But where on the face of the earth was she to put Judy? They had in their doll’s house of a flat but four tiny rooms—parlor, kitchen and two bedrooms. What was to be done? How could she listen to the story the abbess was telling the pilgrim, and the minutes passing so rapidly, and bedtime coming on, and no bed to put her invited guest in? And there was Cleve utterly unconscious of her dilemma, although he knew as well as she did the extent—or rather limits—of their accommodation. Cleve finished the canto and closed the book in complacent ignorance that Palma had not heard a word of it. The clock on the mantel struck eleven. It was a cheap clock and it struck loudly. Ran arose to bid good-night. “I really ought to beg your pardon for keeping you up. But you will excuse me for this once,” he said. “Why, certainly! Certainly! Don’t go yet. We shall not retire for hours. Oh, pray! pray! don’t go yet!” pleaded Palma with her curly hair fairly stiffening itself on end; for, when Ran had left, what, in the name of Heaven, was she to do with Judy? Take the girl in with herself and Cleve? Or lay her over Mrs. Pole on that narrow slab of a cot that could not hold two side by side? Palma had got into a terrible dilemma which she feared, by the creepy coldness of her scalp, was going to turn her hair white! She would have been very much relieved if—after the old-fashioned New England style—the betrothed lovers should sit up all night. “Oh, do, do, do stay longer!” she still pleaded, looking beseechingly at Ran. But Ran was looking at his sweetheart, and replied gravely: “You are very kind! Too kind! And I thank you so much! But, even for Judy’s sake, I ought to go. She is very tired from her long journey. Good-night.” And he turned to go, Judy following him to the door of the parlor, where, of course, they lingered over their adieus. Then Stuart got a chance to speak apart with Palma. He looked into her dismayed face and broke into a little, low laugh. “Oh! what in the name of goodness shall I do?” she exclaimed, clasping her hands and gazing appealingly up into his face. Then he pitied her evident distress and answered: “Why, dear, you will have to share your own bed with Miss Judy and give me a rug on the sofa.” Her face brightened. “Oh, Cleve!” she exclaimed, “you are an angel of light in a cutaway coat! You have saved my life—or reason!” Then suddenly growing grave she added: “But the little sofa is so short, and you are so long!” “Now don’t look so distressed, dear. The inconvenience is nothing at all. And it is only for one night. To-morrow I will see the janitor and try to get a room for our little friend contiguous to our own, so that she may remain with us.” Stuart spoke of incurring this additional expense with apparent cheerfulness, although his small funds were nearly exhausted, and his efforts to procure employment were quite fruitless.