therefore loved--one knows the inherent power to sting and wound in
things the most pitiably commonplace. De Musset speaks of the "little
pebble":

But when upon your fated way you meet
Some dumb memorial of a passion dead,
That little pebble stops you, and you dread
To bruise your tender feet.

So to Nancy, coming suddenly and at the psychological moment upon that
absurd bit of blue clay cajoled from a friendly waiter at a little,
out-of-the-way Bohemian restaurant, one never-to-be-forgotten night,
the bottom seemed to have dropped out of the universe. The things of
this world seemed suddenly to lose their value, and to grow poor and
mean and worthless. And she only knew that she was miserable, and
heart-hungry, and soul-sick for one who never came, for one who never
again _would_ come, forever and forever.

With the little blue pitcher held tightly in her hand, she walked over
to the window and looked up at the big gray stone house that was soon
to know her as its mistress. And for the very first time the perfect
realization of what it all would mean was borne in upon her. She stood
there for several minutes motionless, then with a violent, angry shake
of the head she cried out in a high, defiant voice: "No, no, no, not
until--not yet, not yet!"

She walked rapidly away from the window, and put the little blue
pitcher in a post of honor on the mantelpiece. Then, crossing over to
the dressing table, she picked up her purse and carefully counted the
money. The result must have been satisfactory, for a half-triumphant
smile flitted across her face. After that, from the mysterious depths
of that same purse, she unearthed a time-table and studied it
earnestly.

Then, sitting at her tiny desk, she nervously scrawled these words:

DEAR MOTHER: I have gone to New York to spend the night with
Lilla Browning--made up my mind suddenly, and as I knew you were
asleep, didn't want to bother you. Knew you couldn't possibly
have any objection, because you are so fond of Lil. Want to do
some shopping in the morning, and thought this would be the best
way to get an early start. Expect me home to-morrow afternoon on
the 5:45. Best regards to Mr. Thornton. Have Maggie press my red
dress; tell her to be careful not to scorch it. I found the
lace. By-by. NANCY.

"All's fair in love and war," she murmured, softly, rising from her
chair, and taking off stock and belt preparatory to a chan