"Every day I think of him," she said. "Every day I hope, I pray he will come. I watch for the postman,--I have watched for him so long. He never brings me a letter, but my heart stops beating when he draws near the house. When he rings the bell, when the servant comes up the stairs, I shut my eyes. I can almost believe I have the letter in my hand. I almost see the words. But there is never a letter,--there never can be. Oh, I--" She rose and walked to and fro. "I am to blame," she added, laying her hand on Fraulein Vogel's shoulder. "I wronged him by my suspicion, my petty jealousy; then I ran away from him, and expected him to roam over Europe trying to find me. I hid myself from him, and I am eating my heart out because he does not come." "Suppose," said Fräulein Vogel, "that he is seeking for you now?" Kitty's wet eyes shone for a moment. "I am not worth that," she said. "But if he loves you?" "Oh, he loves me, I know!" she exclaimed. "And I doubted him. I thought all manner of base thoughts, and I told him of them to his face,--to him, the noblest, dearest,--and he never reproached me. Do you wonder I am ashamed to write to him? Do you wonder I dare not ask his pardon?" "If he loves you he would forgive anything," said Fräulein Vogel. The room had grown dark, and they mechanically washed their brushes, cleaned their palettes, and made ready to go home. As they crossed the Hof Garten, two or three young painters joined them, and the talk ran on gayly. Fräulein Vogel had heard Kitty's laugh ring out many a time before, but never until now did she hear the sad note that dimmed the sweetness of it. The young men turned away at last. "To-morrow, then, at eight," sang out Otho Weiss. "Until to-morrow," cried the others. "Until to-morrow," Kitty echoed. "Always to-morrow," she added softly to herself. "I do not understand," said Fräulein Vogel, going back to the talk in the studio. "I was jealous," Kitty answered simply. "He was above me in station--" "I thought there was no rank in America," said Fräulein Vogel. "Then you cannot understand how a big tradesman scorns a little one," Kitty rejoined. "My aunt kept a shop, but she would never let me help her sell pins and needles and tape. No, I must go to school with girls whose fathers sold pins by the ton instead of by the paper,--or by the pound, as you do here. His father sold them by the ton,--a mere matter of big and little. The family was reconciled to me after a while. You see, the family had to be reconciled, for Frank did not care what they said to him." "He loved you," said Fräulein Vogel.