ple washed, clean
aprons, clean caps, no beggars, no disorder, no crimes. And there would
have been no disturbing manifestations of genius, either; no troublesome
masterpieces or other evidences of a little fire in the blood. It would
have suited you perfectly."

"I guess you mean that to be cutting, don't you?"

"Let me try to tell you how much I liked New York, when I went back
there some years ago after an absence of ten or eleven years. I had some
idea, you know, of perhaps returning to live in America. Well, I
shivered. I shut my eyes. I held my ears. I fled. I remained just the
time I was forced to by the affairs of my poor mother and, as I tell
you, I fled!"

"Why, what's the matter with New York?"

"I will tell you what is the matter with New York, with Boston, with all
the places in America that I have seen again since I was grown up--"

"No! Stop! Don't say anything against America. It's the one way to make
me mad.--I didn't know you felt the same way about Florence. You aren't
an Italian, are you? It's because we're both alike Americans that we sit
here fighting so chummily."

CHAPTER VII

Lending her spacious front room for the Christmas bazaar in aid of the
church, and beholding it full of bustle and brightness, was the thing
that brought to the acute stage Mrs. Hawthorne's longing to see her
whole house the scene of some huge good time: she sent out innumerable
invitations to a ball. Mrs. Foss's card was inclosed with hers. It was a
farewell party given for Brenda, whose day of sailing was very near. The
frequent inquiry how Brenda should be crossing the ocean so late in the
year met with the answer that her traveling companions had a brother
whose wedding had been timed thus awkwardly for them.

On the morning of the day before the ball Gerald came to see Mrs.
Hawthorne. He was still intrusting the servant with his message when
Aurora, leaning over the railing of the hallway above, called down to
him, "Come right upstairs!"

He was aware of unusual activities all around--workmen, the sound of
hammering, housemaids plying brooms and brushes. Leslie Foss, with her
hat on, looked from the dining-room and said, "Hello, Gerald!" too busy
for anything more. Fraeulein seemed to be with her, helping at something.

The great central white-and-gold door, to-day open, permitted a glimpse,
as he started up the stairs, of a man on a step-ladder fitting tall
wax-candles into one of the great chandel