to
be French because she spoke French so perfectly and had married in New
Orleans. But then she herself was beginning to learn that educated
Russians are among the most accomplished linguists in the world. What
else was she to find out about this strange country before her work as
a nurse was over