Maria did not reply for a moment, and turned once, as if to leave the room, but at last she seemed to make up her mind, and crossing to the couch on which Lola had languidly thrown herself, she said quietly, "I couldn't ask you while you were sick, and once, after we moved over here, I--I did, and you said you didn't want to be bothered. After that, some way I--I couldn't seem to bring myself to ask again. You see, I'm growing awful fond of Mr. Barnes, and--and I guess I'm sort of sensitive about him." The poor girl said nothing of the hours she had studied, hopelessly confused, to spell out the crude little letters from the lover who meant so much to her, nor of the real delicacy that prevented her from asking anyone but the mistress she loved so deeply to read what he had written. To her Lola could do no wrong, and no man could hold any place in her heart that she would for a moment try to conceal from this girl who had brought the first glimpse of sunshine into her life. "Give me your letter," said Lola indolently. "I can't remember being cross about it. Really I don't mind at all. I am rather interested." She took the letter that Maria eagerly passed to her, and opening it read slowly, for Mr. Barnes was a better sailor than scholar. "'August 18. Newport, R. I. Respected friend----'" She looked up, laughing. "I see that he is still properly respectful." "Yes, Miss," replied Maria, simply. "He loves me!" Lola looked at her for a moment, then smiled rather bitterly, and continued: "'I take my pen in hand to let you know that I got a bad fall in the gun turret and broke my left leg----'" Maria's little cry of fear and sorrow was drowned in Lola's joyous, hearty laughter. Maria looked at her, anger and reproach struggling with her love and respect, and Lola seeing her face, smothered her mirth. "Really I am sorry," and she started to continue, "'broke my left leg, and I haven't been able to write with it before.' That's what I was laughing at, Maria; it does sound funny, doesn't it?" "Give me that letter." For the first time in her life Maria spoke to her rudely, no longer the servant, but the offended woman. "Give it to me." "Really, I beg your pardon, Maria, but it is too absurd. Wait! I will read you the rest of it." Maria stepped forward and took the letter out of her hand. "If you please, Miss," she said quietly, "I would rather spell it out myself. You see he didn't write that thinking that anybody was going to laugh at it. He wrote it for an ignorant girl that loves him. I can't read good, but I can understand, and I guess that's all he wants." CHAPTER VII DANCE HALL GLITTER