"Shall I
open it?"
"Oh no!" said Kitty, hastily. "Give it me. It's from my Paris woman."
"Ah--ha!" laughed Ashe. "Some extravagance you want to keep to yourself,
I'll be bound. I've a good mind to see!"
And he teasingly held it up above her head. But she gave a little jump,
caught it, and ran off with it to her room.
"Much regret impossible stop publication. Fifty copies distributed
already. Writing."
She dropped speechless on the edge of her bed, the crumpled telegram in
her hand. The minutes passed.
"When will you be ready?" said Ashe, tapping at the door.
"Is the gondola there?"
"Waiting at the steps."
"Five minutes!" Ashe departed. She rose, tore the telegram into little
bits, and began with deliberation to put on her mantle and hat.
"You've got to go through with it," she said to the white face in the
glass, and she straightened her small shoulders defiantly.
* * * * *
They were bound for the Armenian convent. It was a misty day, with
shafts of light on the lagoon. The storm had passed, but the water was
still rough, and the clouds seemed to be withdrawing their forces only
to marshal them again with the darkness.
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