"The negotiations were conducted by another person, and she was forced

to consent, though her heart ached for the artist in the blue tunic,

whose name she did not know. When she learned that her husband was to be

the man she had loved for so long, tears of happiness came into her dark

eyes.

"The vase had disappeared, mysteriously, and he offered a large reward

for its recovery. At last they were compelled to give up the hope of

finding it, and he promised to make her another one, just like it, with

the same flowers and butterflies and even the little glints of gold that

marked the days she came. So she watched him, while he made the new one,

and even more love went into it than into the first one."

"And--" began Miss Ainslie.

"Some one who loved you brought it to you."

"Yes," she repeated, smiling, "some one who loved me."

Winfield fitted a story to every object in the room. Each rug had a

different history and every bit of tapestry its own tale. He conjured up

an Empress who had once owned the teakwood chair, and a Marquise, with

patches and powdered hair, who wrote love letters at the marquetry

table.

He told stories of the sea shells, and of the mermaids who brought them

to the shore, that some one who loved her might take them to her, and

that the soft sound of the sea might always come to her ears, with

visions of blue skies and tropic islands, where the sun forever shone.

The Empress and the Marquise became real people to Miss Ainslie, and the

Japanese lovers seemed to smile at her from the vase. Sometimes, holding

the rug on her lap, she would tell them how it was woven, and repeat the

love story of a beautiful woman who had worked upon the tapestry. Often,

in the twilight, she would sing softly to herself, snatches of forgotten

melodies, and, once, a lullaby. Ruth and Carl sat by, watching for the

slightest change, but she never spoke of the secret in her heart.

Ruth had the north room, across the hall, where there were two dressers.

One of them had been empty, until she put her things into it, and the

other was locked. She found the key, one day, hanging behind it, when

she needed some things for Miss Ainslie.

As she had half expected, the dresser was full of lingerie, of the

finest lawn and linen. The dainty garments were edged with real

lace--Brussels, Valenciennes, Mechlin, Point d'Alencon, and the fine

Irish laces. Sometimes there was a cluster of tucks, daintily run by

hand, but, usually, only the lace, unless there was a bit of insertion

to match. The buttons were mother of pearl, and the button holes were

exquisitely made. One or two of the garments were threaded with

white ribbon, after a more modern fashion, but most of them were made

according to the quaint old patterns. There was a dozen of everything.




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