over the stove when she reached the kitchen.  After the pretence of breakfast was gone through Janet sought relief in housework, making her bed, tidying her room.  It was odd, this morning, how her notice of little, familiar things had the power to add to her pain, brought to mind memories become excruciating as she filled the water pitcher from the kitchen tap she found herself staring at the nick broken out of it when Lise had upset it.  She recalled Lise’s characteristically flippant remark.  And there was the streak in the wall-paper caused one night by the rain leaking through the roof.  After the bed was made and the room swept she stood a moment, motionless, and then, opening the drawer in the wardrobe took from it the rose which she had wrapped in tissue paper and hidden there, and with a perverse desire as it were to increase the bitterness consuming her, to steep herself in pain, she undid the parcel and held the withered flower to her face.  Even now a fragrance, faint yet poignant, clung to it....  She wrapped it up again, walked to the window, hesitated, and then with a sudden determination to destroy this sole relic of her happiness went to the kitchen and flung it into the stove.  Hannah, lingering over her morning task of cleaning, did not seem to notice the act.  Janet turned to her.

“I think I’ll go out for a while, mother,” she said.

“You’d ought to,” Hannah replied.  “There’s no use settin’ around here.”

The silence of the flat was no longer to be endured.  And Janet, putting on her coat and hat, descended the stairs.  Not once that morning had her mother mentioned Lise; nor had she asked about her own plans—­about Ditmar.  This at least was a relief; it was the question she had feared most.  In the street she met the postman.

“I have a letter for you, Miss Janet,” he said.  And on the pink envelope he handed her, in purple ink, she recognized the unformed, childish handwriting of Lise.  “There’s great doings down at the City Hall,” the postman added “the foreigners are holding mass meetings there.”  Janet scarcely heard him as she tore open the envelope.  “Dear Janet,” the letter ran.  “The doctor told me I had a false alarm, there was nothing to it.  Wouldn’t that jar you?  Boston’s a slow burg, and there’s no use of my staying here now.  I’m going to New York, and maybe I’ll come back when I’ve had a look at the great white way.  I’ve got the coin, and I gave him the mit to-night.  If you haven’t anything better to do, drop in at the Bagatelle and give Walters my love, and tell them not to worry at home.  There’s no use trying to trail me.  Your affectionate sister Lise.”

Janet thrust the letter in her pocket.  Then she walked rapidly westward until she came to the liver-coloured facade of the City Hall, opposite the Common.  Pushing through the crowd of operatives lingering on the pavement in front of it, she entered the building....