They had asked her and Mrs. Blake to go and she was sure they would ask Jefferson, too. Would he go? There was no way out of it. Jefferson tried to work up some enthusiasm for this yachting trip, which he knew very well could never come off, and it cut him to the heart to see this poor girl joyously making all these preparations and plans, little dreaming of the domestic calamity which at that very moment was hanging over her head. CONTENTS CONTENTS It was nearly ten o'clock when they had finished. They sat a little longer listening to the gipsy music, weird and barbaric. Very pointedly, Shirley remarked: “I for one preferred the music this afternoon.” “Why?” inquired Jefferson, ignoring the petulant note in her voice. “Because you were more amiable!” she retorted rather crossly. This was their first misunderstanding, but Jefferson said nothing. He could not tell her the thoughts and fears that had been haunting him all night. Soon afterward they re-entered their cab and returned to the boulevards which were ablaze with light and gaiety. Jefferson suggested going somewhere else, but Mrs. Blake was tired and Shirley, now quite irritated at what she considered Jefferson's unaccountable unsociability, declined somewhat abruptly. But she could never remain angry long, and when they said good-night she whispered demurely: “Are you cross with me, Jeff?” He turned his head away and she saw that his face was singularly drawn and grave. “Cross—no. Good-night. God bless you!” he said, hoarsely gulping down a lump that rose in his throat. Then grasping her hand he hurried away. Completely mystified, Shirley and her companion turned to the office to get the key of their room. As the man handed it to Shirley he passed her also a cablegram which had just come. She changed colour. She did not like telegrams. She always had a dread of them, for with her sudden news was usually bad news. Could this, she thought, explain Jefferson's strange behaviour? Trembling, she tore open the
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