“Beata,” I broke out quickly, “not _Pietro_?” for I was afraid that something had come along to change the course of her plans, which all led up to and centered around a wedding which was to be early in February. Beata looked up; “Signorina,” she said, “la cablegram--la Signorina Harrees-Clarke--la poverina, la _poverina_!” That was all I stopped to hear. I hurried down the corridor to Viola’s room, and at that door I paused, for Leslie was sitting on the bed by Viola, holding both of her hands in hers, and saying, as she stroked them, “There, dear, _there_!” CHAPTER NINETEEN CHANGES I found the cablegram that had come for Viola told her that her father was dead; the father whom she had not written since her complaining, begging letter of Christmas time. It made me feel so sorry for her that I didn’t know what to do; for I knew that the sorrow would be enough for her without acute regret attached to it; and I knew that she was going to suffer from that too. I stood in the doorway, that afternoon, for quite a few moments before I could go in, and when I did and Viola saw me, she sat up. Her cheeks were flushed and she didn’t look as if she had cried. “Do you remember that letter?” she said. I nodded. I couldn’t speak. “What--can you remember _just_ what I said in it?” she asked. I evaded as hard and convincingly as I could, but it did no good. She remembered it, only she had to talk of it, and she did it through questioning me. “I--I told him that Leslie’s clothes made me feel like a pauper--” she stated in a hard, high voice, “that--that I’d had to struggle and pinch--I told him--” I broke in then. And I made her lie down, and I got Leslie started at making tea, and then I helped Viola into bed, and tried to do what I could to divert her through taking off her clothes and making her comfortable and brushing her hair, and Leslie took the cue and stopped saying, “Oh, my dear, how _can_ I help you?” which was not just what Viola needed then. Every one was dreadfully upset, and worried for Viola, and Miss Meek came over with smelling salts, and Miss Bannister came tiptoeing to the door to ask what she could do, and Mr. Hemmingway, whose eyes were flooded in tears, told me of the death of his dear father--and he remembered the date--and Miss Julianna, with tears on her pretty round cheeks, came pattering in with offers of all sorts of strange things, and a little shrine, which she set up by Viola’s bed. “La Madre Santa,” she said--which meant “The Sainted Mother”--and Leslie, who doesn’t seem to understand the people who differ from her in their way of worship, asked Viola if it should stay. “I can take it away, darling,” she said in an undertone, “when Miss Julianna is gone.”